Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Shay| Apologizing is like swallowing a pack of razor blades

Shayne exhaled heavily, ruffling the choppy edges of her damp bangs. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

"Start with apologizing." Asher smirked and reached for his phone. "Now get out of here, I've gotta call my divorce attorney."

#

Apologizing was like swallowing a pack of razor blades. The words never came out smooth and sliced one's dignity to ribbons.

But if she was expected to prostrate herself and beg for forgiveness this early in the morning, she wasn't about to do so empty-handed and stopped briefly at a local bakery before commencing her pilgrimage to Rita's.

Jogging the short distance to the address Asher had provided, Shayne was charmed by the row of skinny townhouses and manicured gardens. Close enough to the pier that she could smell the salt in the air as the breeze brushed through the palm trees dotting the street lined with parked cars.

Shuffling up the stairs, Shayne stopped before unit 3B and knocked sharply.

It wasn't long before the door whisked open and Rita filled the doorway, dressed in black leggings and an over-sized t-shirt, the logos faded into obscurity and chewed collar, either from a surviving a billion washes or a puppy cutting its teeth.

"Good morning," she said, pushing a lock of dark hair out of her unmade face. "What are you doing here?"

Shayne lifted a plastic bag holding a square box, her token offering of peace. "I come with apology donuts."

Eyeing the bag, Rita widened the door so she could enter.

The entire space was open concept with lightly stained hardwood floors, white walls, simple furniture of a furnished rental, but all brightened up with lots of flowers. Everywhere she looked there were various arrangements either in pots or vases. And not the professionally assembled variety. Theses blooms were cluttered, imperfect and most of the stalks cut too high to flatter or suit the arrangement but there was something endearing in their lack of finesse.

Something...honest.

"Great spot." Shayne said, following Rita into the heart of her townhouse.

"I prefer to keep close to my clients."

"I'm not your client."

"Yes you are," she said with a smug lift of her chin. "That's why you're here."

"You're pretty sure of yourself." The words trickled out of Shayne with unfiltered admiration. She'd always appreciated confidence. Was there anything sexier? And as soon as the thought entered her mind, she'd thrust it out. Nope. Don't go there.

"I'm good at my job. Nothing wrong with being proud of that. Contrary to what people will tell you, self-deprecation is not a reflection of modesty, and to think so is stupid." Settling behind the counter, Rita flicked off the switch on a steaming kettle. "I was about to make myself a green tea. Want one?"

"Got any coffee?"

"Sure."

"I'll have that instead." Dragging out a bar stool, Shayne slid onto the seat as Rita opened an upper cabinet and set down a package of coffee beans on the counter next to a cylindrical tin of green tea. "You don't do instant?"

"I prefer fresh," she said, and spooned out some of the beans into a grinder. Capping it, the blades whirred and cracked loudly. Pulverizing the beans into coffee grounds. "So, why don't we start with your apology, and then we'll go from there?"

"God, you're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Rita answered the question with a sweet, innocent flutter of her lashes.