I’m going to marry Hope Goodwin, even if it takes years for her to realize we’re meant to be together. She’s worth the wait.
We step up to the window to order and wait off to the side.
“I saw my shot, and I took it,” I say to Ruby.
“Hope’s one of my best friends. If you’re not serious?—”
“I’ve never been more serious, Ruby.”
“Oh my God. You love her.”
Not a question. A realization.
“Wasn’t that obvious? Why else do you think I’d agree to be her tagalong for this? I’m allergic to party planning. And you could have just as easily demoted yourself and been Hope’s sidekick instead of me. Why did you pick me?”
Ruby shifts, looking away, as though I’ve hit on something. Maybe this was a setup all along. Just one that escalated a little more quickly than my sister anticipated. She studies me for several uncomfortable seconds, as though trying to pick apart a lie. Of course she doesn’t answer my question.
“You know the whole town knows this is fake, right?”
“So?”
“So, you might hit some bumps in the road if you don’t navigate this properly.”
“I’m aware.”
Our names are called, and I retrieve a carrier filled with three coffees and one pup cup for Gram.
“Hey, what does Hope do exactly?” I ask Ruby once I rejoin her near a picnic table. It’s a little chilly, but there’s no wind. And Gram is having a hay day in the snow. So much so he’s oblivious to the treat waiting for him. “I should probably know in case Hillary asks me.”
“You have to ask Hope.”
I’ve been trying, but I’ve been met with redirection every time I bring it up. I bet it has something to do with what’sbehind that locked door in her house. My imagination has run wild with possibilities—some tame, some dangerous, some downright erotic. Maybe Hope Goodwin, lover of Christmas and Hallmark movies, secretly supplies Daisy Hills with sex toys.
“Is it top secret?” I ask.
“Something like that,” Ruby says, her attention moving behind me as her flat expression lifts to a smile. She waves at someone—no doubt one of her many clients she’s built custom gardens for—and exchanges a few words.
“You really won’t tell me?” I ask once she finishes her chat.
I catch a glimpse of Hope and Sabrina near the front entrance. It’s good to see Hope smile without her sister suffocating her happiness. Hillary decided to treat herself to a spa day rather than share a back seat with Gram again while Hope consulted with vendors for the upcoming party tomorrow night.
“It’s not my secret to share. If Hope wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
Hope shakes Sabrina’s hand and starts to walk our way. Gram perks, his ears standing at attention as he watches her approach.
“But I will say this, Marshall.”
“What?”
“Hope is one of my best friends. If you hurt her, I’m not above chopping up your body and using it for fertilizer in my garden.”
I shudder at the threat. “I believe you.”
“Good.” She flashes me a look, and adds, “And good luck.”
“Did someone get a pup cup?” Hope asks, nodding at the cup of whipped cream with a bone-shaped treat sticking out of it. Gram was so preoccupied—first with the snow, then with Hope approaching—that he’s yet to notice the treat. But at Hope’s mention ofpup cup, he damn near loses his mind.
“You put the quarter in him, you get the honors,” I say, handing her the cup.
