Page 20 of Sundown Somewhere

“I didn’t mean to steal you from your husband, dear,” the lady says.

“Oh, we’re not married. Just friends,” Dolly says. I nod from behind her, reminding myself of the same thing.

Just friends.

“If you say so,” she titters. “We were just popping by to see if there were any more of those delicious cinnamon rolls.”

I look down at my hand, the last piece in my fingers. Moving quickly, I shove it in my mouth, trying not to look guilty. No dice. Dolly, the sweet sounding older lady, and the man to her left—presumably her husband—all look at me like I’m the one to blame, my hand literally caught in the cookie jar.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” I mumble.

“Ignore him,” Dolly laughs. “Sorry to say, we’re fresh out. But we’ll have lunch set up soon. I do have some baggies of Hayes peanuts I could offer you, though, in the meantime.”

“No, no. We’ll be fine.” Lowering her head, she whispers something I can’t make out to Dolly, whose cheeks flush as she nods, watching the couple walk away.

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing.”

Curiosity gnaws at me, my interest piqued at what could have made my best friend react that way. But I don’t get the chance to ask.

“Dolly!”

Oh shit…

Pixie Jerald, Hayes’s longtime receptionist and a card-carrying member of the rumor mill, is making a beeline for the tent. If my sister is to believed, Pixie is third in command, whatever that means.

“There you are!” she says, exasperated, throwing her hand down on the table.

“Here I am!”

“I meant to make it to Dolly’s this week, but the week just got away from me.”

“Well, we’re open every day from six to two, so…”

Dolly throws me a look, asking for a rescue, but I don’t know what to say. Pixie has lived in Hickory Hills her whole life. She’s been the maven of the Hayes Industries welcome area for almost thirty years. A guard dog if there ever was one, she doesn’t let anyone who doesn’t work there or have a confirmed appointment past the gate. She also has a way of disarming people—getting them to talk and tell her everything. A combination that is lethal when it comes to a reception area. She knows the comings and goings of everyone in the complex.

I know she knows exactly what Dolly’s hours are.

“I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you,” Pixie says.

“Proud?” Dolly repeats.

Proud?!

“Yes, proud. I admire your independence. You are not letting this whole left at the altar thing bring you down. You’ve popped right back up and are doing your thing.”

What…the…fuck…

Dolly recoils slightly, as if Pixie has actually physically socked her in the gut rather than just metaphorically. A red flush settles just behind her ears, then spreads to her cheeks as she swallows hard, reflexively trying to fight back the tears.

No, no, no…

I clench my fists, stopping myself from reaching out and pulling her into my arms. Because that wouldn’t solve anything. Even if she needs the comfort.

More than anything though, I want to make the hurt go away. To make Jeff and what he did nothing but a distant memory.

“Well, I need to get back to weigh-in, but I’m glad I caught you,” Pixie says. “I’ll catch y’all at lunch.”