I am social. I socialize with Sherlock. That’s two of us. That’s social.
She’s got me there.
The evening settles in around us—warm air, the distant rush of waves, the steady hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
Cider Cove is gearing up for a week of patriotic excess and whatever chaos Mackenzie’s friends are about to bring with them.
Seven days of this,I think, watching Mackenzie air-kiss her way through the blonde brigade.
Seven days of toxic friends, coordinated outfits, and Mackenzie watching my every move like I’m a loaded gun in a room full of targets.
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
The answer is everything.
CHAPTER 2
The Cider Cove Seaside Social is off to a great start this Sunday night and I’m about to mingle with the crowd when Mackenzie reappears and grabs my elbow.
Before I know it, she’s steering me toward the pack of women clustering near the buffet like they’re about to stage a hostile takeover of the potato salad.
As if they’d ever eat potato salad.
They look like the mere thought of calories offends them.
“Bizzy, I want you to meet a few of my friends,” she says the wordfriendslike it’s a warning. “Girls, this is my sister-in-law, Bizzy. She owns the inn.”
And the way she saysownsmakes it sound like I won it in a high-stakes card game. Although that’s not too far from the truth. I inherited it from the last owner. After he was murdered on the premises.
Six pairs of eyes land on me at once, and I get the distinct impression I’m being scanned, catalogued, and dismissed in under three seconds.
They’re all wearing variations of the same outfit—whitejeans, colorful tops, coordinated like they planned it in a group chat I’ll never be invited to. Their jewelry sparkles in the string lights. Their hair moves in synchronized waves with the ocean breeze.
I’ll admit, they’re all beautiful and look untouchable in that way that only a mean girl clique can.
These women aren’t here to relax. They’re here to take inventory.
Behind me, Georgie’s voice cuts through the party noise. “Is that one wearing Spanx? I can see the line from here.”
I close my eyes briefly and pray for patience.
“Bizzy! What a great name!” A tall blonde with a smile just a shade too sharp steps forward and pulls me into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and casual cruelty. “Mackenzie has told us so much about you.”
I doubt it was anything good, but I return the hug because I’m not a monster.
“I’m Brittany,” she says, stepping back and giving me a slow once-over like she’s deciding if I’m worth the effort. “Vanderbilt. I sell luxury real estate in Boston. Mackenzie said you run this adorable little inn?”
The way she saysadorablemakes it sound like I glued it together with popsicle sticks.
“I do run the inn.”
“That’s so brave.” Brittany’s smile widens. “I mean, choosing to settle down in a place like this instead of, you know, having the ambition to tackle modern society. It takes guts to just retire from real life.”
My mouth falls open.
Ambition to tackle modern society? Guts to retire from reallife? What is she talking about?
