“Wonderful metaphor, wouldn’t you say?” Micki Mantle asked. She’d pulled her dark ponytail through a ball cap, which she adjusted each time she spoke. It was endearing in an odd way.
Melanie nodded vehemently.
The two Jennifers looked at each other and nodded as well. “Definitely a strong metaphor,” Jennifer Number One said.
I jumped in. “I found parts of the book frustrating.”
“In what way?” Melanie asked, looking the part of a Rhodes Scholar. I had to give it to her. The doorbell rang just as I opened my mouth, and Micki dashed off to answer it.
“Well, for one, there was so much description. Too much. Usually that’s a positive in my opinion, but Hall was beyond verbose. It cluttered the narrative.”
“Yes, but you can’t ignore the fact that she was trying to paint a very vivid picture of a specific time in history.” We all turned to the voice, and I squinted to find Courtney standing behind the couch. How in the world? It was like seeing your fifth-grade teacher at the mall. Worlds were colliding.
“You made it!” Melanie crowed, moving to Courtney and putting her arm around her. “Everyone, meet my friend Courtney, who is in town from Chicago. I hope it’s okay that I invited her to join us. She even read the book!”
Monica beamed at Courtney and fluffed her hair from her spot on the couch. The Jennifers sat a little taller. Debbie subtly applied lip gloss, and Micki looked like she’d just won the lesbian lottery. If Courtney had arrived with the words “fresh meat” scrawled across her forehead, the response wouldn’t have been any less overt. These women were primed for new blood, and this new blood happened to be crazy attractive. I resisted an eye roll.
“We’re happy you could join us, Courtney,” Micki said. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Anything red would be great.” She looked around and beamed. “This place looks more like a party than a book club meeting.”
“We like to have fun while we chat,” Donna told her and then laughed way too loud.
“How about a snack? I baked blueberry muffins,” Jennifer Number Two said. “From scratch. Let me grab you one. Warm butter?”
Courtney smiled at her as she passed. “Absolutely. Thank you. You’re so sweet.”
The sweetest. That was Jennifer Number Two.
Donna leaned forward, her chin in her hand, staring intently at Courtney like a lion gazing upon its next meal. “Tell us, Courtney, what were you saying about the book when you came in?”
Courtney flashed her killer smile and I felt the room collectively swoon. My emotion was dialed to Over It. “I think the point I was trying to make to Maggie, who I have nothing but the utmost respect for, was that the description of the book, which I believe she characterized as—”
“Excessive,” I supplied. “I characterized it as excessive.”
She turned to me. “Right. Was actually a tool for creating that early twentieth-century world so vividly for the reader. We needed those details as the world, to us, is foreign. Am I right?”
Six heads nodded in perfect synchronicity.
“Yes,” I said, adjusting in my spot on the floor, “but at the same time it made the book clunky and needlessly long.”
“I really enjoyed the description,” Jennifer Number One said.
“I did also,” said Two. “A lot.”
“Okay, I like this discussion. This is all very good,” Micki said, addressing the group. “Very good indeed. Let me ask you this. What do we think about the message of the book?”
“It has such a strong message,” Melanie announced. She then took a delicate sip of her wine. She was going on the traitor list.
Courtney fielded the question. “I think it’s clear that the author wants us to understand that it’s important for gay people to be treated just like everyone else, which, for the time period, was lofty. She was a pioneer.”
Given the events of the evening, the universe demanded I take the opposing viewpoint. “Right, but the message I walked away with was that if you’re gay, be prepared to be lonely and miserable for the rest of your life, which is horrible. For me, that message just about overtook everything else. It ruined the book for me.”
Courtney turned to me. I hated how beautiful she was. “I guess I’m trying to see the positive side.”
I closed my eyes momentarily, frustrated that Courtney could drive me insane on one hand and still make me want her desperately on the other. How was that possible? How was it even fair? I wanted to draft a sternly worded letter to the fates to get their shit together and leave me out of it. “I think I need more wine,” I proclaimed loudly.
I headed to Micki Mantle’s kitchen and scooped up the already opened merlot, pouring a generous amount into my glass. Okay, and maybe even a little more for good measure. “Easy there. I don’t want you overly fortified for our debate.” Courtney. Damn. Would my luck never end?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, spinning around. Good God, she looked good. Jeans and a red T-shirt that came with a fantastic dip in its V-neck. I decided I hated all V-necks. I’d burn all I owned when I got home, because that view was criminal and nudged every erogenous zone I had.
She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to participate in book club. Melanie invited me. Why else would I be here?”
“Apparently, to act as eye candy to those women out there.”
She seemed taken aback by that, and a little amused. “Are you jealous? Is that what this is?”
No, she did not. “That’s ridiculous. I just think we could use a little space given the whole…”
“Chemistry thing,” she supplied.
“That. Yes. I can admit it. And you, here, at my book club meeting, is not offering me that space. You can mess with my head another time, I promise. But something has to be sacred, you know?”
She nodded and took a step in. I felt it. God, did I feel it. “So you don’t want me at your meeting?”
I swallowed, wanting her and fighting it. “No.”
She inclined her head, her blue eyes dancing. “I’m picking up on a few hostile vibes.”
“Yeah, well, you’re very intuitive.”
“So I’ve been thinking about something. The chemistry.”
Big gulp of wine. Huge. “Oh yeah?”
She leaned against the counter next to me, all casual and delectable, which wreaked havoc on my concentration ability. “It makes total sense, given our history. I’m not sure we should beat ourselves up about it.”
“I completely agree.”
“In fact, it’s not a big deal at all.”
“Great.” Big bite of cookie. Chocolate would save me.
Courtney looked at me and smiled. “I don’t want to violate anything sacred, but you have a tiny bit of chocolate…” She reached out and swiped her finger across the corner of my mouth. I looked on, dumbstruck, as she pushed off the counter and headed toward the living room. “See you out there for round two.” She licked the chocolate off her finger and was gone.
Holy hell. What was I supposed to do with that? The chocolate was a turncoat.
“We’re about to move on to characters,” Micki said, peeking her head into the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything is just fine. On my way.”
“Great,” she said. “We need our resident smarty-pants.”
I laughed because my actions of late could be described as anything but smart. Somehow Reckless Pants and Stupid Pants didn’t have quite the same ring.
*
The best part about torrential downpours in higher elevations is that they can be merciless. And when I say the best, I mean the worst. The next afternoon, I squinted through my windshield attempting to see the thin, winding road in front of me. The journey to the pocket listing could be described as obscure and treacherous at best. I white-knuckled it out to the house, doing an impressive fourteen miles an hour for most of the trip, not at all surprised to find that Courtney had beat me there. She stood on the cove
red porch of a rustic little cabin surrounded by tall, lush trees and offered a wave.
Not anticipating this level of precipitation, I’d neglected to bring my umbrella and hated myself for it. There was only one way into that house. I was going to have to make a run for it. After a deep breath, I threw open the door and raced up the walk like a lunatic, bounded up the three stairs, and landed safely under the protection of the covered porch.
“I’ve never seen you move that fast in your life,” Courtney said, laughing. “That was great! Do it again. More arm flailing, though. That was the highlight.”
I took a bow. “It turns out I’m a fast runner when I need to be.”
Courtney’s gaze moved down my body and up again. “Not fast enough, I’m afraid. You’re soaked.”
I ran a hand through my wet hair, realizing she was right. I lifted my shoulders in an attempt to unplaster my shirt from my body, but it clung to me ruthlessly. I was a walking burlesque show. “It seems I am.”
Her lips parted as she took me in. “Don’t worry. It’s not a bad look.” We stared at each other for a moment to the sounds of the rain falling, thick and heavy as the tension blanketed us. Danger, Will Robinson.
“I should show you the house,” I said quickly, rallying.
“Yes. We should probably get to that.”
I typed the provided code into the lock box, which granted us entry into a highly intriguing space. “Oh, wow,” I breathed, moving inside. The cabin had been staged with crisp, angular, and rather expensive-looking furniture in grays and blues. As for the design of the house, the architect had not spared on creativity. The place was a compact little playground of cool. A largely charcoal living room comprised the main floor, with the solitary bedroom located directly above, open and overlooking the rest of the house in dramatic fashion. A circular staircase wound languidly up. A gray kitchen to the left of the living room could be seen through a large, square, artistic-looking window on the wall that separated the two rooms.
“Would you look at this?” Courtney said, walking immediately to the back of the house. While the front was rustic and quaint, the rear was modern and fabulous, situated on top of a lake. The entire back wall was made of glass that extended to the floor, beneath which ran water from the lake. “We’re standing on the lake. How is that possible?”
“This is fortified glass,” I told her, reading from the detailed email on my phone. “Reinforced several times over, apparently a signature of the architect.”
“Good to know because that lake is rising as we speak.”
I frowned. “Let’s hope that rain lets up soon.” A clap of thunder punctuated that sentence. “Uh-oh.”
“Yeah.” Courtney pulled up an app on her phone and showed me the red angry mass moving over our location on the radar. “We’re right in the center of it, and it doesn’t look like it’s moving too quickly, which means there’s more on the way.”
I shook my head. “I should pay more attention to the news. We probably shouldn’t have come out here. The roads were horrible.”
“It’s not a problem. We can wait it out. Better to be safe than sorry.” The thunder struck again and the walls of the house seemed to shudder. “You’re sure about this glass? How fortified is fortified?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, pretty sure.” Honestly I wasn’t sure at all. “To be safe, why don’t we move to the front of the house? You know, the part with a floor we can’t see through.”
“Good call.”
Courtney followed me on a tour of the rest of the home as the storm of the century marched on. When we finished in the kitchen, I turned to her. “Pretty awesome finishes, huh? I could see you living out your remaining glorious weeks here in style.”
“They’re beautiful.” She trailed her finger along the sparkly Silestone countertop. “I’ve never seen a place quite like this.”
“Think about it. It may not be a forever space, but I would say it’s a pretty cool spot for a temporary stay. Tons of sketching opportunities. Let’s sign the lease!”
She balked, apparently maintaining a level head. “If it weren’t for the fact that we literally can’t leave right now without fearing for our safety, I might agree with you.”
“Stop focusing on the details.”
“Says one of the most detail-oriented people I know.” It felt good, the back and forth, and I let myself enjoy it for a moment. She pushed herself onto the countertop. It reminded me of the teenage version of her, playful and adventurous.
“Pshhh. What’s a little monsoon when you have a winding staircase thing in your living room?”
“Very persuasive.” She gestured at me, which had me noticing her hands. “I see why you’re wildly successful at this whole real estate thing. ‘Winding staircase thing’ is some pretty technical jargon.”
“I’m no department store heiress, but I do okay.” Because we weren’t able to leave, I pushed myself up on the counter across from her. It took me an extra try. Okay, and then a third attempt. The fact that I would never be as cool as Courtney was once again reinforced.
“You okay?” she asked, amusement sparking behind her eyes.
I waved her off. “Totally fine.”
“Just checking.” A pause as she studied the kitchen. “I’m a little jealous of you, if we’re being honest.”
“You are not.”
“I am. Getting to go into all these different houses and close deals.”
“Well, yeah.” A beat. “But you always found the big city more your speed.”
“I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “There’s something pretty charming about this little town. I forget until I’m here.” For whatever reason, it made me happy that she appreciated Tanner Peak. It should be appreciated, and she saw that.
“Speaking of here, you still haven’t said how long you’re staying.”
She raised a shoulder and took a deep breath. “It’s hard to say. Could be a month. Could be three.”
“Or Two? Or six.”
“Possibly.”
I eyed her. “You’re very Mary Poppins about the whole thing. Just gonna wait for the wind to change?”
She chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m here for as long as it takes to get the store where it needs to be, or when I’m needed elsewhere.”
“Vague.”
“Like you haven’t been.”
I made a show of smiling at her. “Courtney, I’m an open book.”
“Really? Then why didn’t you tell me that you were coming to Chicago five years ago?” She said it as if it were the most casual thing in the world. While the reference sobered me considerably, I followed her lead and kept my tone light.
“I told you the other night.”
“I’m talking about back then.”
We stared at each other. “Because it wouldn’t have mattered.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. That ship had sailed. You were young and in love. With a senator’s son, no less.”
She seemed uncomfortable but held my gaze. “I was young and heartbroken. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, well, apparently not too heartbroken.”
“Don’t.”
“What?” I asked and meant it.
“Maggie, you have to remember—”
“Margaret,” I corrected gently, doing everything I could to keep her at arm’s length, but also feeling myself losing that battle. The memories overwhelmed me, and this was Courtney I was talking to, my Courtney, who knew me inside and out, who knew parts of me no one else did. “We all made the best decisions we could at the time,” I said quietly.
She nodded. “Right. We did.”
The room fell into silence, and not the comfortable kind. I slid off the counter and headed to the living room, suddenly feeling trapped in this small house with Courtney, who was making me feel things that I didn’t want to feel ever again.
But she wasn’t done.
“Mag
gie, wait.” I heard the footsteps behind me and closed my eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t. I just…needed a moment.” I felt her hand gently touch my shoulder, and she turned me to her. Her eyes widened, and she quickly ran both hands down my arms and up again in alarm.
“You’re freezing. Look at you.” She glanced around for a solution. “It’s because you’re soaked.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Look. You have goose bumps.” I didn’t point out to her that they weren’t from the cold. “I wonder if there are clothes in these closets.” She headed to the nearest one and threw it open.
I cringed. “I’m not wearing some stranger’s clothes! That’s weird and unprofessional.”
“We’re caught in a storm. They would totally understand, and you don’t have to be professional with me.”
“No, I’ll be in Realtor jail in no time.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“Still.”
She passed me a look. “Stop being stubborn. We at least need to get you out of that shirt.” The thought took me somewhere other than what she’d intended. She must have heard the sentence out loud and regrouped. “Hey, I’m just trying to be helpful. You know what? Here. You can wear my jacket.” She shrugged out of her navy suit jacket and held it out to me. I reluctantly accepted the jacket because I was freezing and hated the impracticality of being stubborn just because it was Courtney doing the offering. I pulled my cold and wet shirt over my head and slipped into the jacket, which at the very least was dry…and oh, smelled a lot like her.
“Here, you’ve got the lapel flipped.” She moved to me and I held up a hand.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I’ll just—”
“Fine. Whatever you want.” I huffed out a breath and dropped my hands to my sides in frustration as Courtney adjusted the jacket, turning the lapel right side in. And there she was. Right there in front of me. Everything seemed to get softer with her proximity. The world slowed. She must have felt it, too, as her movement stilled and her hands slowly dropped.
Strawberry Summer Page 23
