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The last thing I need to do is spend my time feeling sorry for myself. No, I’m ready to move on. Jake made his choice and so did Margaret. While I will always miss her and her friendship, I have to wonder why they didn’t just tell me.
Am I that bad of a person?
Maybe if she had told me, we could have salvaged the relationship. Maybe if she had admitted the truth, if she had been honest, then Jake and I could have stayed friends.
But neither one of them told me.
It was lie after lie after lie.
Now my entire world has been uprooted.
By the time I’m done thinking, the water is cold and my fingers are wrinkled. Reluctantly, I climb out of the tub and dry myself, then climb into bed buck naked.
The mattress is the softest one I’ve ever been on and within minutes, I’m fast asleep, dreaming of a world without my stupid problems.
**
When I wake up, I take a quick shower, then blow-dry my hair. I imagine that as soon as I’m out in the hot, sticky air, everything will frizz over, but as of right now, I look great. Quickly, I braid my long blonde locks neatly and spray some hairspray on top. That should keep the frizzles at bay, at least for an hour or two.
Mrs. Marsh was pretty direct about being on time for breakfast, so I grab my purse and scurry downstairs at 7:30. When I reach the bottom of the steps, I take a big, long whiff of the scent that’s wafting from the kitchen.
“Good, right?” A voice says. A man is standing in the doorway and he’s chuckling at my display of hunger. I should be embarrassed, but instead I’m completely scoping him out. Why are there so many sexy men in this town? First the cop and now this guy. Seriously, does Honeypot only produce models? Even the women are freaking gorgeous.
“It smells delicious,” I admit sheepishly. “Although I might be biased since I haven’t eaten since last night.”
“You aren’t biased at all,” the man assures me. “Mrs. Marsh makes the best breakfast in all of Honeypot.”
“Are you a guest here?” I ask him, but the man shakes his head.
“Nope. I’m her son, Sawyer.
“But you called her Mrs. Marsh,” I insist, and Sawyer just grins.
“Well, you know. Everyone else does, so sometimes I slip up. What brings you to town?”
“I have a job interview,” I tell him. “At the Blair Ranch. Do you know it?”
“I know it,” he says, but doesn’t say anything else. Sawyer doesn’t offer me a “good luck” or a “break a leg.” Instead, he jaunts past me, tugging playfully on the end of my hair as he passes, and I’m filled with sudden excitement and nervousness.
Are all the eligible bachelors in Honeypot this bold about touching women? Are they all so confident in their flirting? I think of the cop yesterday who told me wearing a low-cut shirt won’t hurt. While most women would find the comment sexist or inappropriate, it only turns me on.
I haven’t felt sexy in a long time. Jake certainly never made me feel sexy and nobody is going to feel attractive when their man finds someone better. Maybe I’m having post-relationship blues or single girl confidence issues, but Sawyer made me feel young and carefree when he tugged on my braid.
My feet move of their own accord into the dining room, where a buffet table has been set up with biscuits, gravy, hash browns, scrambled eggs, waffles, and sausages. I grab a plate and fill it, then find a seat at an empty table to start digging in.
“Coffee?” Sawyer asks, appearing at my table with a coffee pot.
“I thought you were here for breakfast,” I say.
“Well, Mrs. Marsh puts me to work.”
“You mean Mom.”
“Yes. Mom puts me to work.”
“Coffee would be great,” I say. He pours me a mug, then heads back into what I assume is the kitchen, and I practically devour my food. When I’m finished, I carry my dirty dishes into the kitchen and thank Mrs. Marsh for the breakfast.
