9. Stairway to Spite
STAIRWAY TO SPITE
JUNIE
At six a.m., I step out of my apartment, ready to get a jump on the day and possibly avoid Cole for as long as possible, but nearly fall to my death when the top stair sets off a chain reaction that has each subsequent stair lighting up as though it’s a fairy path in the forest and I’m the magical Fae.
“What the hell?” I grab hold of the railing and spin in a circle before kneeling onto a step to get a good look at what’s going on.
This isn’t a quick fix. Someone spent time—I poke at the professional strip of lighting—considerable time installing these. On a Friday night, no less.
I narrow my gaze at Cole’s office window, then across the path toward the clubhouse. Does maintenance work odd hours so they don’t disturb anyone, or is Cole playing Mr. Fixit to ease a guilty conscience?
That’s his typical MO. When I was fifteen, Hudson yelled at me about using all the hot water, and the next day we had a newer, bigger hot water heater installed.
I came home from the library early and saw Cole tearing apart the box and agreeing to shovel Mr. Jamison’s drive all winter to cover the service fee.
I shake off that thought and make my way to Cole’s kitchen for coffee, having officially surrendered in the decaf war.
Not because he won but because I ran out of energy, and I need him to be able to focus on every bullet point I send his way.
The fight against Devin is more important than the war on caffeine right now.
I must be going soft, and it doesn’t bode well for my future. That’s precisely why I’m sneaking into Cole’s house to get ahead of some work at six on a Saturday morning.
Except when I attempt to insert my key into the knob, I find it already unlocked, and the house is in chaos as the door swings open.
Nana Mae is on the phone, issuing commands that sound less like requests and more like a mob boss coordinating a siege.
Cole is at the counter with a clipboard, which means this is serious.
He’s also dressed in a Henley that does inappropriate things to his forearms that I refuse to spend another second on.
Still, I take a mental snapshot. Involuntarily. My brain is a traitorous bitch.
“Morning,” he says without looking up. His gruff tone sends heat to a heart that’s trying desperately to defrost against my will.
“What’s happening?”
“Festival,” Cole grunts at the same time Nana Mae says, “War, didn’t I tell you? I thought for sure I mentioned it.”
She didn’t.
He flips a page on his clipboard. “It’s the annual Haven Community Day.”
“Yes, but those snots over at Cypress Hill caught wind of it and have been one-upping us ever since,” she scoffs.
“Nana Mae.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if this is a conversation they have often. “Cypress Hill is twice as large as we are, and the quality of their builds is half of what ours are. This is in no way a competition.”
“Bullshit,” she barks. “Cypress Hill is trying to take your thunder in that architectural design award, just like Paula Pea Brain did back when your mama was up-and-coming.”
“An award I haven’t entered. Ever,” Cole fires back, ignoring the comment about his mom—he never talks about his parents.
Her eyes pinch at the corners. “No, but this year I dug the application out of the trash and entered it on your behalf. Those soul-sucking leeches are not encroaching on your success.”
He goes still. “Nana Mae. What the hell are you talking about?”
Ventriloquism looks sexy on Cole.
Ugh.
Cole Whittaker is not sexy.
“Try me, Cole. Just try and win this one.” Nana Mae’s tone is enough to have me stepping back. Something passes between the two of them. A story, a secret I’m not privy to, but Cole is the first to acquiesce.
“The award means nothing,” he grinds out. “Just because you have some old vendetta against Paula Van Holten—”
“This has nothing to do with that old bat and everything to do with you, this land, and our family.”
“Ah, I’m just going to—”
Nana Mae tosses an apron over my head as though I’m cattle she just hog-tied.
On the front it says, Kiss the Cook’s Granddaughter, and she wastes no time tying it behind my back.
“Pushy Paula’s daughter and Cole’s mama were rivals growing up.
That rivalry reignited when they ended up in different branches of the same company.
His mama in Boston, and that twit over in Charleston. ”
“Nana Mae,” Cole groans.
There’s more to that story, I’m sure.
“Lemonade stand,” Nana Mae says. “You and me, sweetheart. Starts at nine.”
“But…work—” I spin to find Cole. Surely he’ll help me out of this. But when I find him glaring at my apron, I know I’m all alone. You’d think I’d be used to that by now. “I actually have work to do.”
“Your spreadsheets will survive one day without you,” Nana Mae says, offering no room for argument.
She leans in and whispers, “Paula Van Holten’s granddaughter will be there too.
Cole may call you Viper, but that woman’s the real deal, and we’re not gonna allow her to get her claws into our Cole, you hear me? ”
That giant ball of jealousy I used to wear like camouflage anytime Cole’s ex was around bursts free from my ribs like I’m a goddamn storm cloud built for spite.
Cole’s mouth twitches. I see it. He sees me see it, and then he focuses on his clipboard.
“Her mama and Cole’s mama might’ve been friends and competitors back in the day,” Nana Mae continues. “But they’ve already taken too much. They’re not getting Cole too, you hear me?”
“Fine,” I growl. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Porchlight Cove, but I can’t handle another one of Cole’s girlfriend-bullies in close proximity, so if I have to play bouncer for him, I will.
This is strictly for my professional sanity. Nothing else.
I need—
In front of Cole, in his favorite mug, steam rises from the coffee he beat me to making. I steal it while he isn’t looking, except his head lifts the instant his mug hits my lips. He watches me take a long drink and set it back down, but he says absolutely nothing.
Jesus, it’s good. Strong, slightly over-extracted, exactly how he likes it.
His sparkling green eyes give him away. He knows about the decaf. He’s known for a while, and the prick never said a word.
“You could’ve warned me the festival wasn’t just for The Haven,” I grumble as I move around Nana Mae in the booth that’s attracting kids and bees by the handful.
“This is how we show off all Cole’s hard work, dear. Everyone who lives here already knows how great he is.”
I snort but continue juicing the lemons.
It feels as though the entire town showed up from the mainland. Couples with strollers fill the streets. Teenagers who clearly have nowhere better to be snicker and take selfies.
And not a single one of them knows who I am.
Today, I just get to be a woman squeezing lemons at a lemonade stand.
The freedom of it hits me so hard, I set down the pitcher and grip the edge of the table.
This is what it felt like before the bar, before Grace’s campaign, before hundreds of thousands of strangers appointed themselves the jury of my character. But now, I have Nana Mae at my side, and Cole, who runs booth to booth, fixing things that aren’t his responsibility.
“You’re staring into space, dear.” Nana Mae bumps my hip with hers. “Pour and smile. That little hussy Paula and her granddaughter Lola are heading this way.”
My spine instantly straightens. Lola sounds…sexy.
I glance down at my T-shirt, cutoff denim shorts, and Nana Mae’s apron that covers me from collarbone to knee, and cringe.
Did I even brush my hair today?
Then I stomp my foot because how I look doesn’t matter.
I’m not Cole’s and he’s not mine.
I pour more glasses of lemonade when the frost hits our tent.
“Paula,” Nana Mae hisses.
“Bless your heart, Mae Belle, dear. Your little festival is so…quaint.”
Oh, this bitch is going down. I lift my gaze just as an Elle Woods wannabe steps up beside her.
“You remember Lola, don’t you, Mae Belle?” Paula’s voice is syrupy sweet.
I almost gag.
“Lola,” Nana Mae replies, and dang. I might be falling in love with Mae’s spiteful side.
“Where’s Cole?” Lola asks. She doesn’t even spare me a glance, but I’m used to it. She’s probably the kind of woman who only acknowledges other women she views as competition.
If I had long sleeves on right now, I’d be rolling them up and ripping out my earrings.
“He’s around,” Nana Mae hedges. “Junie, dear. Put this back on. I think we’ve squeezed enough lemons for a bit.”
Before I can ask what the hell she’s talking about, she reaches for the ring she set on a glass dish and forces the giant diamond onto my ring finger. Then she has the balls to squeeze the sensitive skin between my thumb and forefinger hard enough to hurt.
She’s sending me a warning. I’d be impressed if my entire body wasn’t sweating.
Nana Mae turns back to Paula and her mannequin granddaughter. “But before you run off Junie dear, let me introduce you to the woman who got turned down by my Arthur. Repeatedly. Junie, this is Paula Van Holten. Paula, this is Cole’s fiancée, Junie Mercer.”
I’m mid-swallow when Nana Mae shoves me forward ring-first by holding my wrist in a grip so tight I’ll wear her bruises for a week.
“His what?” Lola whispers. “Since when? Gran, you didn’t tell me—”
“Well, this is…interesting.” Paula’s Southern charm has worn off.
Nana Mae pinches my side, and I stumble forward. “Ah, yup. I’m going to go find my ah, Cole. I’ll be back. Nice to meet you. I think.”
Shaking my head, I practically sprint through the festival with one thing on my mind—kill Cole Whittaker for his grandmother’s lies.
It takes me twenty minutes to find him. Mostly because Katie made me sign an agreement about attending the next S&S meeting that turned into drinks on Wednesday too.
But even after I find him, I can’t bring myself to interrupt. I don’t mean to watch him. But Cole Whittaker running a community festival is a spectacle I’m not equipped to ignore.