CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MILLY
On Monday morning a car pulled up to Milly’s house earlier than expected, but the garage, or rather, the guest cottage, as she was now calling it, was all ready for them. She’d just taken a date-and-nut loaf out of the oven and had fresh-squeezed lemonade in a pitcher waiting, as she expected the girls to be hungry and thirsty after their drive down from Los Angeles. She slipped off her apron, stepped into her pumps, and freshened her lipstick before she opened the door to greet them. It was silly, she thought, but she wanted to look good for them—chic and stylish. But it wasn’t them. This car was full of boys, young men, actually, and they pulled into the open parking spot outside her house, squinting in the sunlight at the numbers painted on Milly’s house.
“This parking spot is taken,” Milly called out from her doorstep. “I have guests arriving who’ll be pulling up here shortly. Try a little farther down, where there’s plenty of space.” She tried to wave them on, but they killed the engine and the young men started piling out of the red convertible, seven of them from a car that was clearly meant to seat five, and they began unloading bags onto the sidewalk.
“Mrs. Kincaid?” One of them said as he walked up the garden path to Milly’s front door and held out his hand.
“Yes?”
“Hello, ma’am, I’m Johnny Walsh.” He took off his sunglasses. “Lovely house you have here.”
“Johnny?” Milly said, confused. “I’m expecting a Rosie and her two friends.”
“Oh, sure thing. Rosie is Mikey’s girl.” He pointed back to a young man with jet-black hair pulling a duffel bag from the trunk. “She was nice enough to find us a place to stay. The girls are staying on the peninsula near the Rendezvous Ballroom, lucky dogs. We were a little late to get our act together and book a place, so we got stuck on the island, but we’re just happy to be here. It’s going to be a great week.”
“But you’re men!”
“Yes, that we are,” he said with a wink. “But we’re very well-behaved men, and we won’t cause you a lick of trouble. In fact, you’ll barely even know we’re here. Oh, and before I forget…” He reached into his pocket and handed her a wad of cash. “Here’s what we owe you.”
Milly took the cash and stared at it, then quickly tucked it into the pocket of her blue-and-white-gingham dress, because standing there with money in her hands while seven men descended on her felt somehow indecent.
“Now, hold on a minute,” she said as they all started walking through her gate and toward her front door. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding. This is not the guest cottage; it’s out back.” She pointed to a gate that led down the side of her house and out to the cottage in the back. The boys, or men rather, filed past her one by one, each nodding to her as they went. “Hello, Mrs. Kincaid… I’m Mikey. Great to meet you, ma’am, I’m Wesley. Thank you so much for having us, I’m Luke.…” And on they went, reciting names that she couldn’t possibly remember.
She stood for a moment, after they’d all headed to the back, to see if any of her neighbors had seen the stream of men flood her front yard, but no one was out on the sidewalk, and she didn’t notice anyone peeking out from behind their curtains, but that would just be a matter of time, she thought, and what on earth would she tell Lloyd about all of this?
“I think there’s been a mistake,” she said, chasing after them, heading in through the door of the cottage. “This place is only big enough for three, maybe four, tops.”
“Don’t worry about us, Mrs. Kincaid. We’re going to be at the beach all day and out dancing all night,” Johnny said. “I promise, you won’t even know we’re here.”
How could she not notice that seven young, handsome men were squeezed into her little garage/guest cottage and beaming at her expectantly? They’d come all this way with their duffel bags, and she hardly wanted to be the killjoy that ruined their vacation. It felt like just yesterday that she’d been that age—carefree, looking for fun.
“Mrs. Kincaid?” Johnny said.
“All right,” she said and shrugged. “If you can manage in here, all seven of you, then be my guests. But it will be tight. I’ll bring some more towels from the main house, and I have a date-and-nut loaf fresh out of the oven and some lemonade.” The boys groaned with anticipation.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid, we’re starving,” one of them said.
She shook her head and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
As she walked into her house, she did wonder if she should let the neighbors know about the misunderstanding, but she thought it was probably best to leave things alone. Besides, it seemed quite common for local residents to rent out their guesthouses or extra bedrooms, so maybe this wouldn’t be such a catastrophe after all.
She carried a tray of sliced nut loaf and lemonade to the guest cottage, and the boys just about lunged for it.
“This is delicious,” Mikey said.
“Best nut loaf of my life,” Luke said. “Don’t tell my mother I said that.”
“That lemonade—” Wesley said, gulping it down. “I didn’t know how thirsty I was.”
“Made from fresh lemons,” Milly said, pointing to the small lemon tree growing outside the guest cottage window. She warmed at the sight of them all gushing over her baking skills, watching them eat and drink as if they hadn’t been fed in weeks, seeing someone grateful forthe effort she’d made. It had been so long since anyone had thanked her for anything, really.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Let me know if you need something. I’m in the house just there.” She pointed. “But this is a quiet neighborhood, and I’m new to the area, so I don’t want to be bothering my neighbors. You’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”
They all nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am,” a few said.
Maybe she’d make them meatballs tonight, she thought, as she crossed the yard to her kitchen door, even though dinner was not supposed to be included in the rent. She’d be cooking for Jack and Debbie, anyway, so what harm would it do to cook a few dozen more? She delivered the towels and a few extra pillows, then set off to the market to buy several more pounds of ground beef.
