She saved her work, shut off her tablet and laptop, grabbed her phone and her water and went up to bed.
She tiptoed to Willa’s door and listened to see if she was still up. Hard to tell, but she thought she heard the click-clack of fingers on a keyboard. Frankie went to her room and got ready for bed. The lateness was catching up with her, she could feel it. The big meal wasn’t helping, either. As if her body were trying to prove a point, the irrepressible urge to yawn came over her.
Tomorrow, she was going to finish those illustrationsandfinish that portrait of Scout, which she was then going to turn into a T-shirt design for Lucas.
It was a lot to do, but it would be a great test day of what working for herself would be like.
She also needed to bite the bullet and send her resignation letter. That meant she’d need to give a thirty-day notice to where she was renting, too. Moving out of there wasn’t going to be fun. Mostly likely, she’d have to rent a small truck, because she didn’t think she could fit everything in her car.
Maybe she could if she took two trips. She didn’t have a whole lot of furniture that she needed to bring. Not just because this house was furnished. When she and Tom had split up, she’d left a lot behind, relying on donations from friends and thrift shop items to furnish her tiny apartment.
None of that stuff was remotely valuable or sentimental. Maybe she could just leave it behind for whoever had the misfortune to rent that place after her.
That left her clothes, and not all of them would have to come, either. The section of her wardrobe reserved for her job as vice-principal would probably never get worn again. She couldn’timagine when she’d need pantsuits. She sure wasn’t going to be wearing them working from home. Thankfully.
She rubbed moisturizer all over her face, neck, chest, and arms, then did her eye cream.
Some of the dresses, she’d keep. But in the short time she’d been here, she could already feel her style changing. What she wanted most these days was easy sundresses, sandals, and coverups that doubled as evening wear.
That made her chuckle. She turned the light off in the bathroom and climbed into bed. What she should probably do was a big clean-out. A couple of days dedicated to deciding which of her belongings really mattered and what could be given away or donated.
Moving to Hideway Bay was supposed to be her do-over. Her new start. The beginning of her second chapter.
She didn’t want to set out on this next part of her life bogged down with boxes of stuff she was never going to need or even look at. Her books would come with her. The few mementos she had. The photographs, her art supplies, some of the more special gifts she’d been given over the years.
She tipped her head back, thoughts swirling. Material things were nice, but they didn’t carry the same weight they had when she was younger. Those things just didn’t matter anymore. Family. Friends. Happiness. Peace. Companionship. A sense of purpose. That’s what counted to her now. That’s what mattered.
She needed to reach out to Prisha. She didn’t want to lose that connection, especially now that she was going to be living here. In fact, she’d love to meet more of her neighbors.
Frankie turned off the bedside lamp and scooted down under the covers.
What would Harper think about throwing a little party? One that their surrounding neighbors were invited to?
Not Suzanne, obviously. That wasn’t going to happen. But maybe Sugarlynn? As far as they knew, she hadn’t been involved in outing Harper to the press.
Frankie would talk to Harper about it tomorrow, and if she was amenable, then Frankie would see what Lucas thought. And then she’d talk to Prisha. Maybe they could get Mitch and his son to come.
Frankie smiled, thinking about Mitch and Harper’s mysterious smile.
If theyhadn’tbeen up to something, she’d eat her sun hat.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Zzzt…zzzt…zzzt…
Harper slit her eyes open just enough to glare at her vibrating phone. Who on Earth was calling? If it was Mimi Atwell, Harper was not answering. Whatever crisis Mimi was going through, it did not require a personal phone call at…whatever time it was.
She grabbed her phone and looked at the screen. Twelve oh two a.m. And it wasn’t Mimi. “Hello?”
“Harper? Hey, how are you, man?”
She sat up and cleared her sleep-clogged throat. “Jack?” She hadn’t talked to Jack Marsh, Arlington’s youngest son, in some time, but she’d recognize his voice anywhere.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He chuckled softly in that kind of laidback, good-natured way of his. “How are you doing, Harper?”
“I’m, um, well, I was asleep.” She wasn’t awake enough to lie and that wasn’t her style anyway.
“Asleep? Dude, it’s barely nine o’clock.”
