maintaining the soccer and football fields.
“Yeah, but you’ve also taken the biggest hit on your personal life because of it.” Luke took a sip of his beer and waved to John Bentley, a member of their bowling league, who had just entered the fire hall.
“Ah, it’s been six months. I’m done feeling sorry for myself.”
His cell phone chimed in his pocket with a new text message. Bailey’s familiar ringtone. He opened it and read Get me out of here. “It’s Bailey.”
Luke turned to look around the room. “Hey, where is she?”
“At the B and B.”
“Oh, man, didn’t anyone tell her she’s welcome here tonight?” Luke said. “She took a bunch of my money last weekend playing pool. I was kind of hoping to get some of it back at poker.”
“Or lose even more.”
“Good point.”
* * *
“THANKS FOR YOUR help cleaning up, Bailey.”
Rachel Harper, coowner of the Brookhollow Inn, carried another load of dirty dishes into the newly remodeled kitchen of the bed-and-breakfast. In the past six months, Brookhollow’s historic landmark had undergone a complete makeover thanks to the new ownership team of Victoria Mason and Rachel Harper. The main common areas and guest quarters had been freshly painted and the original hardwood floor refinished. The chipped stained glass windows had been replaced with large bay windows, complete with a window seat and lined with small bookshelves for the enjoyment of their guests. The living quarters had been transformed into a home for the Harper family of mom, dad and five kids.
The dishwasher was already running with a full load, so Bailey stood at the double sink washing dessert plates. The stack of plates, cups and cutlery piling up on the granite counter seemed never ending. The turnout had been even better than expected—Victoria Mason was well liked in Brookhollow.
“No problem,” Bailey assured her.
Victoria entered the kitchen with several empty wine bottles gathered in one arm and a big garbage bag of discarded wrapping paper from the shower gifts, which were now stored inside the gazebo in the yard. She tossed the bottles into the blue recycle bin and dropped the bag near the kitchen door. “Thanks, Bailey,” she said, reaching for a dish towel and a handful of cutlery.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be cleaning up after your own party,” Rachel chided, taking the dish towel from her. “Go sit. We’ve got this.”
“I’m not arguing.” Victoria surrendered the towel and slumped into a wicker chair at the table with a yawn. Glancing at her watch, she gasped. “What? Nine-thirty, that’s it?” Her emerald-green eyes were wide with disbelief. “We must be getting old. The sun’s not even completely set and I’m done.”
“We’re not old, we’re responsible,” Rachel defended, abandoning the dishes and joining her at the table. She reached for a half bottle of white wine and said, “Bailey, come sit. Have a drink with us. We’ll finish cleaning up in the morning.” She poured herself a glass of pinot grigio and took a sip before handing the bottle and an unused wineglass to Victoria. “I’d forgotten how much I missed wine.”
Bailey dried her hands on a dish towel and pulled out a chair at the table. With the fire hall off-limits to the female species that evening, she really had nowhere else to go.
“Wasn’t I right about that breast pump?” Rachel’s sister-in-law, Lindsay Harper, entered the kitchen with a bowl of veggie straws and dip.
“Yes. I never used one with the other children, but it’s been a lifesaver this time with the girls.” Rachel’s eight-month-old twins, Abigail and Mackenzie, were the most recent addition to the Harper clan.
Bailey glanced between the women, almost afraid to ask. “Breast pump?” It didn’t sound like something she wanted to know about, but she suspected she was about to get an education.
Victoria handed her the bottle of wine. “Don’t worry, I knew nothing about mommy life eight months ago, either.” She turned to Rachel and Lindsay. “And you know what, ladies, I think we should allow Bailey to live in her wonderful breast-pump-and vomit-free oblivion a little longer. I’m actually dying to hear about her exciting single life.”
“Definitely a better topic,” Lindsay agreed, climbing onto a kitchen stool at the counter and reaching for a carrot stick.
“What do you mean, Lindsay? You’re single, too, and I’m sure you have better stories,” Bailey said, desperate to take the attention off herself. Lindsay, a nurse at the medical clinic in town, was known for her serial dating and late-night partying. While Bailey refused to date just anyone, hoping to find the right person, Lindsay adopted a different approach. The voluptuous blonde believed you had to kiss a lot of frogs before finding Mr. Right.
But Lindsay just shook her head. “Not lately. My shifts at the clinic have been crazy. All I do is work and sleep. So come on, let us live vicariously through you.”
Bailey stretched in the wicker chair. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got nothing to report.”
“That can’t be true,” Lindsay protested. “You’re always with the men. I know for a fact you have a VIP card to the fire hall.”
Not tonight.
“And weren’t you dating Jonathan Turner for a while?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, that didn’t work out.” Jonathan was a great guy, but they had very little in common. He was bookish and serious and she was a grease monkey who loved loud music. Their three weeks of dating had confirmed one thing for sure—compatibility was key to a successful relationship.
“Why not? Jonathan’s gorgeous and so sweet,” Victoria said, standing and pouring a cup of coffee.
The phone rang on the wall and she checked the caller display as Rachel reached for the cordless on the table. “Don’t!” Victoria said.
Rachel froze.
“It’s my mom,” Victoria explained. “Since leaving here an hour ago, she’s texted me three times about different types of fabric for the wedding dress. I’m ignoring her.”
“Understood,” Rachel said, letting the phone ring. “Although, Vic, you really do need to make a decision about your dress. I know the B and B and your position on the New Jersey tourism board have kept you busy this summer, but you need to take some time to focus on you for a bit. All of the other wedding details have been sorted out, except that one. Your mom is a fantastic seamstress, the best in town, but even she can’t perform miracles.”
“I know, I know. It’s just every time I think I’ve decided on a style, I see something else I love even more.... I just want to look perfect, you know?” Victoria waved a hand and turned to Bailey. “Anyway, back to Jonathan....”
“Um...we’re just too different,” Bailey said with a shrug. “I mean, he spent most of our date trying to convince me that my motorcycle is too dangerous and that I should buy something safer.” Bailey knew she was more vulnerable on a bike, but in a small town like Brookhollow where traffic was minimal, the bike was often the only vehicle on the road, especially in the early morning when she started her shift at the garage.
“He was concerned about you—that’s a nice thing,” Rachel pointed out.
“There were other things, too—he said the UFC was barbaric.” She just couldn’t date someone who didn’t like the Ultimate Fighting Championship. She watched it all the time, knew all the fighter stats and even trained in mixed martial arts with her younger brothers at Extreme Athletics.
“Again, not exactly an invalid point,” Victoria pointed out.
“Either way, it’s important for me to date someone with similar interests, but then most of the guys in town just see me as one of them.” A no-win