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shirt. Josie's feet remained bare beneath the belled material of her pants. D.J. had the fleeting mental image of Josie shopping in a heavenly thrift store, complete with garments from every era. Perhaps tomorrow the angel would appear in a toga and sandals. She shrugged. What did Josie's clothing matter? No one could see her but D.J. |
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''Are you wearing that?" Josie wrinkled her nose at D.J. as she handed her a travel mug full of coffee. |
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D.J. blinked. Josie was a fine one to be making fashion judgments. "What's wrong with it?" |
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"Well, since you don't have to wear your awful uniform, I thought maybe you'd like to wear something more feminine." When D.J. continued to stare at her in blank amazement Josie tried again. "A skirt? Or a dress?" |
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D.J. gave a snort of laughter. "The only dress I have is black. It's my funeral dress. I wear black flats and my one pair of earrings, also black. Why on earth would I want to wear a dress to pick up McCall at the hospital?" |
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"Well, I just thought . . . He's . . . I mean . . . You and he . . ." Josie spread her hands and shrugged. |
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"Oh, no. No, you don't. Not him. You're not matchmaking me and thatthatwriter. No, sir." D.J. opened the door. "You go right back to your superior, whoever he is, and tell him no way, José." |
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D.J. swallowed the mouthful of hot coffee she'd just sipped, wincing at the burn of the liquid down her throat and into her empty stomach. "Raphael? The painter?" |
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Josie's lips quirked upward in amusement. "Not |
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