“Okay.” I fold my arms. “How can I help you, Inger?”
“I feel like you never got a proper welcome to Cape Georgeana.”
Being appointed to this committee doesn’t count? The corner of my mouth hitches.
Inger smiles like she read my mind. “I’d like to invite you for dinner tomorrow night. Nothing fancy. Brian and I would like to get to know you better.”
In the corner of my eye, Stevie’s mouth drops open.
“Um ... sure. I’d like that.” I nod. “Thank you.”
She pulls out a phone. “Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call you with the details.”
Now Stevie’s eyes are wide.
“Okay.” I recite my number, fully aware that I’m walking into some kind of Irish Mother Snare.
Inger enters it into her phone, repeating it back to me. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
More terrifying words have never been spoken.
An hour or so later, I’m lying in my hammock with my arm draped across my forehead while my phone rings in my ear. Another round of clouds blew in this afternoon, and steady rain is falling around my covered porch. I’m about a minute away from slipping into a deep, much-needed sleep, but I have to check in with Stevie. That committee meeting was landmine after landmine.
“Hey, you,” she croons when she answers.
I close my eyes under the sound of her voice. “Hi.”
“So ...” She sighs. “My mom.”
“Your mom.” I chuckle. “She invited me to dinner.” And I’m going. The more time I spend out of the woods, the easier these interactions become. And I’ve banked enough social activity this week to satisfy Ruth’s demands for at least a year.
“I heard.” Stevie smiles. “You know this is a trap, right?”
I lower my arm over my eyes. “I figured. Are you going to be there?”
“I doubt my mom will tell me about it.” She doesn’t sound too hurt. “I think she left me out of it strategically.”
“Hmm. Devious like her daughter.” This news is unsettling. I was counting on Stevie being my buffer. “Do you have any advice? Anything I should know about your mom?”
“Well ...” I can picture her tapping her lips, her big brown eyes bright. “Maybe take her some whoopie pies from Marlow’s Diner. That’ll butter her up.”
“Done.” I make a mental note to stop by before the dinner crowd tomorrow. “I wish you were going to be there.” I sigh. “I wish you werehere. Why aren’t you here?”
She laughs. “Because you’re half asleep already. That meeting ran way past your bedtime, didn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.” I yawn, stretching my legs and settling deeper into the hammock. I should move inside before I fall asleep out here. Again. My neck was kinked for days after the last time.
The line goes dead for much longer than is typical of Stevie. “Does it seem like ...” Her worried voice trails off.
“Like what?” I prod.
“Are things getting out of hand, maybe?” She’s uncharacteristically apprehensive.
I chuckle. Getting out of hand? Thingshave beenout of hand—since her so-called sighting and the bet, the podcast, and the committee started. The last few weeks have felt like a fever dream. I don’t know how to put it into words. I don’t want her to think I think she’s mentally unstable or anything.
“You know, you didn’t say one word during the whole meeting tonight. It drives mecrazy.” She says the word with a teasing growl. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”
“About what?” I ask. I sense that she won’t like it if I tell her what I’m thinking at this moment—that her angry kitten energy is sexy.
