“No worries. No boys for the rest of the year, right?”
Sophie frowns. I know she still doesn’t believe I mean that.
Then her whole face lights up. “There’s the house! It’scute.”
At the quiet two-way intersection up ahead, beyond the waist-high grass along the ditches and the thickets of trees that go ever on, stands a picture-perfect classic farmhouse. A golden light already glows over the front porch to welcome us, even though it’s not quite dusk.
It is cute. If you’re into picturesquely updated rural farmhouses painted pale olive green with cream trim, storybook red shutters, and casually idyllic flowerbeds.
I’m just way too grumpy to admit it.
“This is beyond stupid,” I mutter as we tromp toward the house; this armful of cider is getting heavy. “I don’t even want to be here, and yet I’m trying to convince a woman who also doesn’t seem to particularly want me here to let me pay her more money so I can stay. Is this the definition of insanity?”
“Then why are you doing it? All week long, all you do is moan about the lack of shopping and sushi restaurants and yoga studios.”
“And coffee bars.”
“Right. How could I forget?”
“I know it probably sounds like I’m just running away. But I’m notexactly. I was just thinking, since Kyle dumped me and all my plans abruptly fell apart, it kinda blasted a giant hole in my schedule for the rest of the summer. I don’t have another location locked down after this. So, maybe extending my lease and staying for a couple more months in Orchard Cove makes sense. The smoothie bar has been doing well.”
“It does make sense when you put it that way.”
“But it’s not a given. I don’t even know if I can convince June.”
“Well, what exactly did she say when you had that chat the other night?”
“I dunno. She called me Cinderella ... something about throwing too many glass slippers at Kyle? It was weird. Plus, I was high, so there was that.”
“Then our job is to convince her,” Sophie says. We’ve reached the driveway, and we make our way toward the porch. “And what better chance are you gonna get to win over some of the local women?”
Of course, to sociable Sophie, it makes perfect sense to crowdsource support for my cause.
“Uh, they know Mason, though. He lives here. His family is entrenched in the community. And maybe they all like him. Maybe theylovehim. How do I compete with the gorgeous lumberjack bartender?”
“Likethis,” Soph says firmly as we climb the front steps. “Mason can’t come to ladies’ night, right?”
The words are barely out of her mouth when the door opens from inside and Bev—of Bev & Bill’s General Store—appears.
Sophie tells me this woman is a wellspring of town gossip, and while I haven’t spoken with her directly yet, I have seen her and her husband going in and out of the store. She’s always wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, very similar to her husband’s, with a couple of bobby pins tucking her salt-and-pepper bangs to one side.
Tonight is no different.
I feel way overdressed in my body-con Aritzia dress and cropped blazer.
“Ladies! I’m so glad you could join us!” She welcomes us in with unbridled delight.
“Us, too!” Sophie says. “Thank you for having us.”
“Come in, come in.” Bev waves us in and Soph hugs the woman like they’re old friends. I follow them inside, hugging my cider like a life preserver.
“This is Trish,” Bev says, introducing us to the petite, curly-haired blonde about our age who hops to her feet in the living room. “Trish lives on Honeymoon Lane, too! Right across from the Grants.”
“I grew up with Layne and Mason,” Trish says. “Layne and I went to school together. But don’t come to me for gossip,” she adds in a very gossipy tone. I almost expect her to wink.
“Oh. Okay?” I say.
“The moms are here,” Bev announces.
