CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A s she expected, Whitney had slept fitfully all night. Sherlock had been her shadow, nestling against her while she attempted sleep. Between her sister and Trevor, her heart was in pieces and her mind raced in a million directions. By the time dawn arrived, sunrays cut through the curtains and alerted her to the new day.
The other thing that alerted her to the day was Kim’s appearance with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits and honey. “Here we go,” she said, laying her breakfast on the coffee table. “It ain’t much, but it’ll get you going.” Kim was already dressed for work in a pair of peach slacks and a white sleeveless blouse. A pair of orange reading glasses were perched on top of her head, ready for a day at the cash register.
Whitney flung her legs over the side of the couch, knocking poor Sherlock to the floor. He hissed and darted down the hallway. “Thanks so much,” she said, covering a yawn. Her hair was stuck to her face, but she wasn’t too concerned with her appearance.
“Did you manage to sleep at all, honey?” Kim asked, already frowning at the dark smudges under Whitney’s eyes.
“A little,” she lied, not seeing the point in wallowing more than she already was. What was a lack of sleep when her sister was mad at her and the man of her dreams had moved on? “What time did you want to leave? I just want to steal a quick shower.”
Kim sat on the recliner and flapped her hand. “Bathroom is all yours. I’m ready whenever you’re are, but no rush.”
Whitney took her time in the shower, letting the stream of hot water hide her tears. In the light of day, she was still eager to help Kim at the shop. Not only was she not ready to see her sister and fall back into her old life, but she needed closure with Trevor. She had no idea what that would entail, but she needed a proper goodbye. Once she released the ghosts of her dating past, Whitney was convinced she could start over ... wherever that was.
Dressed with her hair up and enough makeup to cover her lack of sleep, Whitney was as ready as she could be for her day. “Ready to go?” she asked Kim as she took her purse from the hook on the wall.
Kim nodded, handing Whitney a to-go mug of tea. “Thought you’d like a little extra caffeine this morning. Hope you don’t mind tea. After I turned sixty, I couldn’t handle coffee anymore.” She opened the door and stepped on the newspaper. “Oof,” she exhaled as she stumbled back into Whitney.
In her haste to steady her boss, Whitney dropped her mug of tea. The metal cannister landed with a clang, right in the middle of the front page. Whitney’s heart turned to stone when she saw the headline about the fire and the picture of Virginia and Trevor together.
“Geez Louise,” she moaned. “It would have been less painful for the paperboy to slap me across the face.” She retrieved her mug and the paper, rolling it up and shoving it through the mail slot.
Kim rubbed the back of her neck, grimacing at where the newspaper had been. “You want to talk about it, honey?”
Whitney shook her head so forcefully, a tendril of curls came free from her ponytail. “No, ma’am. What I want is to go to work and sell out the store. I’ll drive.”
Kim’s frown morphed into a grin as she motioned toward the driveway. “Now that’s more like it.”
In less than ten minutes, they were at the door to Kim’s Creations, Main Street already bustling with shoppers and diners.
Whitney turned on the lights and powered on the laptop and iPad for taking payments, while Kim filled up pitchers with lemonade and turned on some country music that included patriotic songs. “I’m building the mood,” she said as she shoved a few miniature American flags into the hands of the mannequins.
The fireworks show was two days away, but already the town was full to bursting with visitors for the festival. There was a carnival set up on the outskirts of town for the children, with all the restaurants offering various sales and summer menus. The far end of Main Street was closed down for a craft fair with dozens of crafters and artisans selling their wares.
A chime sounded from the clock on the counter, and Kim fumbled with her keys. “Showtime, honey!” she called over her shoulder as she opened the door. Within a minute, ten shoppers milled around the store, and within the first two hours they’d sold out of their entire swimsuit and sandal inventory.
Whitney relished the hustle, ping-ponging between shoppers to get them exactly what they wanted. “Thanks so much for coming in. Enjoy your new dress!” Whitney bid farewell to a customer and beamed at her reflection in the shop window. There was a rosy hue to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye that only came with a sense of a job well done.
“That was our last wrap dress in the store,” Kim said, jaw unhinged as she scanned through their inventory list. “I’m serious, Whitney. You ordered a dozen two days ago, and they’re gone already.”
The news made Whitney’s heart swell. It was rewarding to see her plans come to fruition and succeed as well as they had. “I’m just glad my hunch was right.”
Kim raised her pencil in the air. “Don’t you dare sell your instincts short—you’re good at this. At this rate, we’ll sell out of our full inventory before the fireworks.”
Whitney crossed her fingers. “We can only hope.” She looked under the counter for the newest shipment of earrings. “Shoot, I never brought out those new hoop earrings. Can you cover the floor for a second?”
Kim shooed her away. “Take a break while you’re at it.”
“A quick one. It’s nearly lunch.” She shot a thumbs-up and went into the breakroom to have a glass of water and a few minutes off her feet.
After collecting herself, Whitney went back out with a box of jewelry to tag. Placing the box on the counter, her back was to the door when the chime sounded. Kim greeted the customers and joined her again. “Do you mind giving me a minute? The register is out of receipt paper.”
Whitney nodded, distracted by two sets of earrings that got wrapped together during shipment. She was carefully prying two hoops apart when she heard a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Are you going to be a while? I’m starving. I thought the whole point of coming to this stupid festival was the food.”
The color drained from Whitney’s face and her hands shook so much she fumbled the jewelry. One of the earrings fell to the floor, scurrying under the desk. She used the opportunity to hide and scope out why her freaking ex-boyfriend was in Pinegrove.
A familiar woman with a blonde bob and pursed lips jutted out her hip. “Baxter, I said I wanted to shop before lunch. Our reservation isn’t for another half hour. Have a seat and hush up, please.” She flipped her hair and walked over to a display of dresses.
Whitney was trapped like a rat, and she didn’t know what to do. She knew if she showed herself, Baxter would make an unholy scene. Of course, she also couldn’t stay in this stooped position forever, as her knees already quivered.
Kim made the decision for her as she joined her at the register. “Honey, what on earth are you doing hiding down here?” She stood over Whitney with a puzzled expression.
In a hushed voice, Whitney said, “Dropped an earring. I’m, uh, looking for it.”
“Excuse me,” the woman said, approaching the desk. “Can I have a fitting room to try these on?”
Kim nodded, rummaging in her pocket for the keys to the fitting rooms. “Of course, honey. Right this way.”
Whitney crawled around the far side of the counter, hoping Baxter had his back to her. No such luck. He faced the fitting rooms, although his attention was on his phone. Neither fast nor nimble enough, Whitney knew her best option was continuing to hide for another moment.
Kim came back and chuckled. “If you need a break, you can just tell me. Why are you hiding down there?” Her laughter drew Baxter’s attention, and he turned around. Their eyes locked, and there was no use hiding any longer.
Holding her breath, Whitney slowly rose to face her past. Spinning on her heels, she was so glad she did her hair and makeup that morning. The last thing she wanted to do was see Baxter looking anything less than perfect.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Baxter sneered, mouth hanging open wide enough for a family of birds to nest. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Kim shook her head, confused by his tone. “Is everything okay?”
“It certainly isn’t okay,” Baxter spat, stomping up to the counter and banging his fist on the display case.
Whitney flinched as his fist pounded the glass, and she hated that he garnered that reaction. She understood he had a right to be angry, but he wasn’t blameless in this fight. “Baxter, I think we can discuss this like adults.”
“Oh, you want to play the adult card?” He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing between the clothes racks. “The crazy bitch that ruined my car wants to be an adult?”
Kim’s eyes grew as she reached for Whitney’s arm. “Whitney?”
“Yes, Baxter. I want us to be adults. You know the concept, right? We act like bigger people and take ownership of our choices?”
“Pfft, you have a lot of experience being the bigger person, Whitney.”
She saw red. It was one thing to be angry about his car, but it was entirely different to show up at her job and call her fat. “Baxter Hollingsworth, you have a lot of nerve.”
At that moment, his fiancée emerged from the dressing room looking radiant in a navy blue and white strapless dress. She found them and frowned, sensing something was going on. “Baxter, what’s the matter?”
Kim slowly stepped back as Baxter whirled around to face her. “Take that cheap dress off, we’re leaving.” Turning back to Whitney, he added, “As soon as I get a check for the damage to my Mustang.”
His fiancée raised an eyebrow. “What did I miss?”
Baxter pointed at Whitney, his mouth set in a firm line. “This is the bitch that trashed my car.”
Kim’s fingers shook as she dialed the police on her cell phone. “Honey, help is on the way.” She glared at Baxter as she said, “This is Kim Sullivan. We have a disturbance at Kim’s Creations.”
Baxter’s face turned an alarming shade of red, the muscles in his neck straining. “Sure, call the cops. I’d like to file a report about my baby.”
“Oh please,” his fiancée groaned, thrusting her hands on her hips. Despite Baxter’s objections to the dress, it did give her a lovely hourglass shape. “If I have to hear one more thing about that damn car, I’m going to scream.”
“Val, not now.” Baxter shoved a hand through his hair, his eyes boring a hole through Whitney. “I cannot believe you had the nerve to mess with my car.”
“Your car?” Whitney asked, coming out from behind the desk to face her ex. She’d officially had enough. “You want to talk about your car?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I? To come home to that mess ...” he spluttered.
“After nearly three years together, you only want to talk about your car?”
Baxter’s eyes flared, but he didn’t defend himself. “Whitney, we had some laughs. Granted, with hindsight, I can see that I should have handled our breakup differently.”
Whitney and Val snorted in unison. Clearly not expecting his ex and fiancée to be in cahoots, Baxter rocked back on his heels. “Ladies, why do I feel like I’m being ganged up on?” His expression was so incredulous, Whitney wanted to slap the look off his face.
Whitney thought about all the time she’d given this man. The countless hours of love, attention, and care she’d devoted to him. Was she always happy with Baxter? Of course not, but she certainly deserved better than what she got.
“How dare you come into my place of work and cause such a commotion!” Whitney spat, her shoulders heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Yes, I admit, I was a little dramatic with your car. When the shop called and begged me to pick it up, I took the opportunity for a little payback. Considering how quickly you moved on, or heaven forbid cheated on me, I’d say it’s the least I could do to repay you.”
For a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to respond. He stared at her, his eyes assessing yet distant. “You knew we weren’t in it for the long haul, ” he finally said. “We wanted different things, and besides”—he sighed heavily, body sagging with the effort—“you’re not the type of woman a guy like me marries. You knew that.”
“Not the type of woman? And what type is that, Baxter? Hmm? What type is that?”
Sweeping his arm in the general direction of his fiancée, Baxter said, “Clearly Val. We’ve been in the same circles for years, and when my mother suggested I settle down, the choice seemed clear.” He shrugged, unbothered that he bad-mouthed both women to their faces. “I couldn’t marry a chubby girl. That doesn’t fly in my social circles.”
The store fell silent. Kim stood beside Whitney, her phone still clutched in her hand, her jaw on the floor. Val, for her part, looked equally appalled. Whitney took a breath to think through her next move. She could yell, scream, and call him every name in the book. She could turn on her heel and walk out, never to look at this man again. Or, she could do something she never would have dreamed possible. She could make him hurt as much as he’d hurt her. Her fingers balled into a fist, and Whitney fantasized about clocking Baxter right in his smug face, knocking that smirk away with one punch.
But then she thought about all the progress she’d made this summer. She’d gone from wallowing to finding her purpose, to opening herself up to the prospect of loving someone else. For a moment, she pictured Trevor, hand on her back as they strolled by the creek. She thought of Trevor’s crooked, hot sauce-stained smile as they shared a basket of wings. She liked the Whitney reflected in his gaze, and suddenly the need for closure with Baxter wasn’t important.
“Get out,” she ordered, voice calm. “Get out before the cops get here for public disturbance.”
Baxter rocked back on his heels. “You’re kicking me out? Of your silly store?”
“It’s not a silly store, it’s a fabulous boutique. Now, please get the hell out.”
Val snorted, stepping around Baxter and reaching into her purse. She pulled out a credit card and handed it to Whitney. “I’ll take this dress, and that lovely patriotic silk scarf by the window.” Her smile was genuine, and Whitney eagerly returned it. “Needless to say, I’m so sorry about all this. I had no idea Baxter was still seeing you when we got together.” She huffed, blowing a strand of hair off her face. “It’s cold comfort, I know, but I’m really sorry.”
Baxter opened his mouth to argue, and Val elbowed him in the ribs. “Be quiet, please, the grown-ups are talking.” She arched a manicured eyebrow and sighed. “He really can be a pill. I for one thought your engagement present for the Mustang was brilliant.” She winked, and Whitney nearly pulled her in for a hug. The iPad tallied up Val’s receipt, and Whitney numbly handed it to the woman who, a mere moment ago, Whitney had sworn she’d push into the Savannah River.
“Val? Are you serious right now?” Baxter wheezed, rubbing his side. He glared at Whitney and Kim before turning a pleading gaze to his fiancée.
“Yes, I am.” Val took the receipt and nodded, tucking it into her designer bag before spinning on her heels and addressing her husband. “Now you hush up while I pop next door for some more shopping.” She took another step toward Baxter and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. “And if I hear you’re over here pressing charges on poor Whitney, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I’m bored hearing about your damn car. If you keep this up, I might drive it into the Atlantic out of spite.” She patted Baxter’s head like he was a dog and strode out the door. Before stepping out into the sunshine, she turned to Whitney and waved. “I know it’s ridiculous to say, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Whitney.”
“Same,” Whitney replied, dumbfounded.
The coward he was, Baxter followed Val out of the shop without an apology or second glance. The door had barely snicked shut when two policemen stepped inside. “Ladies, what’s going on?”
Kim flapped a hand in front of her face and sighed theatrically. “Oh, Officers, we’re quite all right now. You know how things get when the festival starts—a few out of towners causing trouble.”
Both cops looked to Whitney, who could only nod dumbly in response.
“You’re sure everything’s okay here?” he asked, dubious of Kim’s charade.
“We’re good,” Whitney said, a smile taking over her face. Because she was good, she was better than good.
By the time the policemen left, the shop was quiet. Kim poured two cups of lemonade and flipped the sign to closed while they both caught their breath.
Pulling out a stool, Kim patted the seat for Whitney to rest. “You okay, honey?”
“Yeah, I really am. Just in a bit of shock, I suppose.” Whitney eased down, taking the proffered lemonade but not tasting it. Her brain whirled, her past and present colliding had not been on her BINGO card for the day.
Kim reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m damn proud of you, honey. You handled yourself with grace, and I think you’re a badass.”
Whitney covered her face and groaned. “That interaction just aged me ten years.”
“You catch your breath, and I’ll see if we have any snacks in the back.” Kim excused herself and Whitney welcomed the moment alone.
She exhaled, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. Her heartrate was still bonkers from seeing Baxter, but she couldn’t deny she’d gotten the closure she craved. Now if she could do that with Trevor, she’d be all set. She knew she needed to reach out, but she was too tired to have that many emotional run-ins in one day. She’d take her break and get back to work.
A few minutes later, Kim came out of the breakroom with a box of Oreos. “This is hardly lunch, but hopefully it’ll tide you over. I texted Buster to bring over some pimento cheese sandwiches and coleslaw for us.”
“Bless you, Kim.” Whitney took the box and helped herself to two cookies before handing it back. “And seriously, thank you for being so nice about all this.”
Expression turning serious, Kim rested against the counter. “I know this is probably the worst time to bring this up, but I have an idea.”
Cookie stalling on the way to her mouth, Whitney’s heart kicked up. “What’s that?”
Kim squared her shoulders. “Would you consider being my general manager?”
The sound of static filled her brain at Kim’s offer, and Whitney officially felt like she’d wound up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. This week could officially not get any weirder ...