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“Well, don’t turn into Papa on me. He doesn’t know when to stop.”
“How is he?” I ask, my heart squeezing. Ever since I found out he was on medication, I’ve been worried. “I should call him.”
I’m sort of avoiding him. I don’t want to hear his opinions on my life choices and I definitely don’t want him to offer to send me money again. Archer’s dad and my dad are two totally different people, but they both manage to insert themselves into our lives uninvited.
“He’s fine,” she says casually enough that I believe her. “I’m taking dinner to him tonight after my shift. I’ll probably sleep over, considering I’ll be dead on my feet by then. But, sometimes that’s nice, you know? I like to curl up in the blanket Mama crocheted and watch TV. It’s hard to miss her, but it’s nice to remember her.”
At the front door, I pause, feeling tender and emotional at the mention of Mama. Losing her was hard on all of us. Papa hasn’t been the same since she died. I remember her crocheting, her fingers deftly moving to loop the yarn into complicated stripes or geometric shapes. I look down at my own hands and smile sadly. I use my hands to peck on a keyboard most of the time.
“Okay, I’m here.” Lis interrupts my melancholy. “I have to pick up shrimp and scallops before the dinner rush, and I can’t let them sit in the car longer than strictly necessary. Enjoy your day out. Loveyoumeanitbye!”
“Loveyoumeanitbye!” I echo the sentiment and disconnect. Shaking off the sad proves harder to do when I step into a world of cold and gray rather than gold and green. The air is frigid, but hey, I’m out of the house. I bleep the key fob for Archer’s car and settle into the chilled leather. I tap the push button to start the engine, take a moment to adjust the seat and turn on the heater—and the seat warmer. In almost no time my butt is toasty and I’m ready to see the world…or at least Clear Ridge.
After visiting a few neighboring spas and salons with spa treatments on the menu, I have a better idea of his competition. My mind is filled with overlapping ideas, and my notebook too. After I left each establishment, I scribbled every thought I’d had inside.
Now I’m in Grand Marin, the open-air live-work shopping area with luxury loft apartments, the one Archer pointed out as Nate’s doing. Evidently, his fiancée, Vivian, runs this tiny town within a town. I’m impressed. Like Clear Ridge itself, Grand Marin feels both wealthy and elite, yet manages to be undeniably welcoming.
I step out of the car and lock it with the fob, angling toward the furniture store on the corner. It’s massive and, I’m sure, incredibly expensive. I plan on talking them into giving me as close to their wholesale price as possible if I find what I need. Halfway up the sidewalk, a woman stops in front of me and cocks her head.
“Talia Richards,” she says with unmasked confidence. It’s been a while since I met Vivian Vandemark, but I remember her curious smile like it was yesterday.
“Vivian. How are you?”
“I’m well.” She doesn’t close in for a hug, but she does touch my arm with one gloved hand in greeting. “What are you doing in Ohio?”
I blink, trying to decide if she’s fishing for facts she already knows or if she doesn’t know what I’m doing here. I’ve been living next door to Archer for a week. He’s with Nate today. Surely he told his brothers I’m here? I’m not a secret…at least I don’t think I am. I debate telling Vivian the truth for two seconds before I decide Archer isn’t hiding me and tell her anyway.
“Archer hired me to help with a new facility he’s opening. I’m about to head in there”—I point at the furniture store—“and check out their options for patios and pools.”
“Really.”Her brown eyes spark with interest.
“Loungers, in particular,” I add, being purposefully obtuse.
“Not what I’m really-ing, honey.” She loops one arm around mine, leads me in the opposite direction, and asks where I parked. When I point out Archer’s Mercedes, she walks us directly to it and settles into the passenger seat. Once I start the car, she speaks. “They don’t sell patio or pool furniture back there, but I know a place up the road that does. I’ll come with you,” she says with a smile, as if she hasn’t already ensconced herself into my day. “Then we can grab lunch and a drink, and you can explain how the second-most emotionally reserved man I’ve met came to hiring you to work for him. Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet.” I like everything about her. She’s forward, she’s no-nonsense, and what’s behind that “second-most” comment? I also like knowing a different version of Archer than she does. It’s not the first time I’ve heard her describe him like he’s a safe that can’t be breached. Little does she know, I have the combination.
Half an hour later, we give up on the furniture store she suggested. They’re high-end with a friendly, knowledgeable staff who agreed to work with me on price (after I slipped the Owen name into conversation), but they don’t have what I’m looking for.
“I’m picky,” I explain to Vivian when I feel her questioning stare on the side of my face.
“About furniture or everything? I want to choose the right lunch spot for us.”
“My sister’s a chef, so I’m pickier about food than anything. She spoils me.”
“I must meet her,” Vivian says as if it’s an inevitability.
Eyes on her phone, she lists nearby options and menu highlights of local eateries as the weather worsens. The rain started when we walked into the furniture store, and by the time I navigate into traffic on the main road, it turns into sleet. Rain I can drive in, so I don’t fret. Sleety snow is cold rain, right? I totally have this. I manually adjust the heat to warm the interior of the car while Vivian mentions how Nate hates olives but shakes up a dirty martini whenever she wants one at home.
“You two seem like a good match.” The automatic windshield wipers increase in speed as ice falls from the sky and ticks the glass audibly.
“He’s the best.” She doesn’t say he’s responsible for the earth orbiting the sun, but she doesn’t have to. Her love for him fills the inside of the car like rose-scented perfume.
“Have you set a date for the wedding yet?”
“May eighth. Nate asked Archer and Benji to be his groomsmen but refuses to pick which one of them is his best man. He told them to flip a coin.”
I smile. There’s something really sweet about not being able to choose which of his brothers should be his best man. Picturing Archer in a tux is a nice vision, and one I hold on to while she describes the venue and the reception. I automatically slide myself into the picture as Archer’s plus-one, but that’s a stretch, isn’t it? Working for him is temporary, plus I’m going home to Florida when the job is done. I have no work lined up after the spa, and if I do pursue working for myself, it could be years before I can count on a steady annual income.
