Chapter One #2
“Don’t forget the hot sauce!” Bailey called after her, then looked at Chloe. “She knows there’s a phone in here, right?”
Chloe rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “She’s in a mood. Let her have a minute to herself.”
Bailey frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. If there is, she’s not saying. It’s not work,” Chloe went on, crossing her feet at the ankles. “I’d know if anything was off there.”
That was probably true. While they didn’t technically work together, Chloe was the sometimes bartender at the pub and restaurant where Gwen was the head server and de facto assistant manager.
Owned by Chloe’s Aunt Mo and her wife Carrie, The Wild Clover had expanded six months ago to include a restaurant, and they’d wooed Gwen away from her waitress job at Braxton, Ohio’s only Michelin-starred restaurant, to run it.
If something was wrong at work, Mo and Carrie would know.
And if Mo and Carrie knew, so would Chloe.
“Is she seeing anyone?”
“Don’t think so.” Chloe’s eyes met Bailey’s, concern in their summer-blue depths. “She did mention her mom wants to come for a visit.”
Bailey winced. Gwen’s mother lived in Florida, which was healthier for everyone involved, and rarely made the trip north. But when she did… “That would do it. When?”
“Sometime this summer. She didn’t say exactly.”
“Well, when Bonnie gets here, we’ll run interference. In fact…”
“What?” Chloe prompted.
“What if we got her a room here?” Bailey asked.
“Here, at The Mark?”
“Half the reason these visits are so tense is because Bonnie insists on staying with Gwen, and then they’re practically on top of each other. If we put her up in the hotel, at least Gwen would have some breathing room.”
“It’s not a bad idea, but she’ll be in town for a week, maybe more. The cost of that, even if we split it…” Chloe trailed off, then shook her head. “I don’t think I could swing it.”
“Yeah.” It would be a stretch for her, too, Bailey realized. “I can ask Jenna.”
Chloe looked blank, then Bailey saw the name land. “Jenna, your ex-client? The one who gets us this suite?”
“It’s worth an ask, right?”
Chloe looked uncomfortable. “Maybe. I know she’s grateful to you, but she’s already giving us a lot.”
Bailey couldn’t disagree. The suite they currently occupied was the best the hotel had to offer, a gesture of appreciation for the help Bailey had provided when Jenna was trying to escape an abusive marriage.
The husband had ended up in prison, Jenna had ended up with most of his assets—including part ownership of The Mark—and Bailey, Chloe and Gwen had ended up with a high-end hotel suite for their traditional birthday-eve sleepovers.
“We’ll figure something out,” Chloe said, pulling Bailey out of her thoughts, then Gwen walked into the room.
“All right, food is on the way, and I pulled the champagne out of the mini bar.” Gwen flopped across the foot of the bed. “What are we talking about?”
Bailey lied without hesitation. “Marissa hitting on me.”
“Who’s Marissa?” Gwen asked.
“The masseuse,” Chloe reminded her.
“She hit on you?” Curled on her side to face them, her head propped on her hand, Gwen frowned. “That’s wildly inappropriate.”
“It would be,” Bailey allowed. “And she didn’t really hit on me, not obviously. Let’s just say there was subtext.”
“Are you going to subtext back?”
Bailey grinned, appreciating Gwen’s humor. “I don’t know. She was cute.”
“That’s an understatement,” Chloe drawled.
“And I’m in a sex drought,” Bailey continued.
“Same,” Gwen sighed.
“So maybe I’ll ask her out for a drink and see where it goes.”
“That would be a nice way to start your thirties,” Chloe mused.
Bailey had a plan for that already, but nodded in agreement.
“Also, I didn’t say this earlier, because you told me I couldn’t have a massage and I was mad at you, but I like your new hair.”
Bailey reached up to pat the mass of it, still caught up in a band for the massage, and beamed. “Thanks.”
Gwen was frowning again. “What’s different about it?”
Chloe snickered, and Bailey huffed out an exasperated breath. “I cut off about five inches and did a subtle widow’s peak on the bangs. And the streaks are purple instead of blue.”
Gwen blinked owlishly, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “Oh.”
“How did you not notice?”
“Well, I can’t tell it’s shorter when it’s up,” Gwen said defensively. “And purple looks almost the same as blue with your black hair.”
“It does not.”
“Did you get purple contacts to match?” Chloe asked before Gwen could protest again.
“Of course.”
Gwen squinted. “Are you wearing them?”
Bailey rolled eyes that were currently their natural hazel. “No, Gwen, my eyes are not purple at the moment. Do you need new glasses?”
Gwen nudged the large round frames up her nose. “These are new.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you two are going to bicker all night, we’re going to need to order more booze,” Chloe declared.
“Who’s bickering?” Gwen wondered. “I’m not bickering.”
“I might be bickering,” Bailey said with a grin.
Chloe kicked her in the shin. “Knock it off.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Chloe kicked her again.
“Hey!”
“You deserved that.”
“Regular sex makes you mean,” Bailey complained.
Chloe looked smug. “That’s not what it makes me.”
“Please don’t tell us what it makes you,” Gwen begged.
“Spoilsport,” Bailey accused.
“I was going to say it makes me happy,” Chloe said loftily.
“Well, this conversation is boring,” Bailey decided.
“Then liven it up,” Chloe suggested, and nudged Bailey’s leg with her foot. “Tell us your birthday wish.”
“My cake isn’t here yet,” Bailey protested.
“So?”
“So, I want cake with my wish,” Bailey said stubbornly.
Gwen picked the remote up off the bed. “We’ll watch Class Action Park while we wait.”
Both Bailey and Chloe groaned.
They were twenty minutes into the documentary—and Bailey had to admit it was entertaining—when a trio of chimes rang out.
“Thank God, food,” Chloe said fervently.
Gwen paused the screen. “That was fast. It took a lot longer last time.”
“It was New Year’s Eve last time,” Bailey pointed out. “Not a random Tuesday in June. They’re probably a little less busy tonight.”
“Oh. Good point.”
Chloe snatched the remote out of Gwen’s hand and shut off the TV. “Go get the food.”
“Why me?” Gwen demanded.
“Because my brain is too numb from this documentary to work, and it’s your fault.”
“Excuse me for trying to introduce a little fucking culture,” Gwen grumbled and rolled off the bed.
“I thought it was kind of interesting,” Bailey whispered as Gwen stomped out.
“Me too, but don’t tell her that,” Chloe whispered back.
Bailey snorted out a laugh. “How are we going to watch the rest of it without her saying ‘I told you so’?”
Chloe wrinkled her brow in thought. “Wait until she falls asleep?”
“And maybe get her a little drunk, so she sleeps nice and hard.”
“Good call,” Chloe said and held out her fist for a bump.
“Hey! Get out here!” Gwen hollered from the living room.
“Why?” Bailey shouted back.
“Because I’m not carrying all this shit for your lazy asses!”
“She’s so mean,” Bailey complained.
Chloe laughed and grabbed Bailey’s hand to drag her off the bed. “Come on, birthday girl. I’m hungry.”
In the living room, Gwen was already stretched out on one of the two white sofas that flanked the enormous—and now lit—marble fireplace.
She held what looked like a hot fudge sundae, complete with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a cherry on top, and a room service cart with dome-covered plates was parked beside her.
“You couldn’t just push the fucking cart in?” Bailey demanded.
Gwen shoved a spoonful of ice cream, dripping with fudge and whipped cream, into her mouth. “Nope.”
“Why is the fireplace on?” Chloe wanted to know.
Gwen swallowed her ice cream. “Ambience.”
“It’s June,” Chloe reminded her, and flicked the switch to kill the leaping flames. “We don’t need ambience that comes with heat.”
Bailey lifted a dome off a plate and found Chloe’s club sandwich and fries. The second plate held more fries, and the third yielded her oysters. “Where’s my fucking cake?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s on the table already, weirdo, with the champagne.”
Bailey looked at the coffee table, where champagne sat chilling in a bucket beside three crystal flutes, and a whole layer cake sat on a delicate china platter.
“I said a slice of cake,” Bailey told Gwen.
“No, you didn’t.” Gwen waved her spoon. “You said, ‘I want cake, vanilla cake’, and that’s what you got. You’re welcome.”
Chloe stepped around Bailey to snag her sandwich and the ketchup bottle. “Cool, now we can all have cake.”
“Says who?” Bailey demanded, picking up the platter. “I don’t have to share.”
“If you eat all of that you won’t have room for oysters,” Chloe pointed out.
Bailey considered that. “You can have one slice to share.”
“So generous.” Chloe settled into a corner of the empty sofa, her legs crossed under her, and opened the ketchup bottle. “Okay, you’ve got your cake and your champagne. Let’s hear this wish.”
“Hang on, let me pour it out.” Setting the cake down—well out of the reach of her friends—Bailey poured champagne and handed out flutes, then picked up the cake and a fork and sat on the sofa next to Chloe.
With the platter balanced on her lap, she dug in. “That,” she mumbled around the first bite, “is good cake.”
“It’s not better than this sundae,” Gwen said and shoveled in another dripping spoonful. “It’s real hot fudge.”
“Okay, I’m getting one of those,” Chloe decided. “Since greedy over here isn’t sharing.”
“I am not,” Bailey confirmed, forking up another bite. The cake was fluffy and light, the frosting thick and sweet. “You get none of this cake.”
“Greedy,” Chloe said again and dipped a fry in the puddle of ketchup on her plate. “So?”
Bailey sipped her champagne and found it went beautifully with the cake. “So, what?”
“Your wish,” Chloe prompted.
“Oh, right.” Spotting a smear of frosting on the side of her hand, Bailey licked it off. “Well, I decided to follow your lead.”
On the other sofa, Gwen blinked. “Your wish is to have sex with Jesse and Knox?”