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Two of the girls and their families had taken up the offer to stay on the property. The other two girls had come to hang out and plot together today. The last text British had looked at before she’d left her apartment complex indicated that the girls were going to take a tour of the property. British guessed a part of the tour would be a high-speed foot chase. Who said boys were the only ones allowed to be rough?
“No running,” British yelled out and accepted the card key from the casually dressed desk clerk. She guessed having more than one guest at the hotel had brought in more staff members for the Thanksgiving week. British offered an apologetic smile and hiked her weekender bag over her shoulder. The simple movement jacked up the short sleeve of her pumpkin-colored sweater on her biceps. The movement caused her to think about the sole guest at Magnolia Palace. Donovan Ravens.
When she’d left the Cupcakery, she’d hoped she had done so without causing any suspicion from her in-laws, Vonna and Tiffani. They, along with Maggie, were smitten and flattered that the handsome stranger had made the trip into town for more cupcakes. If they’d guessed she was the one who had first brought him the cupcakes, they hadn’t let on. British found herself glancing upward and held her breath. Was she looking for him? Dang it, Vonna. British groaned and pushed her mother-in-law’s words out of her mind.
Chef Jessilyn met British in the foyer by the front desk and, a smirk on her face, wiped her hands on a red-and-white-checked washcloth.
“Jessilyn,” British began to say as she stared at the red bows tied at the ends of Jessilyn’s twin French braids, “it’s nice to see you again.”
“For the record, I will not be serving you peach pie,” Jessilyn warned.
The most British could do was sigh in annoyance. Clearly, Jessilyn was never going to get over the grade she’d been assigned. Given the largest peach producers came from the Southwood quad-state area, British’s final assignment to her students had been a peach pie. British guessed she should have picked up on Jessilyn’s baking talent when she’d turned in a peach cobbler with homemade peach ice cream, but that was not the assignment.
“No one is asking you to,” said British. She never knew if Jessilyn, who’d regularly earned a 4.0 since kindergarten, resented having her perfect GPA lowered or if it had anything to do with not respecting British as her authority figure at the time. “Even if you did, I can’t go back into the system and change your grade for you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jessilyn asked with a narrowed glare.
This was going to be a long week. Perhaps she needed to order out for meals. British shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Someone else hollered, “Whoa! Staff crossing here,” and then laughed at the chorused apology from the rambunctious girls. Mrs. Fitzhugh appeared at the entrance of the east hallway, dressed casually, like the desk clerk, in a pair of khaki pants and a white pullover shirt. Mrs. Fitzhugh used to work as a seamstress and had seen a lot of British when she’d come into her shop to have a pageant dress altered. Not only was Southwood home to peaches, it also produced several beauty queens.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitzhugh,” said British.
The girls appeared at the elderly woman’s side. “We need a light signaling someone’s in the hallway,” Lacey Bonds suggested.
“Or—” British reached out and tugged on the red bill of Lacey’s baseball cap “—you could try not running indoors, huh?”
At least Lacey had the common sense to hold her head low as she apologized to Mrs. Fitzhugh.
Jessilyn made her presence known with a scoff.
British inhaled deeply. “I have students who actually want to work, Jessilyn, so if you’ll excuse me.”
British hiked her bag once more, this time tugging down her sleeve before stepping onto the circular staircase. If she was going to chase after her students, she needed to set her belongings down.
“Ms. B,” Lacey drawled in her rich Southern accent, “we can help you.”
The rest of the musketeers—Stephanie, Kathleen and Natasha—came up behind Lacey.
Last summer, the preteen engineering expert Natasha had placed first at robotics camp with her fifth-grade class. She’d been heartbroken when she hadn’t qualified to be on the robotics team at Southwood Middle School.
Coding was Kathleen’s specialty. She’d coordinated the best back-to-school light show earlier this year in the cafeteria.
As delicate as her name was, Lacey was quite the tomboy and math whiz. She could calculate how much force to put into a soccer ball and where to kick to make it spin. Wholly the opposite of her best friend, Stephanie loved everything girlie. She was their budding chemist. She found a way to counter her parents’ rule against not wearing makeup by using cherries to stain her lips.
“Thanks, Lace,” British said, not fighting the tug at the handle of the weekend bag. Because she lived in Southwood, British didn’t pack a lot of things. Her variety of canvas shoes mainly weighed the most. For a moment she regretted not bringing anything feminine like a cute lacy top and some sandals, just in case she ran into Donovan.
Lacey threw the bag over her shoulder as if it was nothing. “Your room is up here,” said Lacey. The energetic girl took two steps at a time and talked over her shoulder. “Mama thought you might want to stay at the other end of the hall, away from us.”
“Yeah,” Natasha chimed in, making the task a race. Heavy footsteps echoed and rattled the gold-framed portraits hanging from the walls. “Something about us making a lot of noise since Miss Kenzie said the four of us could stay in the same room together. She said there’s only one other person over here.”
“Wasn’t that sweet of her,” British cooed with a sarcasm the girls didn’t pick up on. “I’m going to have to send her a thank-you note.” Kenzie knew what she was doing.
Parents often made beauty pageants awkward and competitive. British was fortunate to start off early with toddler pageants and bonded with the other girls who later became close friends of hers throughout life. They called themselves the Tiara Squad. British served as a bridesmaid to Felicia Ward last summer and attended Kenzie’s private ceremony. The other girls in her Tiara Squad had married, and everyone had tried to find a way to get British back into the dating market. If she ever was in the dating market. She’d dated here and there but no one had caught her attention long enough the way Christian had.
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nbsp; With Christian, she loved his patience and understanding. He made her feel like the only woman in the world who mattered. It never mattered if she didn’t receive the highly prized title in a beauty pageant; she was always his queen. Christian drove her everywhere and whenever she wanted to speak with other girls at pageants about STEM.
