“I decided to retire.”
She arched a sculpted brow. “Why would you do that?” she asked in the scandalized tone she’d have used if he’d announced he wanted to become a swamp person.
“I take it you’re not a fan of retirement?”
“Goodness, no! Why would anyone give up meaningful work?”
“To do other meaningful things.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixty-four.”
Far too young to retire! “What do you do with your time?”
“Spend it with my kids and grandkids—”
“Braggart.”
“—Volunteering, exercising, reading, hanging out with friends.”
“Hiking and camping?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.” Granola.
“I saw your hand creams on display in a store window downtown last week. The salesman said your company’s a huge success.”
After two years of wallowing in romantic movies and wine following her divorce, she’d gone on a spending spree. She’d dumped swaths of Felix’s money into luxurious spa getaways, Botox, designer clothes, shoes, handbags, and lingerie.
Her revenge had proven empty. Ultimately, she’d realized that the only true and lasting revenge would be to make something of herself. Even as a preschooler, she’d had the soul of a business tycoon. Combining that with her love of hand creams, she’d started Lavish.
Gradually, she’d grown her company the old-fashioned way—beginning small and scaling it through hard work. She’d kept her persona away from her business. Only the people of Groomsport and her employees knew thattheFiona Camden was Lavish’s owner and CEO. That way, her image couldn’t tank her company. More than that, the separation between her identity and her business ensured that no one, especially not her, could say that Lavish’s success had anything to do with the Camden family or their money.
“My company’s doing very well,” she said modestly. She always downplayed verbally the success that she was, privately, fiercely proud of. “It keeps me busy, so now that you’re retired maybe I can hire you to be my cook and grocery shopper.” She was only half kidding.
“I hate to ruin my image as the consummate family man, but I don’t cook very well.”
“How are you at grocery shopping?”
“Average.”
“Housekeeping? I could hire you to do that.”
“Are you offering me employment because you’re concerned about my financial status?” he asked with obvious amusement. “To put your mind at ease, I don’t need to take on work as anyone’s housekeeper to make ends meet.”
“Pity.”
“But I really am glad I had the chance to reconnect with an old friend.”
“Just so you know,” she said, “I don’t approve of the word ‘old’ attached to me in any way. I turned my back on that adjective in 2013.”
His amusement grew. “Noted.”
Remy hadn’t seen Jeremiah for three days.
She’d intentionally put space between them and focused instead on Wendell. She’d been taking her friend to dialysis, taking him to a diner for blueberry cobbler, taking him to Marden’s because he loved the store even though the last thing he needed was more stuff. Also working on his trainwreck of a house and his hunt for his lost love, Marisol.
