All Summer Long. Сьюзен Мэллери

      He picked up the menu, then put it down. “I thought I would be someone else when I got here,” he said when the hostess had given him one last lingering look before flouncing off.

      Charlie leaned toward him. “What are we talking about?”

      “Sorry. I was thinking about the captain inviting me to be in a calendar to raise money.”

      “Not the girl?”

      “What girl?”

      “The hostess who practically stripped in front of you ten seconds ago?”

      His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I didn’t notice.”

      “She offered you her number.”

      He shrugged.

      The gesture was so casual, so dismissive, Charlie had to believe Clay honestly hadn’t been paying attention. Because it happened so much, she thought.

      “Phone numbers are the new rose petals,” she said absently, picking up the menu and wondering if she should order the London chicken wrap or try something new.

      “Phone numbers are what?”

      She put down the menu and grinned. “Sorry. I was thinking out loud. Rose petals. You know, like in Roman times. Throwing petals before the emperor. Now you get phone numbers thrown at you. All Hail Caesar. Or Clay.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly the same ring to it. You might want to change your name to fit in a classic ‘all hail’ better.”

      “I’ll suffer with people stumbling through it,” Clay muttered. “What’s good here?”

      “Everything,” Wilma said. She’d appeared at the side of their table. Wilma was at least sixty, was a champion gum snapper and had worked at every incarnation of the restaurant since it had first opened its door decades ago. Now she stared at Clay, her penciled brows raised.

      “So you’re the pretty one everyone’s been telling me about. Nice. I saw your ass in that movie a while back.” She looked at Charlie. “You with him?”

      Charlie did her best not to flush or choke. “We’re friends.”

      “Too bad. You make a cute couple. Not as cute as me and my Frank, but that’s a high bar.” Her friendly gaze sharpened. “You eat, right?” The question was addressed to Clay. “If you’re not going to eat, then don’t order.”

      Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it. Apparently, Jo’s Bar would have been a safer choice.

      Wilma turned back to Charlie. “Diet Coke?”

      Charlie nodded.

      Wilma faced Clay. “And you?”

      “Iced tea.”

      She scribbled on her pad. “Charlie usually gets the London chicken wrap. It’s more a Baja wrap but what with this place being called The Fox and Hound, that would look stupid on the menu. It’s good. Get that.”

      Clay handed her the menu.

      “Fries?” Wilma asked no one in particular.

      “Yes,” Charlie told her, passing over her menu, as well.

      The older woman patted Clay on the shoulder. “You’ll never be as good as my Frank, but you’re not half-bad, kid.” With that, she walked away.

      “Sorry,” Charlie said when they were alone. “I’d forgotten how Wilma could be.”

      “Bossy and outspoken?”

      “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

      Clay surprised her by smiling. “I like her. She seems like she suffers no fool.”

      “She’s an institution. This restaurant has gone through several changes and Wilma has been here for every one of them. She’s one of the first people I met when I moved to town.”

      Wilma returned with their drinks, slapped them down on the table, then left.

      Charlie pulled the paper off her straw. “You’re not happy about the calendar thing,” she began.

      “No, but it’s how my day has been going. I met with the city council this morning. I told them all about my Haycation idea.”

      “They must have been happy. It’s going to bring in money. Every town wants more of that.”

      “The mayor seemed interested. Some of the others were more intrigued by the idea of me being in an advertising campaign for the town. Starring my ass.”

      Charlie winced. “That sounds like Gladys.”

      “Are she and Wilma sisters?”

      “No, but they share some personality traits. Sorry.”

      “Not your fault. I expected this to happen in New York. Given what I do, it was inevitable. I thought it would be different here.”

      Charlie studied him. “I guess I’m like everyone else. I would have assumed your life is perfect.”

      A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Right. Shut up, cash the check and be grateful. I’ve heard that before.” He leaned back in the booth. “Whatever. I can do the calendar.”

      “But you don’t want to.”

      “No.”

      “Then don’t.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “I’m trying to fit in. I want to be a part of what’s going on in town. Get accepted into the volunteer program. Saying no isn’t going to help.”

      “I agree, but the ultimate end is to have a successful fund-raiser. It’s not to make you uncomfortable. Don’t you have model friends? Couldn’t you get a couple of them to be in the calendar?”

      He stared at her. She had to admit that all that intensity was a little unnerving. That stomach-clenching thing returned and with it the smallest hint of pressure between her thighs.

      She shifted on her seat.

      Uncomfortable with the silence and her physical reaction to Clay, she found herself entering dangerous territory. That of speaking without thinking.

      “The thing is,” she told him, “if you want people to take you seriously, you have to take yourself seriously first. Agreeing to do the calendar yourself reinforces the stereotype. You’re more than what they think you are. It’s a cliché but you’re going to have to work harder to prove yourself. It’s a very strange kind of discrimination.”

      One she’d seen with her mother. People reacted to Dominique first because of how she looked and later because of who she was. Charlie had also seen the dark side of being judged on physical appearance. Most strangers staring at her with a “Really? You’re her daughter?” look in their eyes.

      Clay leaned back in the booth and swore softly. “You’re right.”

      She blinked. “I am?”

      “Yes. About all of it. I’ve had a manager taking care of the crap in my life for the past ten years. I’ve gotten lazy about taking responsibility for what I’m doing. Thank you for being honest.”

      “It’s what I do best. Say what’s on my mind. Give me thirty years and I’ll turn into Wilma.”

      He gave her a slow, sexy smile. One that nearly turned her tummy upside down. “There are worse fates.”

      She grabbed her drink and gulped down some soda.

      He leaned toward her again. “I’m going to call some guys I know about the calendar. I don’t know how to fix things with the city council, but I can solve that problem, too.”

      “You might wait a little on the town issue. Mayor Marsha has a way of smoothing things out. I’m sure she’s pleased by your