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“Do you still want to go on adventures?” My voice is low.
“I do,” she says, holding my gaze just long enough for me to confirm her eyes are the most perfect shade of green that has ever existed.
“Then you will. When you’re ready.” I clear my throat and return my attention to the road.
A silent moment swells between us. Hope punches the button for the radio, and the droning sounds of the AM-news-station reporter dull the sudden impulse to tell her I’ll go with her on any adventure she chooses. She punches another button, and the traffic report cuts off midsentence.
I frown at the pop song leaking from my speakers. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Shotgun gets to choose the music. Don’t you know the rules?”
“No way. My car, my listening.” I reach for the radio, and she glares at me with an expression that would make my unflappable agent flap. “Fine. You win.”
She grins, too wide. “Thank you.”
We listen to half a song before my phone rings and an unsaved Rhode Island number lights up the console.
“Convenient,” Hope mutters, a smile tugging at her lips, as I answer on Bluetooth.
“Hey, Will. It’s Jeremy. From work.”
My mind takes a heartbeat too long to connect the name with the bartender who was working by my side the night of Logan Gold’s wedding.
“Listen, I ... I can’t work for you anymore.” His voice rises, as if he’s asking a question, instead of damning the Inn. “I quit.”
“No.” The word blurts out of me, and Hope flashes me an alarmed look. “I mean. Why? I can pay you more.”
I can’t, but he’s the third person to quit this week. I was already short-staffed. Without him, I’ll have to cancel all the upcoming events. I can’t afford to cancel more than I can’t afford to pay bartenders more.
“It’s not the money.” Papers crinkle. A door clicks closed. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but ... Annette Martina came to me. She basically said if I didn’t quit, she’d get my fiancée’s membership in the Garden Club revoked. It’s messed up, but—Bella loves that club.”
“Don’t say any more. I get it.” Annette has a way of getting what she wants in this town. A way of making things miserable for the people who stand in her way. “Thanks for your honesty. I appreciate it.”
“Sorry, man,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry, which is a kindness, considering I’ve called him Jarred on at least three occasions.
“She can’t do that!” Hope says as soon as Jeremy’s off the phone and a shrill song is once again screeching into the silence.
“She can and she did.” A pain rushes up my arm, and I release my death grip on the steering wheel. “She wants to buy the Inn. I told her no. I guess driving the Inn into bankruptcy is plan B.”
“She’s unbelievable.” Hope crosses her arms over her chest. “We have to do something.”
Something is the last thing I want to do. “Right now all I need to do is find someone to work a retirement party.”
“I can help, if you want.” She studies my face. “Strike that. I know that face. It’s the face I make when I want help but don’t know how to admit it. What time do you need me?”
“Am I that easy to read?”
“To me you are.” She flashes me a smug grin. “So what time?”
“Eight. On a Thursday night. Are you being serious?”
“Of course. What are friends for?”
We sit in silence as the impact of her words reverberates through the car.
Friends.
So much for no ties to Kingsette.
