Chapter One
Muriel Tennyson
When you’ve got frizzy hair the slightest hint of water vapor in the air tends to send you into a self-centered panic, even when it’s another woman’s big day.
“Okay, one of you please tell me you brought an umbrella,” I said hopefully when our cab pulled up outside the adorable Lakeview Resort.
“Put your jacket over your head; it’ll be fine,” Poppy replied, confidently stepping out of the car with a silk scarf wrapped around her head like a Hollywood Silver Screen actress.
“We can’t all be models with perfect hair,” I called after her as she shut the door and sauntered toward the hotel.
The long, azalea-lined path to the entrance would have been much more appealing in the sunshine. Instead, dark gray clouds hung low overhead, and huge raindrops pelted the ground.
Even though my first thought was my hair, I did feel sorrier for Chrissy than myself. The rain fell over her wedding day, after all, and no one wants to begin married life under a storm.
“Yeah, well,” Jasmine huffed, digging a jacket out of her carry-on. “If you’d let me rent a limo at the airport like I suggested, the driver would’ve had umbrellas for us to use. So this is kind of your fault, really.”
I shook my head at my other best friend. “Oh yes, that would have been a great look—showing up at someone else’s wedding in a limo like three brash snobs from out of town.”
“I’m just saying, if you come face to face with Cameron tonight with hair like a piece of cotton candy, your gal Jas isn’t to blame.” Jasmine shrugged.
I snorted with derision at the idea of caring what Cameron would think of my appearance, but Jas didn’t look convinced. “Not that it matters; Cameron won’t be here anyway. He and Chrissy barely hung out at school.”
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Jas replied casually but with a wicked glint in her eye. “The groom is Cameron’s partner on the force, so he’s definitely coming. He’s probably the best man.” Jasmine giggled and leaped out of the car.
I stuttered a thank you to the cab driver before getting out and running to the hotel as fast as my heels would carry me, with my denim jacket tied tight around my head.
The smell of blooming flowers in the rain hit my senses like a nostalgia bomb. It almost felt like I was back at school, running across the grounds to meet Cameron and Hugh in the library. Not that any of us were particularly big readers; we just liked the quiet in there. We’d huddle in a corner and talk about how great it would be when we could escape Georgia and make something of our lives.
That was six years ago now, and I got away but the boys stayed, nevertheless, sometimes I wonder why I’d ever thought LA would be better than Covington.
It rains less, the whining voice in my head reminded me as I pulled open the door of the beautiful colonial-style hotel.
Jasmine and Poppy were checking in, so I took a seat and kept an eye out for anyone I recognized from school. This wedding was basically a reunion, and I’d been looking forward to catching up with people I hadn’t seen since graduation.
I really hadn’t expected Cameron or Hugh to be invited, though; they moved in totally different circles to Chrissy.
I’d left a sexy little floral dress hanging in my closet and cursed myself, then cursed myself again for caring. Those guys were nothing more than friends from long ago, that’s all.
Friends who I never said goodbye to before leaving for college.
Friends whose calls I’d ignored a dozen times before they gave up trying to contact me.
Friends I’d blocked on social media because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them with other girls.
Just totally regular friends who were boys but not my boyfriends.
“Muriel, you’re up,” Poppy called across the lobby. “We’re headed to the bar; see you in there.”
I walked over to check-in where the receptionist beamed at me as I arrived at the desk, a genuine smile that I had to reflect back at her.
“Welcome to Lakeview Resort. My name’s Sandy.” She leaned forward and spoke in an exaggerated whisper, “Shall I book you in for a blow-dry at our spa this afternoon?”
I laughed and gratefully accepted. Evidently, denim doesn’t do much to protect you from the rain.
While Sandy tapped away at her keyboard, I raked my fingers through my wet hair, but she looked up and shook her head.
“The more you touch it, the frizzier it’ll get—believe me.” I eyed her immaculate updo, wondering what she could possibly know about the frizzy-hair life, and she obviously sensed my skepticism. “Bruno is a miracle worker. I wouldn’t go to anyone else, and I’ve got you booked in with him at three. Until then, here’s the key to your bungalow, let me give you directions.”