” I shrugged, spinning the paper back to her, “But what about you? I take it things went well with Serge?” I tapped her little lovesick scribbles.That did the trick.“Oh, you have no idea,” she fell back in her chair, sighing, and laid a dreamy palm on her cheek, “I tell you, he is a stallion, Penny.”I blushed, and began sketching out the bare lines of the chapel—the sweep of its spires, the slant of its steep Norman roof—as she delved far deeper into the kinetics of their sexual chemistry than I ever in a million years would have asked for. Outside, the churchgoers were still trickling onto the sidewalk, buttoning up coats and slipping on mittens. I tried not to listen too closely, but Marie wasn’t making it easy. She spared no detail, and neither did I, smearing a soft shadow beneath the bronze Virgin’s breast.“But listen—this was the craziest thing of all,” she leaned in, lacing her long ivory fingers, and dropping her voice to a whisper.I braced myself for the worst.“He asked me to. So she’d sort of adopted him for a while, fixing him breakfast sometimes, getting him to take her places, convincing him to sponsor her soccer team, and other things that put him back into a normal life. In the five years since, she’d become like the daughter he’d never had.Bob had to make do with beating off. He didn’t mind, really. Playpen was his favorite beat-off magazine, and he always took a copy home when they were delivered. He’d been embarrassed about it the first few times Chrissy had seen him with it, but she never said anything so he pretended like she didn’t actually pay any attention, or that it just didn’t matter.Bob looked up from his ruminations as the bell over the door of the shop tinkled. As fate would have it, it was Chrissy, coming to work. He gazed at her youthful form, slim, not too busty, with long blond hair she almost always wore in a pony tail. There was some swell to her hips in the last few years. He suddenly realized she was a woman now, and not “Little.
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