Page 90 of The Charm of You

“I’m leaning toward these—gold is always in style, right?” I tilt my head this way and that in order to let the light above catch the gold with a shimmer.

“Always,” she agrees, her voice soft. “I’d go with these.” She plucks the gold diamond-shaped ones from my hands and nods.

“They’ll be perfect for the parade tomorrow. School colors too.”

“Black and gold for life.” She winks. “I can’t imagine they didn’t have gold earrings in New York, though,” she says, but her tone leaves a question in the air. It’s not accusatory or ill-mannered. I’ve known Daphne my whole life, and the woman couldn’t utter an insult even under duress.

It’s just the curious way around here.

“That’s the problem. The ones I brought with me from the city are suddenly gaudy and a bit too New York.”

The bell over the door jingles, but before Daphne leaves my side to tend to the new customers, she pats my hand and says, “Sapphire Creek will always look good on you.”

A faraway voice in my head chants words of agreement.

She saunters away to help a couple of girls who appear to be nineteen, at most, and I pause as a bright paisley tote bag catches my eye.

I trail my fingers over the stitching, then unhook it from its place on the wall. Beverly needs this in her life.

Earrings and quirky purse in hand, I reach the register, where one of the girls tiptoes up to me. Her silky blonde hair is tucked into a large claw clip at the back of her head, and her skin glows under the midday sun streaming through the windows.

She reminds me of, well, me, from once upon a time.

“You’re Caroline Summers, right?” she asks, as Daphne’s muffled voice drifts over us from the fitting rooms.

“I am.” I offer a small smile.

With one hand over her face, fingers spread, she opens her mouth like she’s silently screaming. “I follow you on socials, and I love your life. I want to be you in ten years.”

I blush, and guilt twists in my chest.

Her friend joins us, and immediately, I notice the matching hairdo and similar smile—like they’re in awe of me. “I saw your billboard and your vacation to the Hamptons and ohmigod, I love your shoes.”

“You always have super cute shoes.” The first girl nods.

“Thank you,” I say as they continue gushing over “the hot guy in a suit” who’s in many of my pictures. Shame mixes with the guilt scraping through my insides.

“You’re strong.”

Austin’s encouraging affirmations from the other night launch to the forefront of my mind. I should tell them the truth. They’re going to find out eventually, especially when I stop posting glamorous shots of me at Edward’s vacation home with its own private beach access.

Everyone is going to find out.

With Austin’s words on a mental loop, I tell them, “Actually, it’s the end of my hot-guy-in-a-suit era.”

They share a mourning gasp.

“As it turns out, I’m more of a flannel fan.” I wink.

They compete to make their curious questions heard, and their enthusiasm over my secretive comment is rather entertaining.

“Ladies,” Daphne says as she slides behind the register. “Give the woman room to breathe.”

“Of course,” they say in sync, then wave and scurry out the door, leaving me alone with Daphne again.

“Cute girls, but no sense of boundaries,” Daphne teases as she rings up the items I’ve placed on the counter.

“Is there such a thing as boundaries around here?”

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