7. “NO PROMISES, NO DEMANDS. LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.” #2
“Research. This is the fourth year my chili came in behind Birdie’s. I know she’s adding some sort of contraband to the sauce, and this year I’m going to find out what it is and expose her.”
There were strict rules that no pre-packaged ingredients could be used in the competition. Every chili had to be homemade. “Birdie’s recipe was published in last year’s Hideaway Bay cookbook.”
“News flash, Jocelyn, Birdie lies.”
She laughed at the staunch accusation. “Between you, Birdie, and Astrid, I swear things are going to get violent.” The three women had a cutthroat vendetta against each other, but no one really knew why.
“I know I’m right and I plan to expose her for the fraud she is, once and for all.”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes as she walked away. Things were getting tense around here.
She spotted Wren waddling toward her with Greyson. “Aren’t you supposed to ring a bell or something when you bring a tugboat into harbor?”
“Not nice, Joce.” Wren toddled behind the table and grabbed the back of Jocelyn’s chair for support. “Get up. I need your seat.”
Not one to piss off a pregnant woman, she got up. “You’re in a mood.”
“I had a questionable burrito this morning, and the chili’s giving me heartburn.”
“So don’t eat it.”
“You try not eating it! It smells so good the air probably has calories today.”
“How about antacids—”
“They don’t work,” she snapped.
Jocelyn drew back. “Okay. Jeeze.” She looked at Greyson and mumbled, “Good luck with that.”
But Greyson the Great was far from shaken by his wife’s crabby mood. “How about some ice cream, Wren?”
Wren’s brows pinched tight as she looked about to cry. “Oh, that sounds perfect. Vanilla?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes, the sweetness choking her. She’d planned on giving Wren shit for inserting herself in the Soren debacle, but she wasn’t going to say anything with Greyson the Overprotective around. “Take your time getting it, too, Grey.”
He frowned at her then turned back to his wife. “Any toppings?”
“Cookie crumble?”
“On it.”
When Greyson left, Wren stretched out her short legs and rubbed her belly, happily waiting for her sweet treat to arrive.
“I guess the age of the prenatal juice fast is over.”
“Ugh! I told Grey if he made me drink one more green smoothie, I was moving back to The Haven. He hasn’t brought it up since.” She continued to rub her belly, which Cordelia took as an invitation to jump on her lap. “How’s your ankle?”
“Better. Astrid gave me some sort of tea drug.” Then she shifted topics. “Thanks, by the way, for sending Soren to my house this morning. That really was exactly what I meant when I told you an hour prior that I was over him and done.”
“He went to your house?” She sat up, not even trying to mask her excitement.
“Wren, I told you I was done. Why did you meddle?”
“Because you can’t just give up. You two care about each other.”
“It’s not that simple. Now, he thinks we have to talk about our feelings. Talking never solves anything.”
“Uh, talking solves everything, Joce.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Wren sighed as Cordelia nudged her hand, forcing her to keep petting her head. “You two are stubborn idiots.”
“We like it that way. Can’t you go back to pretending you don’t know?”
“No. What happened when he came over? Did you guys talk?”
“No. We argued and…” Why was she telling her this?
“Oh, my God. You had sex!”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed. “And that’s not the point.”
“Holy crap! You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
“Yes, we can. I’m having my locks changed. Now, shut up. Here comes Greyson.”
Greyson presented Wren’s sundae with flourish and a napkin. “Two scoops of vanilla bean with cookie crumble.”
“Thanks, babe.” She took a bite, and it seemed to have the soothing effect a cigarette had on a chain smoker.
“So, how’s it going?” Grey asked, turning his attention to the ballot boxes which were still mostly empty. “Any insights on who might win today? We have a pool going at the Chowder House. My odds are on Birdie’s Chili and Astrid’s scarecrow.”
“You’re gambling on the winners? Why not just vote?”
“Meh.” He waved away her suggestion. “This keeps things a little more interesting. Besides, I have it on good authority, Birdie cheats.”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Ellen?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God, who cares about the chili?” Wren snapped. “Jocelyn and your brother had sex again this morning.”
Jocelyn’s jaw dropped. “Wren! Have you lost your mind? People can hear you.”
“Since when are you shy about sex?”
Jocelyn looked at Greyson for help. “Handle your wife.”
He was no help. Wren was in her third trimester, and Grey was wrapped around her swollen finger.
Jocelyn scoffed. “Thanks a lot. Another useless Hawthorne.” She stormed off to check on the vendors, not cooling off until she walked to the opposite end of Main Street, but even then, she didn’t want to walk back, so she sat on an empty bench and people-watched for a while.
That was when she saw her.
“Oh no,” she muttered under her breath as Shalimar and her mother strolled through the crowd like a Ralph Lauren ad.
Their clothes were pressed and layered, giving them an impeccable Kennedy air Jocelyn could never pull off.
She wanted to say they looked out of place or snobby, but the truth was, they looked flawless.
Every hair, voluminous and perfectly placed, and every accessory intentionally selected like some old-money heirloom that would never go out of style.
He’d be an idiot to give that up.
The girl was perfect for him. Classy and put together, from her pearl earrings to her Hermes flats.
Jocelyn had been so lost in dissecting the woman for defects that she wasn’t paying attention to her movements. By the time she realized she was coming right toward her, it was too late to bolt. The most she could manage was to stand.
Shalimar approached with a picture-perfect smile, as if she were posing for a toothpaste ad. “Hi. It’s Jocelyn, right?”
Her heart kicked into overdrive. “That’s right.”
“We met yesterday. I’m Olivia Aldrich.”
When she held out her hand, fingers down the way royalty might present their fingers for a kiss, Jocelyn frowned. She awkwardly clasped her fingers, gave a short pump, and let go. “I remember.”
“I’m with Soren.”
Oh. She was just gonna come right out and mark her territory.
“Okay,” Jocelyn acknowledged her claim with zero inflection.
Her mouth curved. “I just wanted to make sure we’re clear on that. I know you two are old friends, but I plan to be a big part of his future.”
Stunned at this woman’s directness—when Jocelyn had a reputation for being painfully blunt herself—she mirrored her fake smile and nodded. “Soren can do whatever he wants.”
“Yes, he can. I trust we understand each other then.”
Did they? If this bitch was going to come over to her bench and start marking her territory like she owned the place, she had another thing coming. “I told him the exact same—this morning, when I saw him.”
Her fake plastic smile fell. “Excuse me.”
Jocelyn didn’t flinch. “I think you heard me.”
She glanced over her shoulder where her mother was paying for something at Drift & Dwell. When she looked back at Jocelyn, the mask was off.
Shalimar took a small step forward. “Let me make this clear. You may not know who I am, but I won’t hold that shortcoming against you.
My family’s owned the house on the bluff for generations.
I’ve been coming to Hideaway Bay since I was a child, and my history with the Hawthornes goes way back.
My father’s a shareholder on the fishery’s board, which makes him indispensable to Soren.
It’s no accident we keep running into each other.
I’m here, past the summer season, because Soren asked me to stay.
” She paused, offering another fake smile.
“He’s such a particular man. When he told me he couldn’t find a suitable woman who met his standards, I told him he’d just been looking in the wrong places.
” Her gaze drifted from Jocelyn’s wind-blown hair to her last season boots.
“Which is why I won’t be returning to Newport this fall. Soren wants me close by, in Hideaway.”
Jocelyn breathed out a humorless laugh. “You’re right. He is particular. And Soren always gets what he wants.” Then she pouted and tsked. “Except he doesn’t want suitable. Maybe you can’t see that from all the way up on your bluff, but it’s clear as day to us commoners down here.”
She scoffed. “Soren told me—”
“I don’t care what he’s told you,” Jocelyn said, cutting her off.
“Your desperate need to come over here and make some sort of bullshit claim told me everything I need to know.” She glanced down at her bare ring finger.
“If Soren wanted you, he would have claimed you. Not the other way around. And he certainly wouldn’t have been in my bed this morning.
Oh, you didn’t know that? Guess things aren’t as clear as you thought.
But don’t worry, I’m done with him now. Or are you too good for leftovers. ”
Her mouth gaped like a fish on dry land.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to run. Those of us below the bluff have to keep the town standing so the lords and ladies have something to look down on.” Her smile sharpened. “But you go right ahead mistaking altitude for importance. It’s a real charmer of a pitch.”
Head high, she brushed past the Wicked Bitch of the North, and went to reclaim her throne.