Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
It’s so very wrong of me, but I’m hoping they’re talking about Renee and Brody’s friend. Not Brody and me. Please, please, I don’t want to be the topic of whispered conversations anymore.
“Miss Jones, can I help you with finding anything in particular, or would you like to peruse? We have a few new pieces over in the more contemporary section,” I say and gesture behind me, remembering the last paintings she bought. They were mostly for her foyer, but I think one was for her bedroom.
Miss Jones is quite the spender, not just in here but anywhere she’d like. That’s what happens when you’ve been married three times to wealthy men who either died or cheated, each time leaving her with a heap of cash. Miss Jones is loaded. Hosting parties and wining and dining is what she lives for, or that’s what she’d say. Southern hospitality raised her, and she won’t let it die.
Tapping a perfectly polished, French manicured nail against her chin, she smiles broadly, the wrinkles around her eyes making her appear ever approachable as she says, “I’m here for a look, dear.”
I’d love it if the conversation ended here, not because I don’t enjoy waiting on Miss Jones. She’s honestly lovely and when I was pregnant with Bridget, she offered to host a baby shower for me. I didn’t take her up on it, but it was sweet. She is more than well-off and somehow still manages to be kind.
However, I’d love it if she took her white-jeaned and blue-bloused self out of this store right now so I can have a moment to decompress with Renee.
I’ve barely spoken to Renee, other than to put her on the task of how the heck Brody got here and how long he’ll be here. Thus why her attention has been on her phone and my attention presumably on calming down.
This silent whistle, though, is useless. I hope she didn’t spend a pretty penny on it. It’s only worth a dull one found between sofa cushions.
“Nice to see you, Miss Renee, how is your mother?” Miss Jones asks, making conversation as she rounds the counter toward the section of new arrivals.
Her thin lips, painted a shade of pink that’s nearly the same as her skin tone, purse as she gets to the first watercolor scenery.
Their conversation is littered with small talk and polite laughter, which I mimic. Making sure to laugh at just the right time, even though inside I feel like my chest is cracking wide open. It’s obvious she’s prying, but Renee also has a soft spot for the woman. It’s easy for Renee to ignore most of the gossiping hens, as she calls them, although she usually adds in other colorful language. Miss Jones gets away with it, though.
My mind drifts as the conversation turns to white noise. Everything was finally okay. I was okay. Bridget is doing so, so well and I felt free for the first time in years.
Tears threaten to prick at my eyes so I resort to turning my back to the two of them and focusing on the computer screen at the desk. As if something is so very important that it’s all right for me to ignore a client.
If my boss were here, she’d be livid.
He cannot be here. Brody … my throat tightens as I take out a bottle of water from under the desk and quietly have a sip.
“Dear, Magnolia, my dear, is the change of weather getting to you?” Miss Jones asks although I know for certain she knows it’s not allergies. “The change of season always bothers me,” she continues without pausing and opens the clasp of her purse to produce a small pillbox. “Allergies can be brutal, here you are.”
Renee’s gaze dances between the two of us as I accept the pill and take it. Why the heck wouldn’t I? Better to play along and for Miss Jones to not have any new information to spread gossip. I’m pretty sure the little pink pill was a Benadryl. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll help me sleep tonight.
“I saw Robert just yesterday,” Miss Jones says casually, slipping the pillbox back into her purse as I nearly choke on the sip of water.
Here it is. Here it comes. First she started with Renee and now it’s my turn.
“He said his mother’s allergies are getting worse. Every season it seems to be something new.”
I offer her a smile and answer, “Maybe I’ve developed an allergy to something.”
Renee’s grin is Cheshire catlike as she peeks up at me from behind Miss Jones’s back. “Roses,” she mouths and I swear if I didn’t love her, I’d hate her right now.
“Mm-hmm,” Miss Jones murmurs, gracefully taking in another piece of art as she continues, “I believe Robert may carry a soft spot for you still.” Her voice is quiet, contemplative but still casual. “The way he’s helped you, a man doesn’t help like that unless he wants more.”