Chapter 8 #2
I grip her arm, tugging her toward me and away from the warpath of a bright yellow taxi. “Planning your funeral is not in my plans for today, babe. Calm it down,” I tell her, steering us toward the double doors of Fleur.
“You’d think people in this city would know how to drive. But no. They’re the worst they come. I almost became roadkill.”
I tap her shoulder for reassurance. “Well, the positive is that you aren’t, and now we get to go shopping to make ourselves feel better, okay?”
“Shopping,” she repeats. “Yes. Lord, I could use some retail therapy. Especially after that god-awful second date last night. I knew leaving work early was a mistake. Guarantee I could have sold two houses by the time that dreadful dinner was over.”
“So, I take it you won’t be seeing Baker a third time?”
“Absolutely not. The man tried to tell me that once women get married and have children, they should give up their jobs and serve their families. Fuck that, Cove. My respect for him went right out the window.”
I chuckle. “Hell hath no fury like a real estate agent scorned.”
She sends me a look of revulsion. “I should have just left right then and there. But I had to argue with him. The opportunity basically fell into my lap.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” I contribute.
“Everything just went downhill from there. He even had the audacity to invite me to his place afterward. Not like I gave him any signs that I was remotely interested or hinting at that kind of night. Now, I’m swearing off men indefinitely. You better hold me to it.” She points her finger at me.
The moment we cross the threshold of Fleur, Kimber’s voice pierces the room as she runs toward us with arms stacked full of evening gowns. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Kimber teases, kissing our cheeks and leading us to the center of the boutique. “You girls always travel in twos.”
“Almost didn’t make it inside,” I joke, laughing at Betsy’s dramatic grunt.
“Perks of living together,” Betsy tells Kimber before grabbing a glass of champagne from the complimentary bar. Fleur Boutique is located on the ritzier side of town, catering to clients with no less than six zeros sitting in their bank account on the regular.
This is where Betsy being our best friend has its built-in perks once again.
She’s wealthy and proudly lives like it.
But I appreciate that about her because not only does her bank account fit the unspoken criteria of shopping at Fleur, but she earned every penny herself.
Through blood, sweat, and cheers, as she always says.
I can get by, but certainly not like Betsy can.
However, she doesn’t need to tug my arm to get me out of the house and away from work for some harmless shopping.
After all, I’m in need of an evening gown for the annual Darling Hotels Masquerade Ball at the end of the year.
I did my due diligence prior and browsed some thrift shops, something I can say wasn’t new for me.
But Mr. Darling, Betsy’s father, heard this, and suddenly I have a minimum credit of five thousand dollars for an outfit at Fleur.
Although I have nothing but respect for Betsy and her family, it makes me a bit sick to my stomach thinking about how far five thousand dollars could go for someone who actually needs it.
Like my mom, for example.
The Darling family hosts parties for Miami’s overly privileged upper-class and elite businessmen and women of our decade.
In this case, the ball will be celebrating the grand opening of Darling Hotels.
I have absolutely zero in common with any of these people, along with any care, given my job and the number of hours I spend serving their affluent kind.
It’s a power trip they revel in. I hate it.
During the short time in my life when I wanted to know everything about my father, I learned quickly and without much digging that he is beyond wealthy. Surpassing a wealth even Betsy could comprehend.
And the fact that my mom is struggling to make ends meet just makes me hate him even more. That’s why I vowed to myself I would do anything I could to support her and prove to him we’ve been fine without his filthy fucking money in our lives.
A vow I’m starting to regret making, despite how I feel about him.
“I’ll have Veronica set us up some fitting rooms!” Kimber jumps in excitement. “Cove, try on the red ones first. That color with your skin tone and hair.” She brings her fingers to her lips. “Chef’s kiss.”
I smile softly and agree, watching as Kimber scurries off, leaving me and Betsy to sip champagne while we wait for Veronica to assign us a fitting room.
“What’s going on in that pretty little brain of yours, Cove?” Betsy asks me quietly, thankfully not bringing any unwanted attention to my change in mood.
“This feels wrong.” I run my thumb along my gold rings, spinning them in place. “I never used to feel bad about shopping and spending money. But now, I feel horrible. My mom is drowning, Bets. Drowning. And here I am, about to spend thousands of dollars on an evening gown for a ball.”
Betsy’s hand finds mine. “You aren’t buying anything. This is a gift, Cove. With no strings whatsoever. Everything with your mom will work out. I’m sure of it.”
“I’m going to call him,” I deadpan, my tone more serious than ever.
And I know right away Betsy knows I’m not talking about Stetson.
Her head cocks to the side as fast as my rapidly beating heart.
“What kind of friend do you need me to be right now? Because I can tell you all the reasons calling him would be a horrible idea. But I can also be the friend who cheers for your bravery.”
“I need your gut reaction, Bets. I can’t do this without your support. Because it just might destroy me to do it on my own.”
Our hands clench tighter. “Then, you’ve got it. Call him. Do what you’ve gotta do, and make the bastard pay.”
“Ms. Davenport, your room is available if you’d like me to hold onto your things. Kimber and Betsy will be suited right beside you.”
I nod to Veronica and hand her my purse before hugging my best friend tight. “Hell hath no fury like a daughter scorned,” she whispers in my ear, repeating my chant from earlier.
Nothing about this plan is how I expected things to go. But I have no other choice, and I refuse to leave my mother’s future to chance.
It’s time for my sperm donor to pay.
“Oh, Cove!” Kimber squeals, holding a hand up to Veronica. “I forgot to ask about your date! How did it go?”
“What date?” I question, eyes shifting between my two best friends.
Betsy nudges my side. “She means the double date Cowboy Stetson crashed, only to steal you away for the rest of the night. I told her allllll about it.” Her eyes do this weird shaking thing as her brows lift. Looks really creepy, yet I’m hardly shocked.
“I’m not at all surprised,” I say. “And it was hardly a date. Plus, don’t pretend like you didn’t all but orchestrate the entire thing.”
Why do I suddenly feel a blush rise up my face?
Betsy beams. “Oh, it was definitely a date. And I did nothing of the sort. You made the decision to let him whisk you away all on your own, babe. It may have started with one man, but you finished with another. No pun intended.” She winks, and I want to combust on the spot.
“We got ice cream.”
“Oh my god. You beautiful little hussy. You let Stetson get you off while on a date with another guy? Who in the hell are you?” Kimber gapes.
I cross my arms, getting defensive despite my mind reliving our time together all over again. It was…romantic.
“Oh, don’t listen to her shit,” I tell Kimber. “Oddly enough, or maybe not oddly, he was on his best behavior, which no doubt felt like a red flag at first. I guess I’m used to the toxic.”
“Weird,” they mumble in unison, replicating my initial thoughts on the night.
“I was skeptical, but he proved me wrong. He ordered my favorite ice cream, inhaled his waffle cone, asked me about flying, and walked me to my street. Didn’t even try to come inside. No funny business was performed.”
“Jesus,” Kimber laughs. “Way to make it sound like surgery. Did he scrub in beforehand, too?”
“Aw, he let your independent birdie wings fly,” Betsy coos playfully.
I ignore her because she’s always gotta make shit weird. “No scrubbing was done. It felt…nice to be respected. He listened to what I asked and didn’t argue. I had to hold onto the last bit of dignity I had left and at least see myself home.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the bug, babe.” Betsy’s brows shoot up and down, and I immediately blush. “The looooove bug.”
“Oh my god. She’s blushing! Cove is crushing hard on the cowboy!” Kimber declares.
I feel the beginning of a smile crest my lips, and I can’t rein it in. Not when I think she may be right. I guess I do have what feels like the biggest crush.
A crush. Damn cowboy and his antics to get me alone.
Heaven help me, I like this man.
And these feelings couldn’t come at a worse time.
But thinking back on the warmth of his words. Words speaking straight to the part of my heart that longs to hear such adoration. He wants me, and not just in a superficial way. He wants my willingness to trust and give him a chance to show me who he is.
I’m confident that when Stetson wants a woman, it’s sincere—no restrictions, and no conditions applied. And I think this is the first time I can admit to myself that I want to be that woman. Even though it terrifies me.
“I never thought this day would come. I’m so proud of you!” Betsy jumps up and down, Kimber joining her shortly after. “Now, be a big girl and tell him that.”
So fucking dramatic.
“I don’t even know when I’ll see him again.
We didn’t make plans. I think he just didn’t want to pressure me too much,” I press.
“And now with everything going on with the house. It’s so much worse than I thought.
I need to get my thoughts organized before I tell him how I feel.
And that’s as long as it’s not too late. ”
“It won’t be. Men don’t just crash dates they aren’t invited to and steal the girl while they’re at it. Trust me.”
Maybe she’s right. But also, maybe it’s worth telling Stetson about everything going on in my life right now. He doesn’t need to know details, although I’m not too embarrassed to tell him, but more so, there’s a reason I’ve been hesitant.
Confirmation that it’s not him. He’s been perfect.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, the reservation in my heart starting to fade.
Everything I know about Stetson tells me he’s understanding. Surely he’d understand my situation if I just let him in. I just hope the conversation with my father goes the way I hope. That’s the kicker.
“Of course we’re right,” Kimber agrees before Veronica clears her throat, reminding us she’s still here.
“Ladies? Are we ready for some retail therapy, or what?”
Betsy links her arms with Kimber and me, unapologetically grinning from ear to ear. “Veronica, I like the way you think .”