“And a shit ton weirder,” Frankie teased.
“Life has taken some turns.” Ruby’s smile was affectionate. “But you’re not screwing up. Honestly, I’d say you’re killing it.”
Frankie nodded sharply. “Agreed.”
The heat behind my eyes was back, the tears threatening to once again escape. Damn. Would the postpartum emotions ever level out?
Before they took over, thankfully, our wellness concierge, Shea, appeared, holding a clipboard. “It’s time for your citrus espresso detox.”
I’d been to the Thistle Inn a couple of times since I’d moved to Vermont. Once for brunch and a second time for a company event last summer. It was fancy.
New England fancy. Which is not the same as New York fancy.
The facility was in a massive white clapboard mansion, with green shutters and wide porches adorned with baskets of colorful flowers and climbing ivy. The staff dressed in cheery green uniforms, and vintage chandeliers lit the grand lobby, which was filled with overstuffed wingback chairs and shelves lined with impressive looking books.
There were flowers on just about every surface—lavender, wild lupine, and daisies—creating a serene, old money elegance.
Shea led us down the path to a converted barn with arched windows. The view was breathtaking. Every time I looked somewhere new, all I found was beauty.
“We have you booked for the full day of pampering,” Shea said. “You have a private lounge, access to our amenities, and a full schedule of treatments. The chef is preparing some nibbles for you now, and we have multiple hydration options.”
Frankie smirked. With the cut-off tee she’d thrown on over her bikini and colorful tattoos, she looked extremely out of place, but she kept her head high, not the least bit bothered.
Especially once Shea mentioned reiki. For several minutes after, Frankie asked all sorts of questions.
“We use Vermont ingredients in our treatments where we can,” Shea explained. “We have maple sugar scrubs, local honey facials, and herbal soaks with wild chamomile collected on site.”
After we stripped out of our swimsuits and slid into the fluffiest of robes, Shea led us to a sunlit conservatory with wicker lounge chairs. I zoned out while she directed us to the various amenities, too busy taking in the wide expanse of green lawn that led to thick forest and wild mountains.
Close to the mansion, the shrubs and flowers were meticulously maintained and geometrically arranged, but farther out, the landscape got more and more wild. It was what I loved about this area. Maplewood was a quaint, charming town filled with every comfort, but just outside city limits? Pure wilderness. Bears and moose and mountains and waterfalls. Thick forests and the kind of isolation I’d never had the chance to experience in the city.
For the next couple of hours, I was subjected to a detox scrub, a massage, and something called “sound healing” that made me doze off. All of which effectively forced most of the stress out of my body.
The girls and I were enjoying lunch on the terrace in our fluffy robes when Ruby squeaked and pointed across the rolling lawn. “Is that Jasper?”
Frankie lowered her sunglasses, her brows arched. “Jesus H. Christ. That is unfair.”
I followed their line of sight, and my stomach flipped over itself.
Jasper.
He was strolling around the ornate gardens with Vincent strapped to his chest in the baby carrier, bouncing and pointing out flowers and butterflies while our son smiled and kicked.The man was clad in worn jeans and T-shirt, as usual, but the aviators cranked the hotness factor up a couple of notches.
Damn.
“Look at him,” Ruby hissed. “The tattoos. The broad shoulders. And the gentle dad moves. It’s like Mister Rogers and Tom Hardy wrapped up in one sexy package.”
“Mister Rogers?” Frankie cackled. “You’re into Mister Rogers?”
Ruby harrumphed. “I find nontoxic masculinity very attractive. Get some therapy. You’ll understand.”
“I guess that explains why Paul wears so many cardigans,” Frankie teased.
Ruby gave her the middle finger. I was too busy staring at the man still strolling around the grounds to respond.
“Are those tourists taking photos of him?” Ruby asked, a hand shading her eyes. “He’s officially a tourist attraction. Maybe we should make a calendar. We could sell it in my store. It’d sell out in days.”
“I may have just ovulated,” Frankie admitted. “And I’m pretty sure those parts of me are dead. Good thing Ruby’s already pregnant.”
