They’re hopeless. “Yeah, sure, Dad.” I wiggle. My damp skirt’s sticking to my leg. “I need to change.”
“I’m sure you can when you get there,” Mom says. “We called because Ava’s mom said you were running late.”
Lord, give me patience.Ava mustn’t have informed her erratic mother that she asked me to stop.
“Well, it’s Ava’s fault. She wanted the ICEE. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, honey. Text us when you get there, and we’ll see you for the wedding on Saturday.”
“Dad, I just said I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Why do I need to text you in fifteen minutes?”
“That’s plenty of time to get in an accident or become stranded or hit a deer or any number of other things.”
“Thanks for the happy, reassuring thoughts.”
“No problem. Don’t forget to text.”
“Fine.”
“Love you.”
“You too.”
They hang up, and I force myself to loosen my grip on the steering wheel. I let out a breath. I’ve got this.
It’s smooth sailing from here. The worst is behind me. I just need to get to Carlton Landing and survive a long, hot wedding weekend in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma.
No problem.
CHAPTER TWO
MORGAN
Fifteen minutes later, I veer off Highway 9 and through the main entrance to Carlton Landing. Not bad. A low whistle sneaks out. Pretty grand stuff for a lakeside community in the boondocks. Two stately shiplap and honey-wood framed pillars flank the road.
Huh.
My blue-streaked car creeps through a dry forest where red dirt rock and spindly trees fight for real estate alongside a winding, uphill drive. I don’t pass a single car and begin to think perhaps this was some sort of joke—just kidding, there aren’t any houses back here. Then I crest a hill and roll along near the edge of a cliff overlooking what must be Lake Eufaula far below.
“Oh, wow.” I power down my window.
A manicured grassy landing nestles between the cliff’s edge and the road, and four white Adirondack chairs form a happy row facing the lake and miles of forest.
I press deeper into my seat, suppressing a strong desire to jump out of my car, run across the grass, and peer over the ledge. Maybe sit a while. Leave my phone in the car. Forget about weddings, past and present.
But I’m already thirty minutes late.
I round the next corner. The road takes a dip toward the lake and runs parallel to the water, though the trees hide it from view. Then a few rooftops poke through the trees, and my jaw drops when my tires bump over a narrow stone bridge and Carlton Landing spreads before me, offering adorable houses, their picturesque porches inviting with rocking chairs or dangling swings. I pass a pickleball court tucked away in the trees and a community pool perfect to laze away a warm evening.
My lousy mood vanishes.
In town, I turn past a tiny school to a restaurant called The Meeting House. And there’s Ava outside on the stone patio, all radiant beside her fiancé, Hudson. Crisscrossing lines of strung lights sparkle over tables and catch the highlights in her blonde hair as she waves, jumping up and down on her toes.
Laughing, I wave back. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
She directs me to pull off the main road and park out back. Then she cuts through the patio, trots over, and wraps me in a hug when I slide from my seat. “You made it! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Of course I made it. And”—I bend into my car—“I brought your something blue.”
