Dreaming in Technicolor Read Online Free

here?”
    â€œHasn’t crossed either of our lips, but we are dancing all around it. Her voice got all dreamy. “He’s asked how many kids I want, what kind of house I like. Vacations—we both agree that wherever we go, we have to stay in at least a four-star hotel. No roughing it for this couple.”
    â€œI hear ya on that.” I set my boots next to my suitcase.
    Lindsey turned a speculative gaze to the low heels on my Kenneth Coles. “It’s nice to see you’ve gotten over your short-men phobia.”
    I bristled. “Alex isn’t short. He’s more than an inch and three-quarters taller than me. Which is just perfect—I don’t have to crane my neck to look up at him.”
    And kissing should be pretty easy too .
    â€œI think this whole cultural thing about tall men being hotter is just way out of line!”
    â€œHey, down, girl. You’re the one whose shopping list said at least six-foot-two.”
    â€œThat’s because big guys always made me feel smaller. But Alex doesn’t like skinny women.” I glanced in the mirror at my profile, sucking in my stomach. “He finds Jennifer Lopez and her curves a lot more appealing than any of those scrawny supermodel types.” I lowered my head, sucked in my cheeks, and tried to look appropriately J.Lo sultry.
    A soft knock at the door made me blow my cheeks back out to normal.
    We looked at each other. Then at our watches. “The guys wouldn’t be dropping by this late, would they?” Lins whispered.
    I looked down at my oversized Winnie-the-Pooh slippers. “I certainly hope not.”
    â€œRoom service,” a muffled voice said.
    â€œWe didn’t order anything,” Lins yelled, peeking through the peephole.
    â€œCourtesy of Mr. Spencer in Room 215.”
    Lindsey and I exchanged wide-eyed glances as she hurried to let the waiter in.
    â€œOoh, check out the gorgeous rose.” Lindsey lifted the bud vase and held it up to the light once the waiter had left. “And that’s not cut glass either, honey; that’s crystal.” She smacked her lips. “Let’s see what the classy Mr. Spencer sent.”
    â€œOoh.” This time we both smacked our lips. Beneath the silver dome on a china plate drizzled with raspberry sauce sat the largest and densest piece of chocolate decadence cake I’d ever seen, topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream.
    With two forks on the side.
    In a sugar-fantasy fog I reached for one of the forks, but Lins stayed my hand. “Wait.” She passed me a piece of folded creamy vellum paper from beneath the plate. I recognized Alex’s familiar scrawl: “Since I deprived you of dessert, I thought you might like some now. Bon appetit.”
    â€œOh Lins,” I moaned as the first decadent bite hit my lips. “I just can’t let this one get away.”

[chapter two]
    Fruitcakes
    t hree days later, back in Barley, I sat in the Bulletin office, nursing a double mocha and pecking lamely at the keyboard. I was suffering from acute Lindsey withdrawal and finding it difficult to muster up the enthusiasm to write an advance about the upcoming Christmas craft festival at church.
    Somehow, Mabel Wilson and her crocheted-doll toilet-paper covers didn’t hold much appeal.
    Then Gordon, my former potty-mouthed, chain-smoking boss, who’d cleaned up his act considerably since he’d begun wooing my mother, sprang to my rescue. He had just returned from visiting his brother in Phoenix and volunteered for the assignment.
    â€œBut you’re supposed to be taking it nice and easy.”
    â€œIf I take it any nice and easier, I’ll be dead.” Gordon leaned back in the ancient wooden swivel chair next to my desk until it squeaked in protest. Then he jumped up and began pacing, jerking his hands through his thinning hair. “I just got back from a week of doing nothing but sitting around playing