by Celia Loren
"And's how's Tara?" Mrs. Hunt asks, taking a pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge as I sit at the counter. She was our housekeeper going all the way back to when my parents were still together.
"She's...you know. Still drinking a bit too much. Actually, I should text her to let her know I got in safe."
"And she's not with Mark anymore?"
"No, they got divorced a couple years ago. Wasn't as messy as her divorce with my dad, though."
"It's easier when there aren't kids involved. Your dad asked me to remind you about this party tonight at the Historical Society."
"Oh, god. I managed to avoid all that stuff over the holidays, but I guess I'm a bit more obligated now."
She laughs. "I knew you wouldn't want to go, but you just try telling that to your father. He's been their biggest donor for the last two years, you know."
"Yeah, he told me that Woodall & Sons is opening another office in Atlanta now. I can't believe how well the business is doing." My father's always been wealthy and dislikes talking about money, but from what I can gather, the company is on another level now.
"Well, it's all thanks to Boone. He's practically running things now, even though your father still has the title."
"And the majority shares, I assume," I add with a smile.
"Yeah, I don't think he's about to give those up!" She turns to wipe down the counter, and I slide my finger across the sweat on my glass.
I've kept up with Boone Tillman's evolution more than I'm letting on. The local newspaper's gossip columnists cover his exploits exhaustively, even as the business section details Woodall & Sons' expansion. My father's willingness to take a chance on him certainly paid off, and it seems like Boone is happy to take advantage of the good life. There's not a young society woman in town who hasn't been seen on his arm, though no one's been able to nail him down for very long.
"Do you know who's going to be there tonight?" I ask casually.
"Oh, gosh. I wouldn't know," Mrs. Hunt replies with a smile. "You want help bringing your things up to your room?"
"No, I've got it," I reply. I know she had a hip replacement last summer, though she hasn't let it slow her down much.
"It's at the Owens Thomas House. Your father said he'll just meet you there. Should I call a car for you?"
"No, I'll walk. It isn't far." I drain the rest of my glass and head back to the foyer. It takes me a couple trips to get my suitcases up to my bedroom on the second floor, and I wince as I look around at the old posters on the walls. I already feel lame enough moving home after college, but thanks to my insistence on not using my family name, I only managed to score a low-paying internship at the graphic design company of my choice, so it made sense to stay at home and save up. But I'll definitely need to redecorate in here.
I have time for a quick shower, and take a moment to savor the feeling of the plush towels that Mrs. Hunt laid out. They're far nicer than the thin ones that my roommates and I had in our little apartment in Ann Arbor. I sigh. I miss my college buddies, but we all scattered to the winds after graduation, going where the jobs were.
Shaking off the memories, I pull a white, crocheted lace dress out of my suitcase. The wrinkles flatten out quickly, and I pull it on. I never had much occasion to wear it at college, but it's one of my favorites.
I complete my look with a gold clutch and a pair of wedge espadrilles, and apply some tasteful makeup. Mrs. Hunt is off by the time I head downstairs, so I quietly lock the door behind me as I head out. The walk to the Owens Thomas House is about twenty blocks, so I go slowly to avoid showing up all sweaty, though the heat is abating as the sun goes down.
As I walk under the towering live oaks toward the river, I feel my heartbeat slowing down. The rhythm is different here. Slower than in the Northeast, slower than Michigan. Maybe that's why I came back. Certainly there are graphic design firms all over the country, but something kept pulling me back here.
There are town cars pulling up at the stately Owens Thomas House when I walk up. I give my name to the woman with a clipboard standing out front, then head up the steps into the house. The side rooms are roped off, as the historic home is now a museum, but a tuxedo-clad waiter stands at the back of the hall with a tray of champagne flutes. I take one as I pass on my way back into the garden.
I step out onto the terrace and look over the landscaped gardens, filled with members of Savannah's finest families. A mixture of recognition and nervousness bubbles up inside me. I'm home.
Chapter Two
I spot my dad in a seersucker suit among the crowd, and take the iron-wrought staircase on the right down to see him.
"There's my girl!" he calls out as he catches sight of me. He gives me a hug and turns back to the woman he was talking to. "I feel like just a second ago, she was this awkward little girl with braces, and now: poof! Grace, do you remember Harper Dunleaf?"
"I'm not sure we've ever met. Grace, is it?" the well-heeled woman asks, extending her hand.
"Grace is just a nickname, actually. It's Callie. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dunleaf."
"Oh, Harper, please. I can't say I can picture you ever being awkward, Callie!" she says with a laugh. "I mean, just look at you!"
I feel myself blush. "I'm afraid it's true."
"Harper, is Vernon coming tonight?" my father asks.
"You know, he's around here somewhere," Harper replies, her eyes lighting up. I don't need to be told that Vernon is her marrying-age son. I can smell a set-up coming from a mile away.
"Harper's husband is Mayor Dunleaf," my father quickly murmurs to me as Harper looks around the garden.
"Ah," I reply. My father is constantly cozying up to politicians, making sure Woodall & Sons gets all the lucrative government contracts and is always able to secure zoning changes.
"Oh, where has he gotten to?" Harper murmurs. Thankfully, an older couple joins our group and Harper never locates her son. The next hour, or maybe it's two, are spent in a blur of greetings. My father knows everyone, and wants to show off his newly-graduated daughter. I shake so many hands and kiss so many cheeks that all the conversations are starting to blend into one.
"Do you want a drink? I'm going to head to the bar," I cut in before my cheeks fall off from smiling so much.
"Whiskey," my dad replies, barely taking a break from the anecdote with which he's regaling the group. I head off through the crowd. There's a bit of a line at the open bar, so I people watch as I wait. I frown at the back of a petite blonde's head, but it's not until I hear her voice that I recognize her. Virginia. My old high school bully. I want to run and hide before I remember that I'm not fifteen anymore. The place at the bar in front of me clears, and I'm forced to move next to her.
"He said he'd call me, and I could tell by the way he said it that he meant it," Virginia's saying. I want to snort. She gasps. "Oh my god, there he is. And he brought Tessa? I thought they weren't seeing each other anymore," she says, sounding aghast. I turn to see who could be causing this reaction, and freeze as I see him.
Boone.
God, he looks good. He's wearing a pale grey suit with a white shirt, open at the collar and without a tie. He and the pretty brunette on his arm are standing at the railing on the patio, having just entered. Even from a distance, I can see that he's lost none of the musculature that first caught my eye over seven years ago.
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" I finally hear the bartender repeating.
"Sorry. Ah, whiskey. And champagne," I reply. Boone is making his way down the stairs, nodding to familiar faces in the crowd as he goes. I feel like my body's on fire, and as the bartender hands me back my drinks, I find myself heading to a hedge in the back corner of the garden, rather than returning to my father. Without thinking, I toss the whiskey back, and wince as it runs down my throat like fire.
"Damn," a soft voice remarks, and I see a young woman with a smattering of freckles across her nose smiling at me from next to the fence.
"Didn't see you there," I reply.
"Me neither."
"If it weren't for the whiskey, I wouldn't have known."
"Thanks. I mean, it took me years of practice to seem comfortable, but I'm not, really."
"Huh. I took you one of those Calvary girls."
I giggle. "Oh, man, I did go grade school and part of high school there. But I wasn't one of those girls that you're talking about. Those girls would have never hung out with someone like me. Where'd you go?"
"Veritas. Surprised I've never run into you before."
"I went to live with my mom after sophomore year."
"Lucky. I'd love to have escaped. I'm Lynn, by the way."
"Callie." I glance over my shoulder and spot Boone making his way through the crowd. If anything, age appears to have made his cheekbones even more defined. "Sorry," I say, turning back. "There's this guy here..."
"I used to have an awful time when my ex and I would be at the same party."
"Oh, does she run in the same circles? That's tough." I watch her eyes widen, and backtrack. "I'm sorry, I thought you—"
"I... I am. But how did you know?"
"You just remind me of one of my friends from school, and she's gay, so I guess it just popped into my head. Don't worry, if you're not out, I won't say anything."
"I'm not out around here, is the thing. My dad's running for reelection, and he asked me to keep it quiet for a little longer."
"Wait, is your dad the mayor?"
"Yeah, you know him?"
I smile. "No, but your mom just tried to set me up with your older brother."
Lynn laughs. "Well, Vernon's OK. But who's the guy you're hiding from?"
"Um..."
"Don't worry. You know my biggest secret, so I won't tell yours."
"Oh, god, alright. You know who Boone Tillman is?"
"Everyone knows who Boone Tillman is," she replies with an arched eyebrow. "You guys used to date?"
"No! It's so embarrassing...I had this big crush on him when I was a teenager. He and my dad are business partners."
"You're Callie Woodall!" she says, with a look of recognition. "So you've got a great 'in' with Boone, right?"
I sigh. "I don't know. I was in my childhood bedroom today, and it's like I'm still a teenager, you know? Plus, he's here with some girl." I bring my thumb to my mouth for a second and begin to chew my nail before I realize what I'm doing.
"They never last long."
"So I hear," I reply with a smile. "I'm too nervous to talk to him tonight, anyway."
"You know what helps with that?" she asks mischievously, opening her clutch and holding it out to me. I look inside and giggle as I see a joint at the bottom.
"I don't know," I demur.
"Come on, now I feel like one of those kids that parents think are a bad influence."
"OK, but just for a minute. And don't tell anyone!"
"There's a bathroom on the first floor, toward that side," Lynn says, gesturing.
"Meet you there in five minutes," I whisper conspiratorially.
"Got it," she replies, and walks the far way along the garden wall, hugging the fence. I head back to the bar and get another whiskey, then take it back to my father. He's in the middle of a conversation with a bunch of people I don't know, so I slip it into his hand with a wink. I'm turning back toward the house when a handsome man in a navy blazer steps in my path.
"Are you Callie?" he asks, and I can tell by his strawberry blonde hair that this must be Lynn's brother.
"And you're Vernon," I reply, shaking his hand.
"My mother said you're just home from college," he says.
"That's right. University of Michigan."
"The Wolverines. Y'all have a great fight song."
I laugh. "I have to agree with you there." I miss the next thing he says because I get a strange feeling that I'm being watched. My gaze flits around to Vernon's right until it lands on a pair of golden eyes that seem like they're about to bore right through me. I shiver under Boone's unnerving stare. How long has he been looking at me? Does he remember me after all?
Chapter Three
"—And I'd love to take you out sometime," Vernon finishes.
"Oh! Yes, that would be lovely," I reply, caught off guard. He hands me his cell phone and I type in my number. I feel my cheeks flush, wondering if Boone is still observing me. "Well, I'll talk to you soon," I say with a polite smile, and head toward the house. I glance around, but Boone is nowhere to be seen.
I quickly locate the bathroom that Lynn was talking about, and she opens the door after I knock. "I met your brother," I tell her as I sit on the closed toilet. She lights the joint and takes a hit, then blows the smoke carefully out the open window. "I think we're going to go on a date."
"Yeah? What you and Boone Tillman?"
"There is no me and Boone Tillman. Though actually..." I pause as I inhale the smoke. "Maybe this sounds conceited, but I thought I saw him looking at me outside."
"Doesn't sound conceited at all," Lynn replies. I smile. She has such a refreshing straightforwardness.
"Really? Not that anything ever could happen, even if he were interested in me. My father would absolutely die! I'm still his sweet little daughter. What about you? Seeing anyone?"
She grins. "There's a girl. But she's a little weird about the fact that I'm not out to my family. God, it feels good to be able to talk about this with someone around here."
I laugh. "I'm glad you're here, too. The girls I used to know in high school were so...proper."
"It's funny, you seem proper at first, but here you are smoking a joint with me in the bathroom!"
I wiggle my eyebrows. "I have a well-developed disguise." Lynn takes the last hit, and I stand up so she can toss the butt in the toilet. "Oh man, is it obvious what we've been doing?" I ask, glancing in the mirror.
"No, no, we're good. We're so good," she giggles. "I'll go first." I nod and take a deep breath as she heads out. I intend to count to sixty, but I get distracted about halfway through. Figuring it's been enough time, I open the door and peer out. It's quiet in the house, though I can still hear the party from outside. I wander over to the fireplace, admiring the woodwork, then glance over to an open door to my right. There's a rope in front of it, but it's not like I'm going to steal anything...
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I slip inside. The lights are off in here, and I take a second to let my eyes adjust. Before they fully can, I hear voices coming from behind me, clearly headed into this room. Shit. I panic, and duck behind a heavy damask curtain next to the window. Just as I step behind it, I hear the door shut, and then the sound of heavy breathing. A smile spreads across my face as I fight back the giggles.
"Boone, you promise you're gonna call me tomorrow?" a plaintive female voice asks.
"Of course, darlin'," comes his deep-voiced reply. I slap my hands over my mouth, but I can't prevent it. A loud guffaw bursts from my lips.
"Oh my god, there's someone in here!" the woman cries. "I'm so embarrassed!" I fight to hold back more laughter as I hear her rush out the door. There's a pause, and then the click of a lamp being turned on. Light peaks in from the sides of the curtain, and I bite my lip.
With a whoosh, the curtain is pulled aside. Boone stands in front of me, a frown cutting across his tanned forehead. As he sees me, a look of surprise registers across his face, and then confusion.
"Sorry," I gasp, before I'm taken over by another set of giggles.
"Just what exactly is so funny?" he asks, his arm still raised above his head, holding the curtain back.
"That line...darlin'..." I try to explain.
"You don't think I was telling the truth?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"No one in this room thought you were telling the truth. She just wanted plausible deniability, so later when she tells her friends she won't sound like she gave away the milk for free."
"Plausible d
eniability?" he repeats, mouth open. "Who are you?" he asks, leaning forward and peering at me. "Have we met before?"
"I've seen you around," I reply cagily. As I finally get a deep breath of air, I start to realize how close to each other we're standing, and how delicious he smells. He's even better looking up close.
"You're high," he realizes, and a grin slides across his face, dimples appearing beneath the short scruff on his cheeks. I shrug. "Well, at least someone's having fun at this thing."
"You're not?"
"Well, I was trying to." Transfixed by his golden, hawk-like eyes, I don't see his hand move forward, but my lips open as he slides it gently around my waist. He leaves it there for a moment, moving just his index finger back and forth, and I fight to keep my breathing even. "Why don't we get out of here?"
Holy shit. Boone Tillman wants me. But still... "You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
"You were just in here with another woman!"
"So another night, then."
"Can't," I breathe, even as my whole body aches to just press a little closer to him.
"Why?"
"You ask a lot of questions," I reply. Between the pot and my proximity to him, my head is spinning. He raises his eyebrows. "It's complicated." I lean out of his grasp and head for the door before my will power completely breaks down.
"At least tell me your name," he presses me, turning toward me at the door.
I smile wryly. "You'll figure it out soon enough."
The door opens just as I reach out my hand. "No one's supposed to be in here," says the women with the clipboard.
"Sorry about that. Just got turned around." I step out quickly, before she can register Boone in the room behind me. When I reach the front door of the house, I waver. Should I head back to the party? It just doesn't seem like the right time. I don't want to have to meet Boone officially with my father looking on, and his date beside him. I don't know if my system could handle it right now.
I continue out the door, inhaling the fresh air with relief. A walk home is exactly what I need. My mind is still a little fuzzy, but I think I'd have trouble comprehending what just happened anyway. My waist is still tingling where he laid his hand. And he looks good. So good it makes my body ache just thinking about him. There was something almost too pretty about him when he was younger, but now his features have settled into ruggedness. I wonder if later on tonight, he'll realize who I am, or maybe my dad will mention something at the office.
