Chapter 17
Classic rock rolled through Daniel’s earbud as he waxed Arthur’s Bentley. He’d spent the afternoon washing and waxing all
the Picketts’ cars, including Lila’s white Range Rover, the one automobile he hadn’t had the opportunity to drive yet. “I
love rock n’ roll,” he warbled as he worked the wax into the paint with a yellow microfiber towel. He didn’t actually love
it, but he was in the mood for it today. Country was his usual go-to.
He’d saved the Bentley for last, having decided that out of all of Arthur’s vehicles, this one was his favorite. He loved
the sleek, classic lines of the car and he appreciated that Arthur and Lila Pickett not only used all their cars, they also
kept them around for a while. The Bentley was over a decade old, and the Range Rover was the newest at four years old. When
he’d worked as a mechanic, he knew people who leased or bought a new car every year. He’d always believed cars were meant
to be kept, taken care of, and enjoyed.
He sprayed the hood with a little more wax and belted out the next line of the song.
“Daniel?”
At the sound of Lila’s voice, he spun around, and promptly yanked out the earbud. “Yes ma’am?” Hopefully she hadn’t heard his incredibly out of tune singing. As usual she was impeccably dressed, her flair and taste for high fashion eclipsing Arthur’s. Today it was white slim pants, a tailored rose-pink blouse, and her ever-present Tiffany gold diamond bar necklace. How did he know it was Tiffany? It was interesting the kinds of tidbits he’d learned from driving the Picketts around.
She looked over the short line of vehicles, each one perfectly centered in their garage spaces. “I think this is the first
time I’ve noticed how expertly you park our cars.”
He smiled at the compliment. Lila was more reserved and formal than Arthur, so this was a surprise. Setting the wax and cloth
on a small metal supply cart nearby, he said, “What can I help you with today, Mrs. Pickett?” When she didn’t answer, he turned
around and saw she was twisting her large, square diamond solitaire ring while she stared at the Bentley’s headlights. “Mrs.
Pickett?”
She blinked. “Oh, yes.” Turning to him, she dropped her hands. “Arthur’s sixtieth birthday is in two weeks,” she said.
He began rolling down his pushed-up dress shirt sleeves. Although it was sweltering outside, the Picketts’ garage was air-conditioned,
so he hadn’t worked up a sweat. “I didn’t realize that.”
“We’re having a surprise birthday party for him that night. So far he hasn’t figured it out, thankfully.” Her pale-pink lips
turned up in a smile and she tucked a lock of her short, silver hair behind her ear.
He’d have his work cut out for him that night. No doubt he’d be expected to provide the valet parking.
“I’d like for you to attend.”
“Me?” he said, unable to hide his surprise.
“We’ve had several chauffeurs over the years. They’ve ranged from excellent to... Let’s just say we fired one the same
day we hired him. But Arthur likes you.” She paused. “I do too, of course.”
He was glad she added that part. He didn’t want to do anything to upset his employers, whom he not only liked, but was starting to admire. Being around uber rich people had taken some getting used to, and he knew they all weren’t as easy to get along with as the Picketts.
“I know Arthur would be pleased if you joined us,” Lila said.
It would be poor form to turn down an invitation to such an important occasion. And although he knew he would stick out like
a pineapple in a pear tree, he realized he wanted to go. “I would be honored, Mrs. Pickett. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Black tie, of course. Do you own a tux?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Dan Hutton’s offers rentals.”
Daniel almost choked. No way could he afford to even rent something from that place.
“There’s something else I need to tell you.” She was back to twisting her ring. “Our youngest son, Hunter, is also invited.
I don’t know if Arthur has told you anything about him.”
Uh-oh. He blanked his expression and didn’t answer, not wanting to betray Arthur’s confidence, or lie to Lila. And now he knew why
Hunter had been looking at tuxedos.
“Hunter has had his... challenges,” she said. “But I feel strongly that it’s important for him to be at the party. I can’t
go into details, but I know for a fact he’s been sober and has stayed out of trouble for nearly two years now.” She straightened,
her hands at her sides again. “My husband and I believe in second chances.”
Arthur had already proven that by hiring Daniel, and now he wondered how much Lila knew about his own past.
“But we’ve given Hunter more chances than we can count,” she continued. “He squandered them all. If he really has changed, this will be the litmus test. That said, I can’t promise he won’t implode and cause a scene at the party. His relationship with our family is quite strained.”
The pain in Lila’s eyes mirrored the same anguish Daniel had heard in Arthur’s tone after he’d talked to Hunter. They love their son very much. Enough to go through agony to help him, to the point of employing extremely tough love.
“I just wanted to warn you.”
“Is there anything I can do to help? With the party,” he quickly added.
“Your attendance will be enough. Oh, and please bring a plus-one.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pickett.”
She glanced at the cars. “They look wonderful, Daniel.”
He stood a little straighter, gratified she’d noticed his hard work.
Lila turned to walk away, only to face him again. “I want to apologize for my two daughters-in-law. Their tacky behavior toward
you has not gone unnoticed. I have spoken with Payne and Kirk about it, and rest assured, they will be treating you with respect
going forward.”
He stilled, then wanted to protest that the women hadn’t been that bad. For sure they were spoiled, whether it was because
they were raised that way, their husbands indulged them too much, or both. But if Lila thought it was bad enough to say something,
he wasn’t going to contradict her. “Thank you.”
She smiled, more relaxed than before. “Have a good evening.”
He watched her walk away. Then he realized what he’d agreed to. Yikes. Pineapple in a pear tree didn’t begin to describe how
out of his element he would be. And she wanted him to bring a plus-one? He didn’t have any plus-ones in his life...
But he did have Britt.
He shook his head. “No,” he mumbled, and went back to finishing the Bentley, this time sans the music. He couldn’t ask her to go with him. His inner introvert was already balking at the idea of spending an evening with a bunch of people he didn’t know and had nothing in common with. No way would she be able to handle it.
Then he realized there would mostly likely be alcohol there of some kind. Apprehension kicked in. He’d been sober for years,
but every day he craved a drink. By going to his boss’s party, he would be putting himself in an uncomfortable situation,
surrounded by his coping mechanism of choice.
Daniel stopped waxing and measured his options. He could wait a few days and back out of the invitation, saying he had a prior
commitment. Which would mean he’d have to lie to Lila, something he didn’t want to do. Like Arthur, she had extended kindness
and trust beyond his job description. He didn’t want to do or say anything to violate it.
He could suck it up and attend the party, ignore the alcohol, and try to enjoy himself. That was the mature, adult thing to
do. And it’s what he would do.
Then Britt came back to mind. Maybe he could convince her to go. Not because he needed a crutch, but it was always helpful
to have someone to keep him accountable. Going to the party could be beneficial to her too. At the very least she’d get to
see the Picketts’ art collection. It was small, but from what he could tell by the way the cleaning staff carefully dealt
with the paintings, they were valuable. He and Britt could put in an appearance, say hello, and then leave. Bonus—he’d get
to spend more time with his daughter.
Daniel finished waxing the car, letting his mind mull over whether to invite Britt or not. After he was done, he put everything away and gave the garage a quick sweep. It was time to pick up Arthur, and while he hated dealing with Dallas traffic, it was a joy to drive the Bentley.
As he headed downtown, he still hadn’t decided if he should ask Britt, but he had some time to figure it out. And find a cheaper
place to rent a tuxedo. He blew out a breath. Whether Britt came or not, he was sure it would be an interesting night.
***
Lights? Check.
Sound? Check.
Script? Check.
Britt started to turn on her camera, then stopped when she caught her reflection on the computer monitor. Instead of cringing
like she normally did, she smiled. Today she’d put her hair up in a ponytail with a pastel tie-dyed scrunchy and matching
cap-sleeved T-shirt. Three weeks ago, she’d decided to do a tie-dye tutorial, and the shirt and scrunchy had been two of her
test subjects. She’d ended up dying twelve items, including a twin bedsheet, and didn’t like any of the results other than
what she was wearing, so she scrapped the video. Maybe she’d attempt tie-dyeing another day.
But her dyeing disaster wasn’t what she was thinking about as she looked at her reflection. She couldn’t see her facial features,
only outlines and shadows. Four words came to mind. Hunter thinks I’m cute. She could pinch herself. No guy had ever called her cute. The only person who had ever called her that was her mother, and
she’d stopped once Britt reached adulthood.
She continued to smile, leaning her chin on the curve of her hand. He also said she was adorable, and that had blown her mind too. But not as much as when he told her she was fun. She’d never thought of herself as fun, and certainly had never heard anyone describe her that way. And Hunter Pickett, a funny, considerate, even-keeled guy insisted she was. Oh, and then there was the whole cover-model gorgeous thing he had going on. Sigh.
Her phone rang. She looked at the screen and smiled. Hunter. She quickly answered it. “Hi,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.
“Hey.”
His deep voice made her toes curl and grip the bright-orange shag rug underneath her desk. Their kiss—more accurately, kisses—from
yesterday flashed in her mind, as they had since the moment he’d sweetly pressed his lips against hers. Softly, tenderly...
double sigh.
“I’m on my way to work but...”
A shot of alarm went through her. “But what?”
“This is going to sound corny.” The sound of a door closing came through the receiver. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
She almost melted in her seat. “You could just listen to one of my videos.”
“It’s not the same, not by a long shot.” Another pause. “Corny, right?”
“Wrong. It’s not corny at all.”
“Oh, good. I thought I’d have to turn in my cool card for that one.”
Never. He was the coolest guy she knew, although that admittedly was a small pool of contestants.
“I also wondered if we could interrupt our regularly scheduled week and have lunch tomorrow?” he asked. “I know it’s not Monday—”
“What time?”
He laughed. “Okay, that’s a yes. No later than eleven since I gotta be at work at two. Are you okay with going out? I was thinking simple, like a deli or something.”
She hesitated, the familiar nervous feeling starting up like clockwork.
“Or we could get something and eat it at K&Bs. I’m sure I could sweet-talk Maude into letting us use the education room.”
“You could sweet-talk her into anything,” Britt said. But even though she was sure Maude and X wouldn’t mind, it was an imposition
and a lot of trouble to go through when they could just eat at a restaurant. “Are you familiar with the 360 Deli? We could
go there.”
“Sure,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Want me to pick you up?”
Britt could hear birds chirping and the faint hum of traffic in the background. “You have a car?”
“Nope, but I got an extra helmet.”
She spun side to side in her chair. “You’re determined to get me on that thing, aren’t you?”
“Don’t knock it, Britt. I’m a safe driver. You can trust me.”
No argument there. She trusted him, totally. Even now when she thought back to how she’d initially suspected he was a deceptive
creep made her feel foolish. “I can pick you up.”
A pause, long enough to make her wonder if he was going to tell her no. “Okay. I’ll send you the address. I gotta run, but
I’ll text you on break. Bye, Britt.”
“Bye.” She hung up and slid halfway down the chair. Finally, she understood all the hype about romance, and she could hardly
believe she was in one. After they kissed, Hunter had taken her hand and led her to the table. “We need to work on our lesson,”
he said, his tone serious.
How were they supposed to focus on their drawings after what had just happened? At her confused look, he said, “I need a distraction. A big one, if you get what I mean.”
She didn’t—not totally. Just that he was right, they couldn’t keep kissing in the education room. Maude could walk in on them
at any moment, and Britt would never hear the end of it. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to know what they’d done. Not because
she was ashamed or embarrassed. She wasn’t. But being in Hunter’s arms, the feelings his kisses brought out in her—they were
private, only to be shared between the two of them.
So they drew a football.
Hunter had laughed when she pulled it out of her bag. “You like sports,” she said, giving him her rationale for the unusual
choice. “Footballs have lots of texture. This will be interesting to duplicate.”
He agreed, and they started on their lesson. Britt fought to pay attention to their work and not to Hunter. Or more specifically
his mouth. Eventually, she succeeded.
By the time they’d perfected the outline of the ball, Maude had popped back in the room, and Britt and Hunter hung out with
her and X for an hour after their lesson was over. When he left, Britt thought she was the only one who noticed the way he’d
looked at her before he left, and how long he’d looked at her. But Maude immediately plied her with questions that Britt promptly
brushed off. X put the feather duster in her hand and sent her to the back of the store as Britt was leaving.
She stared at the screen again. She needed to film the intro and outro for two more videos, but she didn’t feel like working
today. However, there was something she’d been wanting to do, ever since she met Hunter.
Britt pulled out a drawing pad and plucked a charcoal pencil from the holder by her computer. She faced the blank sheet of paper, closed her eyes, and began to draw.
A few years ago, she’d read an article online about drawing with your eyes closed. The concept was to feel the object while
you were drawing, which would lead to a more creative and less inhibited result. Right now, she couldn’t touch her subject...
but she remembered.
She held out her hand as she thought of him, imagining she was touching his face. She already knew his hair was soft, had
felt the roughness of his chin and upper lip from his perpetual five o’clock shadow. Her right hand sketched as her left thumb
traced the imaginary line of his mouth, then moved over the slope of his nose, her fingertips lightly dancing over his long
eyelashes. She continued to outline his face with her fingers, the charcoal making light brushing sounds as she whisked it
over the paper.
When she was finished, she opened her eyes and looked at her work. Her initial reaction was to laugh—she’d never drawn a portrait
so out of balance before. But as she studied it, she realized the abstraction held its own fascination. His hair wasn’t centered
on his head but was just off to the side. His chin was bigger than his mouth, which wasn’t accurate in real life.
Then her gaze landed on his eyes. She paused and leaned forward. Eyes were her specialty, and she’d always been confident
in drawing them. But what she’d sketched surprised her. The eye shape was spot on, but that wasn’t what caught her attention.
It was the emotions she saw in them, ones she didn’t associate with him. Uncertainty. Confusion. Vulnerability. Even a tiny
bit of pain.
Britt frowned. Why had she drawn that? She’d only seen Hunter insecure about his art, and that made sense. He was just learning how to draw. But she couldn’t remember ever noticing him confused or vulnerable. And the pain... She was clueless about that.
She turned from the picture, a little disturbed. She’d expected to create a drawing that was far from perfect, but one that
would capture his charm, confidence, and beauty. Instead, she’d depicted the exact opposite.
Britt shut her sketchbook, put it back in her desk, and decided to do some work. By the time she finished the first intro,
she felt better. It was just a drawing. An experiment, even. Next time she would draw him with her eyes open and depict him
the way he truly was.
Because the picture she sketched wasn’t the Hunter she knew.
***
Amy ran the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping away the sweat pooling above her brow. Another day, another weed battle.
Actually, it had been almost three weeks since she’d last tackled the weeds, and fortunately there weren’t that many left.
Good thing because it was only ten thirty, and she was already dripping from the heat.
She yanked out a few invaders between the white impatiens that bordered the patio, then took a desperately needed water break.
She plopped down on one of her patio chairs under the shade of the roof, grabbed her water bottle off the table, and took
a big, refreshing drink. Then she slouched in the chair and looked at her handiwork. But Britt wasn’t far from her mind.
For the third morning in a row, Britt had left the house before eleven o’clock, and each time, she didn’t say where she was going. Amy assumed it was K&Bs. Where else would she go? But she was spending more time there than she had in years, and that was curious. There was also something else different about her daughter—she was smiling. A lot. Even humming sometimes. Always one of those seventies songs she loved that Amy was indifferent about. Give me U2 and Dave Matthews Band any day.
But it wasn’t just that. Britt was also looking different. Her skin wasn’t as pale, and Amy chalked it up to the daily walks
she’d suddenly decided she needed to take. No complaints from Amy because Britt needed the exercise and sunshine. But her
skin tone couldn’t make that much of a difference. Her clothes were still the same too. Britt always had her own style. Eclectically
put together, if that was a thing.
Amy tapped her chin, trying to put her finger on what had changed with her daughter. A bee landed on her water bottle, and
she waved it off. Then it hit her—it wasn’t how Britt looked that was different. It was how she carried herself. Her steps
were sure, her shoulders squared, her chin up. She hadn’t noticed her pulling or tugging on anything lately either. In fact,
if she didn’t know any better, her anxiety-ridden daughter was confident.
Amy was glad but befuddled. What caused the change? Was it her decision to be Savannah’s maid of honor? Amy and Britt had
gone shopping last night for the shower, buying everything that matched Savannah’s French-country-meets-Texas-cowboy theme.
That sounded like a disaster to Amy, but Savannah was making it work and they were able to find everything. Britt had seemed
confident then too, and unbothered by the crowds as she and Amy had a blast picking out favors, decorations, and partyware.
It was a miracle.
She stood, halting her thoughts. Britt was coming into her own, and however it was happening, Amy wasn’t going to question
it, only support and encourage the change.
She was about to go back to her flower bed when her phone rang. Picking it up off the table, she was stunned at what she saw on the screen.
“Well, well, well,” she said, staring at Max’s name. The phone continued to ring as she considered whether to answer it. She
hadn’t heard from him since their movie night almost three weeks ago. No call, no text. Not even a butt dial. It would serve
him right if she didn’t answer. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in pursuing a friendship with her.
At the last minute, she slid her thumb across the screen. “Hello?” she said in a detached tone, as if she had no idea who
was calling.
“Hi, Amy. It’s Max Monroe. I’m sorry it’s been a while since we spoke. I’ve been swamped with work.”
Such an original excuse. But she wasn’t mad at him per se. There had been no expectations for anything between them. She was
mad at herself for being so annoyed that he didn’t contact her. She’d even been questioning whether she said or did something
wrong, and she hated when she did that to herself. Last week she’d finally let him go and hadn’t thought about him. Now he
popped back up in her life.
“Amy? You still there?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I’d hoped to get back in touch with you soon after seeing the movie, but I had an unexpected out-of-town
trip, and then several cases that needed my attention. I really have been busy.”
To his credit he sounded contrite, and she had no reason not to believe him, other than her apparently still-existent difficulty
trusting anyone of the male persuasion. Thanks, Daniel. “Ugh,” she said, shaking her fingers at her throat in a cut-off motion.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Is there something I can do for you, Max? I’ve got a flower bed emergency going on here.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “Weeds out of control again?”
“Always. But I shall prevail.” She sat back down, feeling less tense. “Sorry work has been such a bear for you.”
“Part and parcel of the job. I don’t have much time to chat, unfortunately. But I wanted to ask if you’d like to attend a
party with me. My boss, Arthur Pickett—did I mention him to you?”
“Yes. I think at the coffee shop.” She couldn’t say for sure, it was such an insignificant detail at the time they were getting
to know each other.
“His family is throwing a surprise sixtieth birthday party in a week. It will be at their home in University Park.”
She let out a low whistle. “Sounds fancy already.”
“Oh, it is. Black tie, of course.” He sighed. “I’ve been there once before, for a Christmas party. Don’t get me wrong, Lila
Pickett is the consummate hostess. But fancy events are not my thing.”
They weren’t Amy’s either.
“It would be so much more bearable if you would accompany me. I enjoyed our last outing, and I think we’ll both have a good
time. Or at least try to.”
“Since you’re making it sound so attractive,” she said, laughing. “Sure, why not?” She’d have to find a suitable dress, but
she was always up for retail therapy. “I’m happy to go with you, Max. Thanks for inviting me.”
She thought she heard him exhale a breath. “Great. Frankly, I thought you would hang up on me. If you even answered the phone.
I promise I won’t be so neglectful in the future.”
“A text every once in a while would be nice,” she admitted.
“Yeah, I’m not really a text person. But I could be.”
“Please, join us in the twenty-first century.”
Max laughed. “You’re delightful, Amy. You always make me smile.”
She basked in the compliment. “Thanks, Max.”
He told her the details—date, time, exact address. “I’ll pick you up an hour before. Considering traffic, that should get
us there in plenty of time.”
“Ooh, I get to ride in the Mercedes?” she said, sitting up in her chair.
“I could bring the Corolla if you prefer.”
“As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.”
“Mercedes it is,” he said with a light chuckle. “Thanks, Amy. We’ll talk soon, and we will definitely see each other on the
thirtieth.”
“Bye,” she said, ending the call. Well, that was a surprise. A pleasant one. Not only was she getting the chance to buy a
ritzy dress, but she would also get a peek at how the 1 percent in the Dallas metro area live. She’d always wondered what
those huge mansions looked like inside. And Amy would do her best to be delightful.
But for now, she had weeding to finish. She stared down the green interlopers in her flower bed. “Your doom awaits!”