Chapter 11
Tabitha eyes me from her cross-legged position on my bed while I get ready after dinner. “Tell me again, but slower this time.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror above the old wood dresser—the one she insisted we paint yellow one day, the summer I turned seventeen, because I mentioned it was my new favorite color.
It seemed ridiculous, but she insisted she wanted me to feel like this room was my own space.
Looking back, I feel like it was more than a little bit motivated by what was happening between my parents that summer, but every time I visit and find the dresser still yellow, it makes me happy.
“I’m ignoring you now.”
“You’re really going out with Parker?” she asks.
“No, I am not going out with Parker. We’re just going out. See? No inflection. With his friend, by the way. This is not a date,” I insist for the fifth time while I twist a piece of hair around my curling wand. My reassurance does nothing to convince her.
“Blink twice if you’re being kidnapped and need me to intervene.”
“Where was this concern earlier today when I literally called you for help?” I tease.
She leans back on the pillows, a grin forming. “I thought you and Parker spending a little quality time together couldn’t hurt. Guess I was right, wasn’t I?” She waggles her eyebrows, dodging the lip gloss I send sailing at her.
“You call it quality time, I call it forced confinement.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re awfully dressed up for this so-called punishment.”
She’s not wrong, but the outfit is purely for me, not for anyone who might see me in it.
After deciding to help Veronica, my brain immediately kicked back into work mode for the first time since the business hit a brick wall.
I feel energized and eager to jump into planning, and it’s been a relief to finally feel like myself again, even if there are certain things I’m still figuring out.
So, I decided to chase that feeling and dress how I normally would for a night out.
Like Lyla said, baby steps. I wear a soft black turtleneck with sleeves that end at my elbows, a black patterned skirt that sits high on my waist and flares out at my mid-thighs, and black boots with a chunky heel.
Once I add my cropped, light-wash jean jacket, the outfit will look more casual.
“This is my chance to celebrate a good thing finally happening to me, and I’m taking it. That’s all. You owe me after today—and for sending Parker to pick me up from the bus station. I’m collecting by taking the night off and using your porch to have a bunch of strangers over next weekend.”
After my ride this afternoon, I got a bunch of texts from Veronica with details about the party and told Tabitha about the emergency bachelorette party I’ve agreed to host. She didn’t even blink when I asked if I could have it here at Salem Stables, and we agreed on the front porch.
It’s picturesque with a great sunset view, and we can dress it up with string lights—nothing special, as they’re coming for the activity, not the ambiance.
Tabitha pushes up from the bed and comes to stand behind me.
“You missed a spot.” Taking the curling iron from me, she fixes the loose waves I’ve been putting into my otherwise straight hair.
“I still feel like I’ve met the bride-to-be.
I know I’ve heard that name before. Maybe I’ll recognize her when I see her. ”
With free hands, I grab my phone. If she’s under thirty, it’s a solid bet she’s on social media. Most couples also have a wedding website nowadays, and it’s a good shortcut for getting a sense of the bride’s style. I use the keywords Lucy + Cooper + Wedding and… bingo.
Except, what I find isn’t a social media profile or a wedding website like I expected. It’s so, so much worse.
“Oh shit,” I blurt.
Tabitha’s hands go still. “Okay, you know I don’t have a problem with the language because I have a bigger potty mouth than you, but that’s unusual enough for me to be fairly alarmed.”
I click on the first link, which takes me to a blog called The Country Bumpkin.
And not one of those blogs that look like a side-hobby created in the early aughts, either.
A nice one. I swear I’ve seen that logo before, the cute white lettering outlined with the silhouette of a pumpkin.
I must be in the wrong spot. I’m about to close out of it when I notice the post pinned at the top of the page, titled: We’re getting married!
A professional black-and-white engagement photo fills the screen when I click on it, and I scroll down with a few quick thumb brushes.
This can’t be the same Lucy Cooper that Veronica is friends with. I scroll back through the (highly professional-looking) posts, and sure enough, it doesn’t take long to see the wedding-related ones that make my stomach drop.
“Sloan, what is it?” Tabitha pushes.
“Just the universe’s sick sense of humor,” I say miserably.
“Why, do you know her or something?”
“No, but I think everybody else does.” With a trembling thumb I click over to her Instagram page—and nearly drop my phone. “Oh god … she has over a hundred thousand followers!” I break out into a cold sweat. “This is …”
“Great?” Tabitha offers.
“A nightmare!” I jump up from the chair, coming dangerously close to being branded, but luckily Tabitha pulls the curling iron away in the nick of time.
Honestly, though, the pain might have been a nice distraction.
Without it, I’m forced to face the fact that I’ve made another impulsive decision that has turned out to be a huge mistake.
“Sloan, don’t panic. This is not as big of a deal as you’re about to make it.”
“Not a big deal?!” I repeat, eyes wide. “On the pressure scale, this event has just gone from zero to a hundred!”
In theory, Tabitha is right. I should be over the moon about this.
If Lyla and I had opened the shop and landed an influencer of this magnitude as one of our first clients, we would be popping the champagne to celebrate.
But there’s one crucial difference—Lyla’s not here.
I’m going to have to do this alone. Sure, a good review from this client could lead to incredible things.
But I have to earn a good review first. I’m not set up to host an event worthy of being shared with a hundred thousand loyal followers.
With Lyla, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.
The risk would have been a thrill. But …
I’ve never had to do this on my own before.
I can’t shake the feeling that I might not have what it takes.
And if things go sideways, my failure will be immortalized on the internet as a permanent blemish on my resumé.
What if I ruin the chance for Lyla and me to start our business together someday?
Out front, a horn blares, snapping me from my inner turmoil.
“Your chariot awaits,” Tabitha teases.
“At least he didn’t leave without me,” I grumble.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks when I don’t move. She grabs a claw clip off the yellow dresser and twists my hair into a half-up, half-down style.
I hold up my phone. “I’m not in the mood to celebrate anymore.”
Honk! Honk!
She tsks, grabbing my jean jacket off the bed and holding it open for me to slip my arms through.
“Don’t celebrate then. Just go out, have fun for no reason.
Be young.” She steps in front of me, grabbing my head and pressing her forehead to mine.
“I promise, it’ll do you some good to get out of that wonderfully tangled up head of yours. ”
I hold onto her wrists, searching her hazel eyes. “How do you know—”
Tabitha smiles. “Because you get it from me.”
She doesn’t notice the way my eyes instantly go teary. Or maybe she did and doesn’t realize they’re not happy tears. Why would she? I still haven’t told her the truth.
Hooooooooonk!
Laughing, she turns me by the shoulders and pushes me to the door. “You better go before he really does leave without you.”
Dropping my lip gloss into my small black purse, I sling it over my shoulder, then quickly kiss her on the cheek and hurry downstairs. She’s right. This crisis is just going to have to wait.
Parker’s impatient eyes meet mine when I emerge from the house, closing the door behind me. Despite his apparent hurry, I take my time to prove a point, waggling my fingers at him in an obnoxious wave as I cross the gravel driveway.
HOOOOOOOOONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
I slow my step even more, and he drops his head back against the headrest in defeat.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” I chirp as I climb into his truck. “You should have honked or something.”
I buckle my seatbelt, pausing when I find him staring at me. No, not me … my legs. I resist the urge to tug my skirt over my bare knees, noticing it’s crept a few inches higher.
“What?” I say, managing to sound normal.
He wrenches his gaze away and throws the truck into gear. “I have to make a couple of stops on the way. That okay?”
I shrug. I’m already spending an entire night with the guy. What’s a few errands along the way?
Except I didn’t plan to sit in a freezing cold truck for longer than the fifteen-minute drive to town, and with the sun long gone, the temperature has dropped considerably.
I’m realizing I may not have picked the smartest outfit.
I cross one knee over the other in the meantime, trying to warm my legs in the chilly truck.
Parker’s eyes track the movement, but he quickly looks away, adjusting his grip on the wheel.
“Would you mind turning the heat on?” I ask, rubbing my arms. “It’s freezing.”
“It’s broken. Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought.
I sigh. Of course. “You could get that fixed.”
“You could wear more clothes.”