Chapter 2
Lark Summerlin
My white shirt could have used one more pass with an iron, but it’s too late to worry. My skirt was in desperate need of more attention than I had to give it since I was late getting home. I can only hope Larry is too busy to notice when I get to work.
I step back from the mirror and brush my hands down the black fabric, still annoyed by the one crease down the center I couldn’t iron out, but I let it slide under the good day I’ve had so far. The cute guy was a nice distraction, even if he made me run late.
The skirt will probably wrinkle again in the car anyway. Larry will bitch about it, but then he’ll be too busy to care five minutes into the job.
Not that I’m upset about the encounter I had at the gas station. I’m not someone who flirts that often, but the minute Harbor walked in, I thought about it. I’m weak to a cute smile, and he had a great body.
It might be unfair to lump him in with the guys I’ve met before, but they taught me someone that attractive loses interest easily. Giving him a hard time was a good test that he passed. Bonus: I got to enjoy his attention while I had it.
I laugh, remembering the meet cute conversation. It’s ridiculous to think I’m going to meet my soul mate at a gas station. Something like that could happen in the movies that I love to watch or in the books I read, but not in real life.
Though I can admit, he got to me. The way he looked at me, his gaze penetrating me like he saw something more than what’s on the outside.
I smile, touching my lips as if his words were whispered against them.
It wasn’t the words exchanged that had me hanging onto each one of them.
It was the way his eyes would settle on my mouth, the lick of his own lips, and then his tone wrapping around me like a warm blanket that had me eager for more.
Feelings that out of control, zipping through me like a live wire would have had me acting carelessly. I don’t have the same luxury like they do in Hollywood.
I swipe on lipstick. Neutral, like my outfit. We’re never supposed to stand out but instead to blend into the surroundings when working. I roll my eyes. Heaven forbid someone catches us doing our job.
Grabbing my keys, I yank open the door in a rush to be outside when Dane arrives. “See you later, Amanda.” My roommate was in the shower moments ago, so I’m not sure if she hears me.
“Bye, Lark,” echoes from the bathroom.
I grin and start to close the door, but it’s pulled open. Wrapped in a towel, she peeks around with wet hair stuck to her shoulders, and asks, “Are you going out later?”
“Doubt it. I won’t get home until midnight.”
Her shoulders drop. “I was hoping you’d make it. Gavin’s playing tonight with the new band. I hear some of the band is single.”
“Yeah,” I reply, debating if I should go after work. “I’ll see how I feel, but don’t wait on me. Okay?”
“Text me if you decide to come, and I’ll send you the address.”
Amanda’s been my best friend since elementary school.
She was a transfer student. I was . . . broken.
Somehow, this girl who should have had it all if looks were currency—hazel eyes and hair the color of warm sunshine—was put into my path when I needed a friend the most. We may be opposites, but our friendship stuck.
We rarely fight, though we act like sisters. I have her back, and she’s got mine.
Yet I know better than to tell her about the gas station encounter.
She means well, but landing a boyfriend isn’t at the top of my agenda.
If she even gets a whiff that I’ve been around someone in what she has decided is “my dating range,” she’ll never let up.
Also, judging by his friends’ car and going by what the jerk cashier said, I think he might be from Beacon Pointe.
That would make sense since I’ve never seen him around this part of town.
Everyone around here has strong opinions about the wealthy families that live north of town. Amanda’s thoughts may be kinder than most, but the pressure to land a trust-fund boyfriend would be intense. So I save the good stuff for another time and keep Harbor all to myself.
Why am I even thinking about him? I’ll probably never see him again.
“If I don’t make it out, have fun without me.” Walking through the tiny entry space, I turn back before reaching the main exterior door and point my finger back at her. “But not too much, and if you do, I’ve got a bail fund.”
She laughs. “You’re always broke.”
Shrugging, I laugh. “I’m resourceful, though.”
“That you are, Lark.”
I hurry across the squeaking wood floor and burst through the door, landing on the sidewalk. After a quick scan down the street in both directions, I check the time. “Come on, Dane. Where are you?”
The sound of a vehicle backfiring, Dane Brody’s truck to be specific, has me looking back down the street.
The beat-up white Chevy stops at the curb. Dane leans over and pops the door open for me. “Sorry. I got caught up.”
I hop in and pull the seat belt across my chest. “You know Larry docks our pay if we’re even a second late.”
“Larry can fuck off.”
“That’s all well and good, but I need the money.”
He’s wise enough not to keep going down the path of bashing our boss because he needs the money as much as I do.
He takes off just in time to hit what feels like every red light in this town. I hate being late, and Dane has a knack for it. He’s my ride, though, so I can’t complain. Out loud, at least. Sitting at the last one before the road that leads to the estates, I grumble. “Figures.”
“Tell me about it.” He turns up the radio, catching a Johnny Cash song. My dad listens to Johnny, which is the only reason I know who it is. Thinking about Dad, I send him a quick text: Still on for Sunday?
He doesn’t get off work for another hour, so I’m not surprised when I don’t receive a response.
The town of Beacon disappears in the rearview mirror, the spires of the university along with it.
In front of us, the street stretches into the distance like a runway to the blue sky ahead.
While working for Larry, I’ve helped cater parties beyond the tall trees many times.
The trees give the privacy, protecting the estates beyond them, but I just can’t seem to get used to the grandeur beyond the gates.
What must it be like when every penny doesn’t need to count?
With no A/C in Dane’s truck, the window is down and whipping through my hair. Stealing a moment before the storm of work strikes, I extend my arm, waving my hand through the air.
Dane is good with silence, which is a nice reprieve from Amanda’s need to always chat.
I think I’m somewhere between the two. It’s ironic since they briefly dated the summer before freshman year, which is how we met.
Somehow, they knew they were better off as friends, and we’ve managed to maintain the platonic relationships over the years.
None of us can claim great luck in dating, so it helps to have others you trust who you can gripe about it to. The one girlfriend of his I avoid talking about if I have a choice, is Mia. Unfortunately, she keeps coming back into his life just when we think she’s gone for good.
I hate seeing him get used, which is the type of woman he’s generally attracted to, so sometimes I can’t keep my mouth shut. “When you say caught up, you mean you were with Mia again?”
If the shrug didn’t give me the answer, his laughter does. I punch his arm, annoyed with how weak he is when it comes to her. “I couldn’t leave her hanging.”
“Nope,” I say, throwing my hand up. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life, especially when it comes to you and Mia.”
“Wish you guys got along.”
The sudden serious tone to his voice has me returning my gaze. “You may have forgiven her for cheating on you, but I haven’t. Not sorry to break it to you, but we aren’t going to be best friends.”
“Why not?” He turns onto a property, and the gates begin to open.
I lean forward and stare at the long driveway before us with the mansion at the top of the hill sitting like the cherry on top.
It’s not that I’m envious of these estates, but I also can’t help but wonder what it must be like living here.
It’s acreage of trees as far as the eyes can see, manicured lawns, swimming pools, and long winding driveways that end at the base of stunning homes so big that several families could inhabit them without running into each other.
This one is particularly pretty with white siding and forest-green shutters. I can’t wait to see the inside.
“You’re drooling.” Dane shifts into park behind a row of event trucks.
Still staring at the structure through the windshield, I ask, “What do you think they do for a living to afford this place?”
He rests his arms over the steering wheel and follows my gaze. “Nothing.” His harsh answer takes me by surprise. “This house has been handed down.” Rubbing his fingers together, he adds, “The Westcotts are old money.” He hops out. “Come on. Two minutes to spare.”
Anchoring my shoulder against the door since it usually sticks, I wedge it open and get out.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I weave through the trucks and follow a sidewalk to the back of the house that leads to the back door.
As soon as I step into the kitchen, I’m hit with Larry’s judgmental gaze over the top of his red-framed reading glasses.
I raise a finger. “One minute early.”
“Spare me the excuses, Summerlin. You’re on refills tonight.”
“What? No.” I hate the whine that taints my voice.
Crossing the kitchen, I lean against the fridge with the wind stolen from my sails.
He knows I’d rather be serving and passing trays in the mix of the party than be stuck in the kitchen and reloading the tables all night.
“That job is the worst, and you know it.”