Hope and Keith’s son, Braylon, had turned it into the coolest lakeside dining in the lower half of the state, as far as J.J. could tell.
Stone deserved to kick back, just like she did, and Keith’s Dockside opening night was the perfect place to do it.
“We can worry about staffing this place bright and early Monday,” J.J. finished. “What do you say?”
“Wow, yeah, that sounds about perfect. Is this…a formal thing?”
“No, it’s not. I mean, I will shower. I might even wear a dress. But maybe not.” She started to realize she could put in a slight effort. It was an opening and a big deal for Irish Hills.
“Wow, a regular red carpet affair for Irish Hills.”
“You know it. How about this: you pick me up at my place around five tomorrow, and I promise to get you in despite everyone hating your guts.”
“Still?”
“Meh, probably not, but you’re so easily cocky I have to mitigate.”
“Great,” Stone replied with a grin, “so I’ll see you tomorrow night in a possible dress. I’ll dust off my tails and top hat.”
J.J. envisioned the little Monopoly piece and laughed at the idea. “Can’t wait.”
He laughed, too.
And she scooted out of there. The word date never crossed her mind.
ChapterEighteen
J.J. hadn’t spent much time on her own beauty routine in the last few months. She, who used to keep her haircut as the perfect billboard for her services, was looking rather shaggy.
But she didn’t have time to overhaul herself completely, so the next day, she gave herself a blowout and found her lightweight chambray blouse and a khaki skirt. It was about as formal as she planned to get.
J.J. slathered on a glow serum from one of the makeup samples she’d been testing. She swiped on a little mascara and some nude lip gloss. It wasn’t much, but she found the older she got, the better her face looked with less. When she tried a full face of foundation and eye powders and contour, she felt like a clown.
She assessed herself in the bathroom mirror. There was one full bath at the Treach place, but it was enough. There was no full-length mirror, but if she needed a full-length look, she could use the sliding glass door. It worked in a pinch.
If not for the honking, she’d have been ready to go early.
Honking wasn’t exactly the right word. It was more like a trumpet blast.
J.J. walked into the great room and looked out at the lake.
The source of the honk was immediately obvious. The large daddy swan was in her yard, honking toward the dock. She didn’t want to scare the swan away. It clearly needed her help with something. She moved slowly toward the bird and saw that the male swan’s white feathers were streaked with blood.
“What is it?” She moved forward, and the swan turned toward the dock. She followed as it ran as fast as an injured swan could, to the water.
J.J. walked out onto the dock, and the problem revealed itself. The mama swan hovered close to the dock and intermittently flapped her pretty white feathers. It was weird and unnatural. J.J. got as close as she could to get a better idea of what was going on. The swan's legs were moving under the surface, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
“What the heck, mama?”
She looked around for the male, and he was stalking both of them at the water’s edge, where it met the tree line. He gave her another honk.
“I see, I see.”
Except she had no idea why he’d shown her to the female. She got closer still, and finally, the source of the issue became plain.
“Oh, you’re all tangled up!”
A fishing line was tangled around one of the swan’s legs and somehow also wrapped around the piling of the dock.
