Everything Astrid didn’t want to be but felt trapped into being anyway.
The feeling wasn’t new, but it had been growing as of late, ever since her breakup with Spencer. Well, no, before that even. Maybe it had always been there. Hell, she didn’t know.
Ending things with her fiancé last summer was supposed to be a step forward, the beginning of Astrid understanding, finally, who she was and what she wanted. But if anything, she’d only felt more lost since her engagement ended. She didn’t regret not marrying Spencer. Not for a second. But she couldn’t seem to find her footing since then.
And now with this Everwood Inn mess...
“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath, “you’re right. I just need to relax.”
As Claire pulled into Birdie’s parking lot, the neon lights of the course brightening the night sky, Astrid smiled at her reflection in the window, forcing the corners of her mouth a little wider so it looked real.
THE PUTT-PUTT COURSEwas like something right out of Disneyland. Each of the eighteen holes had a theme—pirates, deserts, mermaids, jungles, futuristic cities—and was elaborately designed andexecuted. Inside the building, where you paid and got your clubs and balls, there was also a full bar named Bogey’s where golfers could order beer, wine, and cocktails, all served in convenient plastic cups with handles, lids, and straws.
Astrid had to admit, the place was pretty amazing, if a bit tacky—Isabel would never be caught dead at a place like this, much less alive and in her latest Jimmy Choos. The thought made Astrid feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
A feeling that quickly dissipated when she spotted Jordan and Simon waiting for them by the bar. Fairy lights strung from hooks in the ceiling, along with backlit shelves full of bottles, cast them and the few other patrons in a soft amber glow. Jordan had on a pair of black skinny jeans cuffed at the ankle and a blue, short-sleeved button-up shirt patterned with little lemons. Her hair was amazing—the buzzed side looked freshly shorn, the longer locks swooping over her forehead in golden-brown waves. She had on her customary raspberry-red lipstick and perfect winged eyeliner.
She looked amazing. Had Astrid ever looked that effortlessly cool? She glanced down at the russet blouse she’d tucked into her high-waisted jeans, her cognac ankle boots that went with everything, and felt suddenly like she was back in high school again, questioning every single thing she put on her body.
“Hiya,” Iris called, and waved, pulling Jillian along by the hand toward the Everwoods. Simon had on a hunter-green long-sleeved Henley and dark jeans, his glasses and messy hair making him look every bit the literary author that he was.
Introductions were made—Iris taking the lead, of course—drinks were ordered, balls and clubs rented. Astrid sipped her white wine and ambled toward the French doors that led outside to the course. They were thrown open, letting in the unseasonably warm April night air.
She knew she needed to talk with Jordan more about the inn, butthe very idea of being alone with the woman again made her stomach feel like it was packed full of lightning bolts. Still, their almost-argument earlier had left her unsettled and anxious, two feelings she knew far too well lately, and if she was ever going tounclench, as Iris so decorously put it, she needed to clear the air.
She squared her shoulders, determined, and took another gulp of courage-giving alcohol before she spun on her heel to face her group.
And smacked right into Jordan Everwood.
Again.
Jordan’s beverage—red wine, by the looks of it—burst right out of her flimsy plastic cup and splashed over her lemony shirt.
“Oh my god,” Astrid said. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me get you some napkins.” She hurried over to the bar where the rest of the group was still gathering their drinks, totally unaware of what just happened. She grabbed a handful of brown napkins and rushed back to Jordan, who was just standing there with a sort of resigned look on her face.
“Well, I guess this is what karma looks like,” she said, dabbing at her possibly ruined shirt.
“What?” Astrid said.
Jordan waved between them. “I spill on your favorite dress, you spill on my favorite shirt.”
Astrid winced. “It’s your favorite?”
Jordan shrugged. “Second favorite.”
“I’m really sorry.” So much for proving she was a decent human. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
Jordan snorted a laugh at that, then waved a napkin through the air before uselessly blotting at her chest again. Her shirt had three buttons undone at the top and Astrid caught a glimpse of purple lace. A few drops of red wine disappeared into her cleavage.
Astrid swallowed and looked away, eyes searching for her best friends to come and save her from this hell. Claire was busy whisperingwith both Iris and Delilah in a tight little circle, while Simon and Jillian stood off to the side and talked about who-the-hell-even-cared-what as they sipped their beer and bourbon respectively. She was on her own here, which was just as well. No need to embarrass herself even further in front of the entire group. She just needed to figure things out with Jordan about the inn.
Trouble was, she had no idea how to handle anything about this situation. Her anger from this morning had faded, leaving her equal parts embarrassed that Jordan had witnessed Natasha calling her designsuninspiredand clueless about how to fix it. She felt suddenly lost and overwhelmed. She knew it was juvenile—she was thirty years old and a professional, for god’s sake—but she was starting to believe you were never too old to feel lonely, to wonder where you belonged in the world.
She turned back to Jordan, who had finished cleaning up and was proceeding to down the rest of the wine in her broken cup.
“You could get me back by kicking my ass at putt-putt,” Astrid said. She didn’t know where the idea came from. She hadn’t even wanted Jordan here tonight, but suddenly, a mini-golf challenge seemed like the only way forward with Jordan Everwood.
Jordan finished knocking back her wine and eyed Astrid. “Oh?”
