“You know what they say about best-laid plans?”
“I do. But I will hold firm to mine.”
“All right, then, there’s no harm in being friends. You’ve got a big decision to make, and in my experience, that’s much easier to do when you take a step back from the pressure. Let me help you with that.”
“Help me how?” She tilts her head.
“Are you always this skeptical, Blue?”
“Blue? Did you just give me a nickname?”
“Guess so.” I shrug. It popped out, and I’m not calling it back. “For your eyes—they’re unusual, almost navy. Never seen that color before. Unique, like a work of art.”
“Hm. Now that sounds like a pick-up line.”
“It was meant sincerely. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine either,” she quips, maybe even enjoying herself. “But to answer yours, I am initially distrusting until I understand a person’s motives.”
“Fair enough. My motive is simple. We have many spectacular views in Bayside,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “I’m offering to indulge your love of photography and encourage you to relax by being your friendly tour guide.”
“Uh-huh.” She raises one brow. “Do you offer this tour-guide service to all your Airbnb guests?”
“Nope.” I grin. “It’s strictly a VIP deal, providing a break from all the heavy thinking and guaranteeing a fun adventure to help you see things clearer.”
Lexie chews on her bottom lip, worrying over the decision. After what feels like a lifetime of me holding my breath, she replies, “That does sound good as long as you understand that they’re non-dates.”
“Got it.” I struggle not to pump my fist in the air. But my grin widens at the prospect of spending time with her. Lexie is a fascinating collection of opposites. Sophisticated yet down-to-earth. Guarded yet opens up at her own pace. Serious yet often smiles. She has a dry wit that sneaks up on you. I don’t know what to make of her. She’s a woman of many layers, and I want nothing more than to peel back each one and discover what makes her tick.
If friendship is our starting place, so be it. It is the root of many great romances. Val and Eva have been happily married for almost forty years, and they started out as friends.
“How about this evening?” I suggest. “There’s a spot with a sunset view that you just have to see. I could pick you up at five.”
“If you tell me where we’re going, I can meet you there.”
“Door-to-door service is included in the package.”
She hesitates a moment, then says, “All right. I’ll see you at five.”
“Wear your snowpants.”
Well, that hadn’t gone as planned. I was supposed to drop off the photos, grab a coffee, and leave. But that grin gets me every time. He’s, in a word—irresistible. My guard collapsed somewhere between the easy conversation and agreeing to go out with him—as friends.
Because, really, my attraction is ridiculous. I can only assume that all this new idle time has allowed space for him to preoccupy my thoughts.
Until recently, I’d been burning the candle—make that a torch—at both ends. I had attended countless social events at my mother’s insistence, helped my then-boyfriend Richard get his medical practice off the ground, and worked grueling hours for my father as the vice president of public relations.
My job often requires me to spin unwelcome news and massage inconvenient facts—not lie, but mold and reframe them into a more perfect truth.
Something I’ve been doing my entire life.
But trying to be everything to everyone was like juggling fine china in the air. Eventually, the plates started to wobble, and before I knew it, they all came crashing down. I was drained—exhausted. After a long day, I just wanted to crawl under the covers and never get up.
Despite repeated urgings from Jordyn and Dee to see a doctor, I wasn’t compelled until I found a tiny lump at the base of my throat. Dr. West ordered blood tests and an MRI. What she found rocked me to my core. I wasn’t just rundown. I had a thyroid tumor the size of a peanut. She called it a “nodule” and ordered a “precautionary” biopsy. Neither word eased my fears. I scoured every article I could find.Nodules of two centimeters or less are often benign; however . . .It was the “however” that terrified me the most.
Eight nerve-wracking days later, Dr. West confirmed the tumor wasn’t cancerous. The outcome was medication to regulate my hormones and a follow-up in six months.I’d gotten lucky. But it served as a major wake-up call. I’d spent years putting everyone’s needs ahead of my own—my health, my wants, my dreams, everything. I couldn’t do it anymore.
Over dinner with my parents, where their private chef prepared poached trout and shaved asparagus spears, I blurted out: “I’m breaking off with Richard and taking some time away. Neither Richard nor Townsen Industries is the right fit for me. I realize this is sudden, but I intend to take the next six weeks to figure out what I want.”
