Page 12 of Sundown Somewhere

I could lie to them. Tell them that yes, it’s Hux checking in before he heads to Munch—short for Monday lunch, the weekly meeting of Hayes executives, a.k.a. him and his siblings, where they talk about whatever one talks about at that kind of thing—just like he always does. Except Margeaux works at the legal department at Hayes and is the girlfriend of Gus, Hux’s oldest brother, so she knows damn well that meeting doesn’t start for another two hours.

“Good morning to you too.”

Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I grab four coffee cups, lining them up in front of each of the girls and filling them up, leaving room for cream in everyone but Margeaux’s.

“Sugar?” Em asks.

Rose passes her the caddy with packets, while I reach under the counter to grab more, knowing that a refill is going to be required once Em is done with it.

“Your teeth don’t vibrate after that much sugar?” Margeaux asks, watching wide-eyed.

“I don’t actually want to taste the coffee,” Em replies. “Not that Dolly makes bad coffee! No offense, Dolly. It’s just that it’s coffee, and it’s gross, so…”

“None taken. Although I do have tea and soda, should you ever decide on a different form of caffeine.”

I say this, knowing it’s useless. We’ve had this conversation since we were teenagers, and still, every morning Emily makes a cup of coffee and pours enough cream and sugar into that I’m not sure it technically qualifies as coffee anymore.

“Busy this morning,” Rose comments.

“Because you’d pass up the chance at seeing this train wreck up close and personal?”

“You were here last week.”

I shrug. Rose has a point—anyone paying attention would have heard I had already returned to work after the “unfortunate incident,” as my mother has started outwardly referring to it. She is a lot more polite than I am. It’s also undeniable that I’ve seen an uptick in business since then. My bank account won’t complain though.

“Originally I was returning from the honeymoon today, so maybe…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that thought.

“Any more on whether or not you can get some kind of credit from the resort?” Alice asks.

“Yeah, actually. I got an email from the Indigo Royal’s owner over the weekend letting me know that they would be fully refunding my trip. I need to send them the ACH information, but once they have it, the money should be back in my account in about two to three business days. Thank you, Huxley Adams Hayes.”

“You don’t know that it was him,” Alice tells me.

I glare at her. “I do. One—because the itemized breakdown of the refund that was included in the email listed a spa treatment that I know I didn’t add to the reservation, and the only person on this planet who knew that I secretly wanted to do that while I was down there…is Hux. I was waiting to mention it to Jeff until we were on-site, because I knew he would have to see the spa and how incredible it is before he’d be willing to be open to it.”

“Oh.”

“And two, while we were unpacking my apartment last week, he went in the other room to take a call, something that is very un-Hux. And he thought I couldn’t hear him, but he’s not quiet, and my apartment isn’t that big. It was Dalton Sutherland.”

“Ohhhh,” all three of my bridesmaids say in unison.

“Who?” Margeaux asks.

“The Sutherlands own Southland Holdings, and are old family friends of the Hayeses,” I explain. The Sutherlands, like the Hayeses, are one of the big old Southern money families here in Georgia and have run in the same circles for decades. Something that is easy to forget since none of the Hayes kids fit the mold. “Dalton and his sister run the company now, but Dalton worked at the Indigo Royal for a bit while he was ‘finding himself’ or something.”

“I know Southland Holdings. We worked with them while I was at Sulonen.”

“So, I owe Hux a thank you for calling in that favor. Jeff is out all the money for the ceremony and reception, but at least I’ll get the money back on the honeymoon. Which I won’t be sharing.”

Truthfully, I owe Hux more than a thank you for all he’s done for me this past week, helping me put my life back together. The bigger question is how. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, ready and willing to do whatever I needed, without complaint. I know that no matter what I try to do, he won’t hear of it.

Best friend a girl could ever ask for.

“Everything unpacked?” Rose asks, taking a long sip of her coffee.

“It’s all out of boxes, if that’s what you mean by unpacked,” I say. “Did y’all want food?”

They shake their heads as my tummy gurgles, so I disappear into the kitchen, grabbing the tray of cinnamon rolls I pulled out of the oven shortly before they arrived. I bring the entire tray with me to the front, cutting into the gooey goodness to separate the buns.