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At least she and Tom will have the house to themselves tonight.
Emma ends up carrying both her laptop and iPad out to the flagstone patio along with an iced tea. Her intention is to skim the Tuesday presentation one more time before turning to her novel, but before long she’s gotten sucked into also answering business-related emails that have come in this afternoon—which she should have known might happen. She’s always been a maniac when it comes to work, just as she was in school when she was young.
Her brother thinks they both developed into overachieving perfectionists because their parents were so faint with praise. Show their father an essay on blue whales that earned an A and his first comment was bound to beWhales are fascinating, but there’s been so much written about them. Why not tackle a sea creature we hear less about?Their upbringing has left Griffin slightly bitter, but Emma’s chosen not to dwell on the letdowns that came from her parents’ backhandedcompliments and benign neglect. Over time she’s managed (mostly) to burn off the need to please—her parents and others—and since college, she’s developed a nice rapport with both her mother and father.What possibly can be gained, she’s always asked herself,from holding a grudge?
Besides, if her parents had been more forthcoming with compliments or engaged in the minutiae of her life, she might never have become such a voracious reader or bike rider, or taken up ice skating as a hobby, something she still adores doing in the winter months. She gravitated to activities that could be done solo with little supervision or need for parental feedback.
At a quarter to six, Emma finally puts her laptop aside and heads to the kitchen, where she quickly arranges a platter with cheeses and pâté she bought yesterday and drops a cold bottle of rosé into a wine cooler. She’s excited, and even a little nervous, for the drinks date, by the prospect of having a friend of her own here in town.
The front doorbell rings exactly at six and Emma swings the door open, smiling. Addison Stark’s shoulder-length hair is down today, showing off the blond balayage highlights mixed with her natural light brown color. She’s wearing dark, flowy pants and a sleeveless lavender turtleneck, a striking outfit on her tall, shapely frame.
“This is so nice of you, Emma,” Addison says warmly once they’ve greeted each other. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“Me, too.” She beckons Addison into the house. “Are you okay with sitting outside on the patio? I’ve got bug spray and citronella candles.”
“Absolutely. I’ve been spendingwaytoo much time indoors this month.”
“Sorry to hear that. Work?”
“Yes, and I’ve also been terrible about making plans.... Since you’re here tonight, I take it you and your husband aren’t one of those couples with a second home they always abandon town for on weekends?”
“Tom bought a small vacation cottage on Block Island a few years ago, but we’ve been renting it out this summer. We only moved into this house nine months ago—right after we got married—and we want to settle in and enjoy it as much as possible.”
“I can see why,” Addison says, taking in the interiors. “It’s gorgeous—and such an amazing blend of styles.”
Addison’s nailed what Emma adores most about the decor. Though the house is modern with white walls throughout, she and Tom had the oak floors stained the color of espresso and have mixed contemporary furniture with old textiles and a smattering of rustic pieces.
“Thanks so much—though we still have a few items on the to-do list.”
“Well, you’re way ahead ofme.” Addison shakes her head. “I’ve been divorced and in my current place for three years, and I still have paintings leaning against walls.”
Emma leads her through the house to the flagstone patio, where she motions for her guest to take a seat at the teak table. Once settled, Addison leans back in her chair, clearly atease. Though her long face doesn’t make her classically beautiful, she’s definitely an attractive woman, Emma thinks, with great skin, expressive blue eyes, and plenty of style.
“Wine?”
“I’d love a glass, but a teeny,tinyone. I might grade a few papers tonight so I can go into the weekend without having them hanging over my head.”
She accepts the wineglass with long slim fingers and glances across the lawn. “Wait, is that the studio you told me about?”
“Yup.”
“You’ve clearly got the best commute in Westport.”
“I know, right? The first thing I said when I saw the property was, ‘I love the house, but we don’t need an artist’s studio.’ It was my husband who suggested I turn it into office space for my company. Before we got married, I was working out of a spare bedroom in my rental apartment in town.”
“Your husband’s Tom Halliday, right? From Halliday Advertising?”
“Yes. Have you ever met him?”
“A couple of times at events in the area, but only in passing. I hear nothing but wonderful things about him, though.”
“They’re all true, I have to say.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Emma worries that she’s sounding gross or braggy. Sometimes it’s hard for her to tamp down the sheer pleasure she feels about Tom. “I was just very lucky to cross paths with him,” she adds, spreading cheese and pâté on a couple of crackers.
“Did you work at Halliday, too?”
“Only as a freelance consultant for a short while. OnceTom and I became romantically involved, I bowed out for obvious reasons. The agency still subscribes to my quarterly trend report, and I do presentations there on each report—in fact, I’m doing one Monday—but that’s the extent of it now.”
“Sounds smart to create some distance. And where were you before Westport?”
