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Dolly
As soon as I saw the way the woman sidled up to Ev and Hudson, I knew why she was there. I’d never seen her before today’s farmers market, and that was my first uneasy feeling.
Not a lot of people visit our town, and none that do visit come organically. They either have family or a friend, or some other reason, to come to Bluebell.
And it’s one thing to come into my small town and visit my farmers market like you’re one of us, but it’s quite another to visit and ask out the town’s most prominent dairy farmer.
Under the guise of wanting to try Gray Farms’s new butterscotch-flavored milk, I snuck out of my boothand visited Deuce, asking him about the woman with his fiancé.
Tiffani Ledbetter. She went to college with Everly up in Northern California six or so years ago, and moved here randomly for a change of scenery after getting burnt out on corporate law and the city.
Sounded pretty fucking convenient to me.
I texted Ivy from behind the booth, begging her to come work Designed by Dolly for the rest of the afternoon. Shaking, cold sweat sheeting my back, I promised to owe her, and once she came and tagged in, I went straight up the drive, past Hudson’s, to our place, and locked myself away in my room.
After burying my face into a pillow and screaming until my head hurt, taking a baseball bat to my unfinished canvases out in the barn, then glaring at Tiffani through the blinds in our kitchen, I returned to my room with a cup of tea and resolve to cut the emotion, and get to work.
And now, with my laptop on my thighs, my nostrils flaring, anger and impatience creeping through my veins like a slow drip narcotic, I’m learning all there is to know about the woman whodaresto challenge my claim on Hudson as my soulmate.
I saw him stuff the paper into his pocket.
He took her number.
But I don’t blame him. His sister does so much for them and she was clearly pushing him. My man likely felt pressured. But that’s whyhe has me. As soon as he lets me in, I’ll make sure everyone else stays out.
Opening four new tabs, I start my research.
I did this to Tessa, too, when they first moved inand I realized some pregnant woman married my soulmate. I researched every detail about her but it was all for naught, since she took off anyway.
But this Tiffani Ledbetter person.
I saw the way she ogled my Hudson. I recognize that horny,fuck me and come on my face and into my open mouthgaze.
That’smyfucking gaze.
It’s proprietary.
Quickly, in the first tab, I type her name into the People Pages, a generalized phone book listing that kicks back most home addresses for the name you give, unless the civilian has paid to protect that information. Almost no one does that, so after typing in Tiffani Ledbetter Bluebell CA, I spend a handful of minutes sifting through the results until I findtheTiffani who also lived in Northern California. I save all four of her former address listings, then look each of them up on Google Maps.
The first one is an apartment, and the building is run-down, and up north, and likely where she lived as a student. My ignited nerves settle a little as I move to the next street view. The second location is also an apartment, this one not any better, despite the fact the years listed were post-graduation.
Maybe she’s a saver.
Though her Tory Burch sandals in dusty gravel at a farmers market don’t exactly screamcoupon clipper.
The next location is a home, but the listing shows various inhabitants, and is located in a small, desert town in Nevada. When I look at the street view photos, there’s something about the home that looksstrange. Additionshave been made, with an entire extra wing added haphazardly to the side of the home, eating up most of the driveway. On the street out front are bumper-to-bumper cars, as if this photo was taken during a party. But when I enhance the photo, there’s a visible layer of dust on some of the windshields. As if they’ve been stagnant there for some time.
The final location is actually in the town she said she left, and I don’t know why that surprises me but I have to admit, I thought it was a lie. Something about this woman that comes into a close-knit community in a small town and thinks she can just swoop in and date the best, handsomest, sexiest, sweetest, most devoted man? I don’t like her, and I don’t like her angle.
Though the last home is small and part of a duplex, it is neat and cute, with blue shutters and a large ficus on the covered porch. It’s cute and nice.
Why couldn’t she stay there?
I replay the small bit of information acquired from Deuce, and in the next open tab, I type in the name of the college she attended with Everly.
I know what year Everly graduated, and so, if she and Tiffani went to school together, I should be able to find Tiffani within a four-year range on the alumni listings.
It takes just ten minutes to search for her name or potentially misspelled variants of her name. I throw her a bone and search through not four years buteightyears of alumni listings. I found Everly but there is no record of Tiffani Ledbetter graduating from this college.
