CHAPTER NINETEEN
“K im, this is really too much,” Whitney said, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. She was seated on the loveseat in her boss’s living room, surrounded by cushions and a surly cat that reminded her too much of Xena.
The cat eyed her warily before dashing under the coffee table with a growl. “Hush up,” Kim spat, setting down a plate of cookies and another pot of tea.
Whitney bit her lip. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“Not you, honey. I was speaking to Sherlock. Damn cat has been a thorn in my side since the Carter administration.”
Whitney couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing. “Kim, there’s no way Sherlock is that old.”
Kim flapped a hand in the air. “I know that, but he’s been a little jackass since Watson passed. I miss that dog too, but that doesn’t give Sherlock the right to be rude.” Kim plated a few cookies and handed it to Whitney. She dropped a few cubes of sugar into a cup of tea, and slid it closer. “Now, have a snack. It’ll help calm your nerves.”
Ever the stress eater, Whitney greedily shoved a cookie in her mouth. Through the crumbs, she said, “I don’t know if I feel very calm.”
Kim tutted and raised her index finger. “But you have stopped crying, and that’s a win.”
Whitney slunk back into the loveseat, swallowing her cookie and praying the tears didn’t come back. As soon as she’d made it to Kim’s car, she’d burst into a fit of tears that could have filled the Mississippi River Delta. Kim hadn’t asked questions, simply ushered Whitney into the car and drove her back to Daisy’s.
Unable to stay in that house another second, Whitney had hastily packed her suitcase, scrawled a note Daisy, and tried to drive out of town. Kim wasn’t having it.
“I hate to state the obvious, honey,” Kim had said, blocking Whitney from getting behind the wheel, “but you’re in no state to drive anywhere.” She hesitated, and added, “Unless you’re following me to my place. It’s not too far.”
Whitney shook her head. “You’re right, it’s not safe.” She squeezed the keys in her hand, unsure what to even do.
“You’ll stay at my place tonight. We can figure out the rest later.”
Whitney had sniffed, wiping her nose with the hem of her shirt. “Thank you, Kim.”
Kim had poked her in the sternum. “It’s the least I can do for my favorite employee.”
Whitney stated the obvious. “I’m your only employee.”
“Semantics. Let’s get you to my place. Things will look better in the morning.”
And that’s how Whitney wound up on another person’s couch, with a plateful of cookies resting on her belly and the angriest cat—since Xena—pawing at her feet for scraps. “Sherlock, for the love of all that’s holy,” Kim chastised the feline, knocking him off Whitney’s legs, “leave poor Whitney alone.”
Kim brought out a stack of blankets and pillows. She placed the bedding next to Whitney and began collecting their dishes. “Let me help,” Whitney offered, standing and knocking more cushions onto the floor.
“No, no, I’ve got it. You get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day at the shop, thanks to you.” Kim turned off some of the lights, careful to leave the one in the hallway on. “I want to thank you, Whitney.”
Whitney blinked. “For what? I should be thanking you.”
Kim waved her off and paused her exit. “Listen, honey, I’ve been running that shop for over ten years, since I lost my husband. I take pride in it, sure, but I know I’ve let things slip. Having you here, learning about TickyTack and the Book of Faces has brought the store into the twenty-first century.”
Whitney schooled her features. “I assure you, Kim, social media isn’t the same as web development. Anyone can do it.”
With a huff, Kim stamped her foot. “Now there you go doing that again. Don’t sell yourself short, Whitney. You’re bright, smart, motivated, and just about the nicest person to walk into Pinegrove. You’ve made so many people happy with your skills. I won’t have you sleeping under my roof and treating yourself that way. I won’t stand for it.”
“Oh,” was all Whitney could muster as a reply.
“Oh, indeed. Now get some shut-eye. We open at nine o’clock.” With that, she turned on her heel and headed to her bedroom, the door closing behind her with a snick.
Whitney fell back onto the couch, her heart hammering. Kim was right, and she hadn’t realized it until the truth was right in front of her. She had been doing good work, and she had been making people happy.
And she couldn’t deny that the customers had responded to her changes at the shop. Not only were sales up, but the visitors that left with bags all had a smile on their face. They felt beautiful, they felt cared for. Whitney was proud that she’d made an impact.
Over the years, she’d always tried to make herself smaller. Not merely just with her weight, but in general. Winnie was the star of the family, and Whitney was fine letting her shine. Yet now, the time had come for her luster to show.
There was no use denying how much Trevor had broken her heart, falling back into Virginia’s arms, but she couldn’t deny it had made her stronger. She was in Pinegrove for more than a man, and that notion made her smile.
Just as she nestled back under the covers and prepared for sleep, her cell phone buzzed. She pawed around and found the infernal device, seeing dozens of messages from Daisy and her sister. Unable to think about the Mays clan, she closed the notifications and dialed Winnie, keeping her voice low.
“Win?”
“There you are! Geez, Whit. I’m in my hour of need and you’re MIA.” Winnie sounded stronger, more like herself. Although Whitney knew her sister, it could be bluster after a glass of wine, or she was quickly going through the stages of grief.
“Sorry, it’s been ... a little hectic,” Whitney said, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Winnie snorted. “I’d say! I call you to tell you my life is over, and you hang up on me and disappear for hours. Are you on the road?”
Stifling a sigh, Whitney took a second to collect her thoughts. Standing up to her sister was never easy, but especially not when emotions were high. “No, I told you. I’m not leaving tonight.”
“That’s probably a good idea. You don’t want to drive so late, and I won’t get back until the morning. What time are you arriving tomorrow?”
“I’m not coming back tomorrow, Win. I’m staying in Pinegrove a little while longer.”
The silence through the other line was deafening, and Whitney braced for impact. “You’re not coming home so you can have a booty call? This is all for a man?” Winnie was incredulous. “Whit, I need you at home. My life is falling apart, you can have a fling anytime.”
Now it was Whitney’s turn to be dubious. “I can have a fling anytime? First of all, that’s not true. Second, I have a job here.”
Winnie sniffed. “At a retail shop. Come. Home.” The last two words were a clipped order from her older sister. “I need you.”
“What about what I need? Hmm? You haven’t asked me how I am, or what happened, or how I’m liking my job. Every time we’ve talked since I got to Pinegrove, you’ve been dismissive of my feelings. Winnie, I love working at Kim’s Creations. I’m making a difference, I’m making friends.”
“Sounds like you’re justifying sticking around for another man. Please don’t make this fireman the next Baxter. You need to put yourself first, Whit.”
Whitney was done being quiet, and she only prayed Kim slept with earplugs. “Winnie, I am putting myself first. I want to help Kim with the festival sales. I want to stay and see the fireworks with my new friends. And not that you care, but I’m not even with my fireman anymore. I’m doing this for me. I’m sorry you’re having a tough time, but I know you do excellent work at the firm. Of course this is upsetting, but you’ll figure it out.” She paused her rant long enough to pull in a lungful of air. “I will come back for you, Win. Just not tomorrow. Instead of running away from my problems, I’d like to stay and make a difference. I will call and check in, but you need to give me space. I love you.”
She didn’t bother waiting for a response and ended the call. Winnie would be furious with her, she had no doubt, yet for the first time in their adult lives, Whitney didn’t care. She was doing what was right for her for once, and regardless of where that took her, she was fine with the consequences.
Before she could turn off the phone, she saw a slew of new messages from Trevor.
Please, let me explain.
Whitney, call me?
It’s not what you think.
“It never is.” She sighed, turning off her phone and dropping it to the coffee table with a sad, lonely thud.
It might not be fair to Trevor, but she wasn’t in the mood for excuses and lame explanations. Once again, she’d been passed over for a pretty blonde with high cheekbones and a waist the circumference of a dinner plate. She didn’t need a man to prove her worth, and she certainly was finished shedding tears for someone who didn’t want her or treat her the way she deserved.
Naturally, as soon as she swore off the entire male population, Sherlock returned. The tabby cat climbed up onto the couch and she froze. She wasn’t in the headspace for another moody cat, but the feline surprised her. He pawed at her belly a moment before curling up and purring happily. Whitney tentatively rubbed his head, and he wiggled closer, soaking up her affection.
“You’re not so bad, are you?” she cooed, letting her fingers glide through his soft fur.
Letting her eyes fall shut, Whitney listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and Kim’s refrigerator kicking on. These unfamiliar sounds helped lull her to sleep, but they also reminded her that she wanted her own space.
Grown women didn’t crash on stranger’s couches, or sleep in their sister’s living rooms. It was pointless comparing herself to other people, but Whitney knew one thing. Regardless of whether she stayed in Pinegrove or Savannah, she’d find herself a home of her own. She was in charge of her own life. The time for wallowing was over.
Tomorrow she would go to the shop and sell out their new inventory. She would stand tall and not be angry at Trevor for leading her on. They’d had a magical time together, but she wouldn’t let him—or any other man—break her. She’d follow the lead of the most iconic Southern Belle. Just like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d take comfort knowing that tomorrow was another day.