17
Presley
By the time she showers and dresses for work, Presley has recovered from her humiliation. She drives to the inn instead of walking, making a detour by 237 Hillside Drive to slip a flyer for the homecoming party in the mail slot. She’s been holding off inviting Rita and the girls to the party. Before, she was a stranger to them. Now, she’s the girl who fell on her face in front of their house. Now that she’s broken the ice with them, she’s ready to make their acquaintance.
Presley’s curiosity about the occupants of 237 has grown. Abigail and Emma seem so different. What makes them tick? What other sports does Abigail enjoy? What makes Emma so guarded? Do they have boyfriends? Where do they want to go to college?
Presley’s mind drifts as she imagines the inside of the house. What if she’d taken Rita up on her offer of first aid? Would Rita have invited Presley inside to the sunny yellow kitchen of Presley’s imagination? Would Rita have told Presley more about herself while she nursed her wounds with Neosporin and Band-Aids? Would Presley have blurted, “I think you might be my biological mother?”
A car horn jerks Presley out of her reverie. The red light in front of her has turned green. Waving at the person in the car behind her, she turns left onto Main Street and continues toward the inn.
There’s only a slim chance Rita and the girls will come to the party. But Presley will be on the lookout for them, and if, by some stroke of luck, they show up, she’ll use the opportunity to give them a tour of the inn.
She arrives before anyone else for the meeting in Stella’s office. Even Stella is nowhere to be seen. Making herself comfortable at the conference table, she opens her laptop and accesses her inbox. She’s humming one of Everett’s tunes while scrolling through emails when Lucy enters the office.
“Someone’s in a good mood.” Lucy eases into the seat next to Presley. “What gives? You’re practically radiating. Who’s the lucky guy? A certain bartender I know?”
“How’d you—”
“I recognized the attraction the first time I saw you two together.” Lucy smiles.
Presley sees no point in lying to her. Aside from Everett, Lucy’s her closest friend in town. “Okay, fine. You’re right. Everett and I hooked up last night. Only it was more than a hookup. It was incredible. I think he might be the one, Lucy.”
“Lesson number one,” Lucy says, holding up her pointer finger. “Never mistake lust for love.”
Presley snaps her laptop shut. “Give me some credit, Lucy. I’m thirty years old. I’ve been in love before.”
“Mm-hmm. With whom?” she asks in a skeptical tone. Lucy either doesn’t believe what Presley experienced before was love or thinks she’s too young to have ever been in love.
Chin out, Presley says, “My college boyfriend.”
“And what happened to that relationship?”
“He moved to New York after graduation and found someone new.”
Lucy targets that same pointer finger at Presley. “See! Men are not to be trusted. Which is lesson number two. Take it from someone who knows. I’m the ex-wife of an untrustworthy man. My son, Chris, is still innocent, but it’s only a matter of time before he becomes one too.”
Lucy rarely mentions her ex, and Presley has been waiting for the right opportunity to ask about her divorce. “I never realized you were so cynical about love. What happened to your marriage?”
“That’s a long story,” Lucy says with a sigh. “I’ll tell you about it sometime over a glass of wine. Well, I’ll have wine and you can have tea.”
“Better yet, why don’t you tell me over lunch?”
Lucy considers the idea. “Let’s do it. And we can expense it if we go to the new sandwich shop that just opened on the other end of Main. One of Cecily’s friends has been raving about their sesame-ginger chicken salad. Cecily is dying for one of us to try it out.”
Presley claps her hands. “Undercover! I love it. Can you go today?”
Lucy shakes her head. “Sorry. I have to go to my son’s school for an awards ceremony.”
“That’s exciting. What kind of award is Chris getting?”
“An English one. It appears as though my son is on his way to becoming the next Ernest Hemingway.” Lucy pulls her phone out, accessing her calendar. “Tomorrow we have the meeting with the tent company at noon. What about Friday for lunch?”
“It’s a date! Twelve o’clock on Friday,” Presley says and creates an event in her electronic calendar.
Everett walks in just at that moment. “Where are the two of you going on Friday?”
“To lunch,” Lucy says. “But don’t worry. I won’t steal her away from you.”
Presley glares at Lucy. Why would she say that to him? Now he thinks Presley was blabbing to Lucy about their sexual encounter last night.
She casts a tentative glance at Everett and is relieved when he kisses the top of her head. “I’m glad you told her about us. Do you think Stella will approve of our workplace relationship?”
When Naomi saunters in, Presley mumbles, “Stella’s not the one we have to worry about.”
“So, Everett, I just got off the phone with your friend from Atlanta. He booked two rooms for this weekend. I convinced him to stay through Sunday to attend the party.”
Presley observes the color draining from Everett’s face. Why is Everett afraid of the friend from Atlanta?
“Great!” Everett says in a deadpan tone. “I look forward to pouring him some drinks.”
Stella arrives within seconds of Naomi, bringing with her a gush of chilly air and the scent of pine. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve been down at the spa. The building is taking shape. I can’t wait for you guys to see it. And wonderful news! Jack thinks he might finish early, in March instead of April.”
Naomi grunts. “When have you ever known a contractor to finish a project early?”
Stella presses her lips
