Everything will work out,I think, pushing away the doubt. When she gets back from California, you can start fresh.
“Oh,” says Ollie. “Sorry, Violet. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a smile. “We’re working on things.”
We’ll be a real family again. I know we will. We just need time.
I try not to listen to the voice in my head that says,And maybe a miracle.
* * *
With each passing day, I cement my new routine and settle into the next phase of my life—the starting over phase.
Every morning, I run the same route through the neighborhood. I never tire of ogling the enormous homes with infinity pools or the giant boats floating by on the canal, and I start to recognize some of the same people who must live in the affluent community.
I smile at the woman dressed in high-end workout apparel and Dior sunglasses, who pushes her stroller down the sidewalk. I pass the couple who powerwalks through the neighborhood, usually in matching sweatsuits, always dragging their ten-year-old Labrador behind them.
Finally, I reach the older man who sits on his porch most mornings, drinking his coffee and scrolling through his iPad. His lawn is more overgrown than the surrounding ones, and his house could use a good paint job, but even so, his property is impressive. He always glances up as I pass by, and I always offer him a wave and a smile. He never returns it. Only glowers, eyes narrowed, and the tiny white dog beside him whimpers and barks.
I’m not bothered by it, especially when I make good time. Better than good. The best time I’ve made since I started sludging through Florida’s thick, humid air, and when I make it back to the house, I’m dripping sweat and completely out of breath. I collapse on the front steps until I can pull myself together, then head into the house for a glass of water.
Imagine my surprise when I find the kitchen occupied, Landon standing at the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at his phone, his back to me. He’s usually gone by now, and I hesitate, debating if I should back out of the kitchen before he realizes I’m here. I mentally shake myself. Sure, we haven’t interacted sincethe sandwich incident, but I refuse to be scared of him.
Kill him with kindness.
“Good morning!” I say with forced cheer, then grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water. Landon doesn’t respond, but I didn’t expect him to. “I had the most amazing run. I think I’m finally getting used to the humidity, you know? It felt like my feet were flying out there.” I take a long sip from my water glass. “What’s on your agenda today?”
His shoulders stiffen, and slowly, he turns to face me. His dark eyes pass over my sports bra and shorts, something unreadable in his gaze. Something that quickly transforms into distaste. “Don’t tell me you went out in public looking like that.”
I glance down at my outfit, suddenly worried that my shorts are on inside out or something. “Like what?”
“Half-dressed.”
I stare at him, confused. “These are my running clothes. I go out like this every morning.”
He eyes my sports bra like it personally affronted him. “Well, don’t. Not in this neighborhood.”
“Why not?”
He takes a steady sip of coffee. “There are certain standards we have to uphold. You can’t go around dressing so…trashy.”
I school my expression, trying to keep the hurt off my face. I realize I come from nothing compared to this community, and I know I don’t hide it as well as Mel manages to, but I would never think of myself as dressingtrashy. I clear my throat and straighten. I refuse to let this man deflate me.
“Florida’s too hot to wear much more than this,” I say with a shrug. No way will I allow some snobby prick to tell me what I can and can’t wear in ninety-degree heat.
I refill my water glass, waiting for him to respond with another asinine comment, but he doesn’t. He just glares at me with what I’m certain is resentment.
Shutting off the tap, I raise the glass to my lips, refusing to break eye contact first. He must realize what I’m doing, because after a moment, his eyes narrow. I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. Just stares with that stupidly handsome face of his as I finish off the glass of water. The last few drops miss my mouth as I focus on not being the first to blink or look away, and that’s what does it.
His contact breaks. His eyes follow the droplet of water trailing down the side of my chin, down my neck, and right between my cleavage. For one small moment, neither of us moves. And then, as though realizing he’s staring at my chest, his shoulders stiffen, and he abruptly turns, stalking out of the room without another word, taking his coffee with him. A door slams somewhere in the house.
What the fuck was that?
I stare at the space he occupied moments before, wondering what the hell just happened, and then glance at the clock. Panic sets in as I realize I’m running behind, and I rush upstairs, peeling off my sweaty workout clothes and jumping in the shower, speeding through my morning routine. As soon as I’m presentable, I hurry to the car and tear down the highway to make it in time for Sunday brunch.
One of the first groups to enter the dining hall is Christian and his posse, and I stay hidden long enough for Kirsten to seat them in Ollie’s section. Christian hasn’t been at the club in a while, and I don’t want to give him any ideas about requesting me as their server, mostly because I’ve yet to take him up on his date demand.
Despite feeling his eyes on me throughout the morning, the shift starts out easy enough. I have the delightful Mrs. Nantucket seated in my section—though she insists I call her Beatrice—accompanied by her nine-year-old granddaughter, Laura. Jake had groaned when he saw her walk in and straight-out belly-laughed when Kirsten seated her in my section.
