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“Worse.”
“You going to quit?”
Her brows tug together so close, there’s nary a millimeter between them. “Hell. No. My boss can fire me himself if he wants to get rid of me.”
“Atta girl,” I laugh. Grinning, I turn back to my plate and see the rest of my bacon gone. “Hey!”
Wes chomps on the crispy goodness, not even a little bit sorry. He’s lucky I love him so much.
Later,when we’ve fueled up for the race with a big breakfast and lots of coffee, we make our way to the address Maude gave us. What appears around the last bend of pine trees is a mansion of epic proportions. It gives my own forest fairy tale castle in Heart’s Cove a run for its money.
“Welcome!” Maude says from the porch above. “Come around the back. We’re setting up the race!”
We follow her directions, mounting steps at the side of the house, and make it to a vast backyard ringed with trees on two sides and a pond (it might qualify as a lake?) on the third. The porch wraps around the whole house, level with the ground behind the house. Maude hobbles over to us and greets us with shining eyes and a bright smile.
A table, decorated with an autumnal cloth runner, carries snacks and countless glasses of wine, juice, water, and coffee. Through the windows, I can see caterers hard at work prepping Thanksgiving dinner.
“Darling Georgia! Sebastian!” Maude kisses the two of them, gripping their arms to drag them into the mess of people on the lawn. “Everyone! Meet the woman with the art gallery! This is the one I was telling you about. She rented the old antiques store space and made it something special.”
I smile and am soon accosted by another woman—Wendy—who greets me with polite courtesy and gets us all settled with drinks and more food. Gentle music plays from speakers, and I spy Mia across the lawn, kneeling in front of Bailey.
There are heat lamps dotted over the patio to keep the place warm, and waiters milling around offer drinks and nibbles to all the guests. Tables and chairs line either side of the grass, where the racetrack is currently being set up. To the right of the lawn, the pond/lake is still as glass. A naked woman made of marble rises up in the middle of it, her arms stretched above her head where water would probably spray if the fountain were turned on.
“Can we get a lake and a fountain for our place?” I ask Wes.
He arches a brow.
I jerk my head at the nude statue in the middle of the body of water. “I want one.”
Wes’s face cracks into a grin. “We’ll see.”
“This is intense,” Fiona says as she stops beside me, a glass of water in her hands. “My family’s Thanksgivings were nothing like this.”
“Look at Des.” I point across the lawn, to where the man is staring at Mia like she hung the moon and all the stars.
“Oh, my word. He’s got it bad.”
“A BOUNCY CASTLE!” Nate comes tearing over the lawn, sprinting toward the turkey-shaped inflatable bouncy castle. (Is it still called a castle if it’s shaped like a fowl?) Alec isn’t far behind his brother. Piper hobbles after them, purse hanging off her elbow, calling out at her sons to make sure to take off their shoes.
At the far end of the lawn, a group of men are animatedly painting a white line on the lawn. Stakes are set on either side, and a ribbon is strung between them. That must be the finish line. On the far banister of the wraparound porch, strips of fabric flutter in the slight breeze. Maybe what we’ll use to tie our legs together?
The racetrack is being paced, measured, and triple-checked by a lot of serious-looking adults while kids rush around and more adults chatter, anticipation thick in the air.
Our own group infiltrates the gathering, making small talk, discussing race strategies, admiring the crisp, not-too-cold weather.
It’s chaos. I love it.
When someone rings a gong—a literal gong—the whole crowd of people quiets down in an instant.
A man who looks a little like Seb walks out carrying a trophy. It’s gold, gleaming in the weak fall sunlight, with a multi-tiered platform base, tiny etched writing on each level. Past winners, I assume. The top of the trophy is…a golden egg?
“What in the world?” Candice whispers.
“Is that an egg?” Fallon asks, and Jen replies, “Yup.”
“This is nuttier than I expected,” Nora says, “and that’s saying a lot.”
“It’s amazing,” I correct her.
