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I stare at her. “The what?”
“I know you like peach, but it washes me out. I can’t stand beside you looking ill.”
“We’re nowhere near choosing bridesmaid dresses.”
“Maid of honor,” she corrects. “And that’s a good thing. It gives us plenty of time to choose a wedding palette that flatters us both.”
I laugh, and this time the smile stays. When I pick up my plate, I’m surprised to realize I’m hungry. Nothing is fixed, but I feel a little better than I did before Chloe arrived.
38
RACHEL
By Tuesday morning, Eric and I still haven’t spoken. I asked for time because I need it. It feels wrong to lean on him while I’m trying to deal with what his hotel means for mine. Still, I miss him. I’ve opened our messages more times than I want to admit, but I haven’t sent anything.
Grandma hasn’t called either. Chloe says she still needs space, so I’ve resisted going to her house. I want to explain everything, but showing up before she’s ready to see me would only push her further away.
Work has filled most of the silence. Yesterday afternoon Voss sent over its construction schedule. Demolition of the old department store will begin in soon and last through most of the summer. Crews will start at seven every morning, Monday through Saturday.
That puts almost every summer wedding we have booked at risk. The Hartwell’s ballroom and courtyard both face the site. There’s no way to protect a ceremony from the drilling and dust. Unless the schedule changes, we’ll have to cancel some weddings. We can refund the deposits and help each couple find another venue, but we can’t give them back the day they planned.
The weddings are only the start. We need to contact guests booked into rooms facing the site and move as many as we can. I have to decide whether those rooms can stay open during the loudest weeks. New guests will need to know about the construction before they book, and our deliveries will have to work around the trucks crowding the street.
For weeks, Eric’s hotel existed only on paper. Now every part of the Hartwell will have to adjust around it. I’m reading through the schedule again when someone knocks on my office door.
“Come in.”
Grandma enters in a white pantsuit and silk blouse. Her silver hair is neatly styled, and her lipstick is fresh. She looks as polished as ever, but she doesn’t come around the desk to kiss my cheek. Instead, she closes the door and sits across from me, her handbag held tightly on her lap.
“Chloe has been calling me,” she says. “She thinks I’ve made up my mind about Eric without knowing him—or what he means to you.”
I stay quiet.
“I’m still upset. The hotel was approved, and before I’d even caught my breath, I found out the two of you were together. In a hallway, in front of everyone.” She looks down at her handbag. “It was a lot to take in.”
“I’m sorry you found out that way.”
“So am I. But Chloe is right about one thing. I don’t know what happened between you, and I should’ve let you explain before I walked away.”
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“A few weeks.”
“Did you tell him anything about the Hartwell that could’ve helped Voss?”
“No.”
“Did he ever ask you to?”
“No.”
Her fingers loosen around the handles of her bag.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
