“It’d be my pleasure.”
It would also be my hell.
Mom lived on the other side of town, which meant a longer drive in the opposite direction of my destination, in the presence of the town’s biggest gossip. But I couldn’t backtrack, could I?
“Lovely. She’s telling me you are going to help her with the seating arrangements at the rehearsal dinner next week. You must be excited to see Wyatt getting married again.”
“Bursting at the seams.”
“You next?”
“Unfortunately for the future Mrs. Costello,” I jested mildly.
“Ah, c’mon. Anyone would love to have you, Cruzy.”
Not the town’s most infamous and gloriously scandalous waitress, so it seemed.
After I dropped Mrs. Underwood off—and walked her to my mother’s doorstep, arm-in-arm—I went back into town to take some promotional pictures for the Wellness Awareness Program I was taking part in.
I was going to run a marathon with a few more folks to raise money for a foundation designed to help children suffering from obesity. When I was done with the promotional stuff, I checked my watch to see if I had a moment to check in on Tennessee at the diner.
I had about three minutes before I needed to go back home and get ready for Wyatt’s bachelor party in the city.
My showers, my snacks, my coffee breaks—everything was timed perfectly with a stopwatch to ensure the utmost time efficiency.
I was about to open the door to Jerry & Sons—could almost spot her through the windows—when a small figure reeking of flowers blocked my way.
“Dr. Costello! How nice to see you. I’ve been hopin’ to run into you, actually.”
Mrs. Holland threw herself in front of me, in a pastel cardigan, designer jeans, and a Chanel purse. Her brunette bob was sharp, her eyes shrewd and cold. You could tell Gabriella was her spawn, because they both looked perpetually put-together and hungry.
“Ma’am.” I smiled patiently, peppering the gesture with a brief kiss on her cheek. “How’re you feeling today?”
Translation: unless you’re about to drop dead and require medical assistance, step away from the door and let me say hi to my girlfriend.
But was Tennessee really my girlfriend?
Probably not.
In fact, she would no doubt hit me with a sharp object if I ever called her that in public. Still, in my head, I could call her whatever I wanted.
“I’m well, thanks. And yourself?”
I looked past her shoulder at Tennessee inside the diner, serving a table of snotty teenagers who pretended to drop some utensils to look up her skirt. They laughed when she bent down, and for once I really paid attention to them, not her.
My blood ran cold. How dare they.
“Good. Good,” I heard myself say, anyway.
She turned her head to follow my gaze, realized who I was looking at, then pierced me with a look.
“Gabriella said you and she are taking a break.”
“We decided to stop seeing each other, yes.”
“Well, that’s just a shame. Listen, I know what it’s like, all right? Gabriella’s daddy was exactly like you. Very sought-after. Handsome, rich, well bred. He had trouble settling down, finding peace with just one woman. I understand the charm and allure certain women have on men.” Her voice became high-pitched, almost shrill. We both knew exactly who she was referring to. “But I’m here to tell you, honey, that Gabriella’s still interested. You had your fun on the cruise, and now you two can put it behind you. Sometimes a man needs to blow off some steam. Get things out of his system before he moves on. Better you did it now than after you got married.”
I wanted to tell her that her daughter couldn’t even compete with Tennessee Turner’s little toe.