He takes my hands in his, stopping my game. “What if I like the idea of you spending an afternoon at A Touch Of Grace to rest and relax? I don’t know why you make such a fuss about it. If you won’t do it for you, do it for me.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Lane says as she barges into the kitchen, flashing a fake smile at her brother.
“Back me up, Laney,” Noah growls. “Willow needs some time away from the store.”
Lane nibbles on a grape and narrows her eyes on us. “I saw Cruella lurking around the store the other day. You might want to stay away for now and hide at Grace’s. Who knows what she’s capable of.”
Noah tenses. “Gail was here again?! Are you sure?”
Lane nods. “The whole street stank of her perfume.”
An uneasy feeling creeps in—the memory of the pungent fragrance floating at the store, the day Mom mentioned not being introduced to my “mother-in-law.”
Noah steps away from me. Hands in his pockets, he stares out the window. “Beck said he saw her earlier this summer.”
My mouth dries up. I can rationalize Gail snooping around town right after our wedding. But now that our marriage couldn’t be more real, what is she up to?
I hate keeping secrets, but we can’t talk about this in front of Lane. Any talk of Gail gets us dangerously close to discussing the estate—and our marriage.
Too much is at stake.
With a shrug, Noah paces to the fridge and pulls out some squash patties. “Babe, get us some plates?” he asks me. “Lane, why don’t you pour us all a little wine, yeah?” he says as he coats a pan in olive oil. “I want to hear all about Burlington.”
Lane’s cheeks tint slightly as she pours some white wine for Noah and me, and apple cider for herself.
Noah’s eyes narrow on his sister. “Early interview tomorrow morning?” he asks, making a false assumption about her choice of drink.
“Yup!” she squeals. “Not holding my breath, though. This one’s for an online gossip magazine.” Right then her phone alarm sets off with a meow, saving her from inventing more lies. “M&Ms! It’s potty time!” she says cheerfully. Lane has appointed herself official potty-training schedule keeper. “They react to the sound of the alarm,” she remarks with a chuckle. “Look at them!” Calla seems to be laughing at us while Muffin, Maple, and Myrtle trot to the kitchen door.
“I don’t get why she has a cat sound for the dog alarm,” Noah remarks as Lane goes out with the dogs.
“It’s so they like cats!” Lane cries from outside.
Noah shrugs. “A’right then.”
When the food is ready and Lane and the pups are back inside, Noah sits next to me at the island. “So? The spa? It’s settled, right? You’ll go?”
Not this again!“Care to explain your obsession with the spa?”
“No! No, I don’tcare to explain,” he answers, bordering on exasperated. “I want my wife to go get some me time at the spa,” he says, pulling his phone out.
I stay silent.
“Unless there’s a good reason not to go.”
Plenty of reasons. It feels too much. I’ve never been. It’s superfluous. “Pretty sure Grace is closing in a couple of days because of her wedding.”
“It’s settled, then. Tomorrow.” He pockets his phone, then gives me his slow smile, the one that goes straight from my heart to between my legs, always leaving me all sorts of confused. “You’re all booked. Bring a swimsuit.”
Grace’s salon is a short walk from Lilyvale, on the other side of The Green. It’s located in a Georgian mansion that she entirely decorated to turn into a beauty and wellness haven. There’s even a hair salon in one room, and a nail specialist in another. She has two rooms for facials now, and a cute three-season deck to sip cucumber water after a treatment.
She recently expanded her second floor to add more massage and meditation rooms. Cinnamon- and orange-scented candles create a warm and energizing atmosphere, and I recognize a Noah Kahan tune softly drifting from the speakers.
My friend greets me with a hug and walks me upstairs. “You’re booked for the whole Touch of Grace experience,” she says as she hands me a plush robe and slippers with her salon’s logo, then takes me to my own dressing room, that comes with a key on a velour rope. Inside the room I find a thick paper with my name on it.
Willow C.’S personalized menu of treatments.
Infrared sauna
