“That guy’s an impossible prick who—”
“He is aguest,” she hisses, looking at my parents’ car as if the couple might hear. “And they’re staying all weekend.” She watches as I pull out a heavy rolling suitcase, her gaze trailing from the luggage up to my face. “Don’t you have anything better to do than play chauffeur?”
“I don’t mind.” Actually, I like the excuse to get out of the house—tostayout of the house.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Needed a break.”
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I fear she’ll press further. “I’m surprised you got time off from work.”
“Managed it.”
I don’t want to tell her how my job went spectacularly up in flames. My visa would have granted me a few more months, but I’d burn through my savings looking for curator jobs no one would hire me for. Although I couldn’t stand the smug look on my parents’ faces when I showed up at their doorstep, I had to distance myself—literally—from my old job and make a plan to get my life back on track.
I always wanted to leave a legacy, but this wasn’t it.
“You staying with your folks?” she asks.
“For now.”
“Is that…okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging off her concern. She spent too much of her childhood worried about how my parents treated me. “Hey, at least they’ve given me access to one of their fancy cars.” I load in the luggage, luxuriating for a few moments in the blast of AC. I’m not built for this kind of sweltering heat anymore. “What room should I bring these to, boss?”
“Four. And don’t call me that. We’re not colleagues. This was your idea, so just make them feel super special for their anniversary.”
“Daisy.” I rest a palm on her shoulder, and the contact zips through me. I pull my hand back since the gesture was too close, too familiar. “They’ll get star treatment, and I promise to make The Mirage proud.”
“Thanks.” She stares at me and opens her mouth to say something else, but stops herself with a shake of the head.
“What?”
“Nothing. When do you go back?”
“Soon.” I don’t have an honest answer for that, but I’ll spare her the details. “Didn’t buy a return flight yet.”
Rapid tapping sounds on the car window.
“Well, let me know before you leave. Uh, you can take them to the hotel for now,” Daisy instructs. She said she’s not my boss, but she sounds like one. Formal and matter-of-fact. “I should call the insurance company before you go anywhere else with them.”
I had thought—hoped, maybe—that our messages would mean we could fall back into our old friendship in person. Our relationship isn’t what we had in high school, and that’s a good thing, I guess. That would only make my eventual departure tougher. All the more reason for me to figure out my life and get the hell out of Harlow as quickly as I can.
Chapter Four
Daisy, Now
My best friend holds out her phone, smiling at the Instagram photo of her crystal shop. This one has hundreds of likes and comments, putting anything I’ve ever shared to The Mirage’s account to shame.
“Of quartz we hope to see you this weekend,” I read out loud. “Cute. So I should write short and snappy captions?”
“Sometimes.” Gwen leans over the lobby counter, scrolling through her posts. “Longer, honest ones can work well, too. I vary it based on my mood.”
I’d love buzz for The Mirage, but posting online is the first task I ignore when other to-dos pile up, which is always. Thankfully, Gwen offered to share some tips and tricks she learned from her social media manager. My budget is tight, so I can’t hiremy own—not until I take care of the termite damage in the barn and finally tackle the HVAC maintenance I’ve been putting off. Maybe this is a last-ditch effort for a moment of virality, but I’ll do anything to keep The Mirage going. Between Gwen’s generosity and Max swooping in to play taximan, I’ve reached my limit of accepting favors, though.
Thank god the Hollises kept him busy, so he wasn’t on the property distracting me all weekend. He never mentioned how long he’d be in town, and after he took the guests back to LA last night, I haven’t heard from him. Maybe he’s getting in quality time with his sister; maybe he’s halfway around the world, setting up another museum. Although it stings to think he wouldn’t say goodbye, I need to let him return to his life so we can both get back to the more comfortable, candid voicemail game that we play.
“You okay?” My friend rests a hand over mine as she searches my face. “You seem—”
