Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

“Ugh. Whatever.”

Once we had the food packed up I ushered Rex out of the house just as Vanessa started shimmying out of her dress.

We were quiet as we got in my car.

And then . . .

“So. Vaughn, huh?”

Maybe I’d switch out Vanessa’s shampoo for hair-removal cream. I couldn’t believe she’d put me in this position. Even though Rex and I weren’t dating, I knew what he wanted, and it would be unfair of me not to explain. “He owns Paradise Sands Hotel.”

“The hotelier from New York?” He sounded stunned. He looked crestfallen. “Wow. Hard to compete with that.”

“It’s not . . . Look, he was there for me during that whole Stu Devlin thing.” I’d already explained about Devlin breaking into the inn.

“He was the ‘friend’ that helped you out that night.”

“Yes. And well, emotions were high and all that and one thing led to another . . .”

“Yeah, you don’t need to go into detail.”

“But nothing is going to happen with Vaughn. I told you that. He doesn’t want a relationship with anyone.”

“But you want him.”

I couldn’t lie to Rex. “I wish I didn’t. And believe me, I’m working on getting over that idiocy.”

Hearing the sincerity in my voice, Rex nodded. “Okay.”

It occurred to me as we set up my office as a private dining room and Rex peppered me with questions about growing up with Vanessa, that by giving him an explanation I was considering him as boyfriend material.

As I stared into his warm dark eyes, I let myself imagine the possibilities with Rex. No, he didn’t fire up my blood like Vaughn. I felt toward him like I used to feel about Tom. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing after all.

Shit.

Wasn’t life supposed to get less confusing in your thirties?

EIGHTEEN

Bailey

It was that time of year again. Music festival time. One of the things I loved so much about Hartwell was our town events. We had the music festival during the summer while all the tourists were around, a gay pride parade at the end of the summer, the chicken festival at the beginning of October to celebrate our state bird, the proud blue hen. Then there was the pumpkin festival at Thanksgiving, where we had our punkin chunkin’ competition, and the winter carnival in mid-February with a royal court and parade floats.

The music festival was great because it was more laid-back than our other events. People from neighboring towns and cities got permits to set up stalls selling all kinds of music memorabilia and craft goods. Dahlia always had a stall.

Bands from all over the country played one after the other in the bandstand on Main Street. It was just a good vibe. A crush of people strolling lazily around, enjoying good music and good times. And we raised money for a state charity that used music to transform the lives of disadvantaged children.

The last few years I’d missed out on music festival day because I had to work at the inn but this year Aydan was covering for me so I could hang out with Rex and show him the side of Hartwell I really loved: the community vibe.

It was a hot day so the first thing on the agenda was ice cream from Iris and Ira’s pop-up stall. To my delight we found Iris and Ira serving Anita and Old Archie. I hadn’t seen Anita in months.

My delight was deflated by how poorly she looked. She was in a wheelchair, her shorn head covered by a pretty headscarf. While the rest of her body looked frail, her face appeared slightly bl

oated, sallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

Old Archie stood behind her wheelchair. He was once a well-functioning alcoholic, a big strapping man who loved Anita but wouldn’t give up his scotch. When she was diagnosed with a spinal tumor last year, he’d kicked the addiction in a way that was almost miraculous. His strength blew me away.

Her strength made me want to buckle at the knees.