“I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to tip her off. “You’re just way better at this than I am.”
“You’re doing great, really. The Facebook page has holiday wishes every year, and you update followers about inclement weather, like flash floods. But something my social media gal always says is to crowdsource from others to make posting easier.”
“Like stock photos?”
“No, actual visitors. Think of all the guests who’ve stayed here, or the professional photographers who have shot weddings at The Mirage.”
The money from hosting weddings in the barn is a nice boost since the newlyweds have to do a full buyout. I’ve secretly enjoyed not having them as I figure out renovations, though, because they’re stressful as hell. I wish we didn’t have to rely on them for income. Handling someone’s most important day oftheir life involves way more than turndown service and wake-up calls.
“Or…” Gwen taps on her phone a few times, pulling up some stunning photos of the property that I’ve never seen before. Mr. Hollis has his arms wrapped around Mrs. Hollis like they’re about to go to prom, the sun setting behind them in a radiant display of oranges and pinks.
“Did they send these?”
“They tagged you. See?”
With my bb in Harlow <3 Had a rocky start to the weekend (literally lol) but u know how it is, always an adventure w/ this 1! Big love to The Mirage for hooking us up with a driver and for being the most aesthetic ever. Perf for a romantic getaway. Xx
“These are gorge.” Gwen’s mouth hangs agape. “Oh my goddess, I’m falling in love with this town all over again, seeing these pics.”
She swipes to a selfie with three people. Max stands tall, sandwiched between the Hollises as they grin wide at the camera. He can make friends with a wood cabinet, so it’s not shocking they enjoyed the weekend with him. Max loves people, and people love Max.
Most people, at least. My pulse sprints, and if I could burn all of Instagram so Gwen never saw that photo, I would.
“Babes.” She sets the phone down and places both palms on her chest. “I knew your vibes were off.”
“My vibes are fine.” I sigh because my ever-attentive, emotionally in-tune friend wants to overanalyze this.
“What was he doing with yourclients?”
“He sort of appeared on Friday and saved me in a pinch.”
“Like an apparition?”
“Kind of.”
“And you didn’t mention this to me because…” She draws out the last word, giving me the chance to fill in the blank.
“I didn’t want to upset you. And it wasn’t important.” I adjust one of the small succulents on the counter, wishing she’d let this go. “I couldn’t care less.”
“Let me guess, he left a message after the beep?”
I shoot her a look. Mom and Gwen knew what happened in Dublin, but my best friend is the only person who knows about the voicemails. She never said so, but I got the sense that she didn’t like me talking to him again. I don’t knowwhyit feels so good to share what’s going on in my life with Max, but somehow, the distance and time made our back-and-forth messages a safe space for me.
“So…how are you feeling?” she asks.
“Fine.”
She assesses me. “I only knew him for a few years in high school, but you knew him your whole childhood. What’s he doing here?”
“Hanging out with his family, I think.” I recall his short voicemail from the other day. His messages have always been calm and relaxed—like he found some time and curled up on the couch to update me on his life. His last voicemail seemed different, though. Strained.
“He’ll head home soon,” I go on. “Back to Ireland. And then things will be normal again.”
“I’m worried about you. You were a mess when you got back.”
My heart jumps into my throat at the memory. Breaking off communication with him was like letting all the oxygen leave the room. But I made the right choice.
“Please don’t worry about that.” I deflect her attention away from Max. “What you should worry about is my social media accounts.”
