Page 16 of Sweatpants & Sweet Tea

“Doesn’t that kid make you want to have one of your own?” Grandad asked.

Not really. If there was ever anything that had given me a moment of doubt about wanting my own kids, it was helping to raise AJ. Not because of how much work it was or how much having a kid cost, it was all the worry that comes with it. AJ wasn’t mine by blood, but I couldn’t tell you how many sleepless nights I’d spent because of him, and he was only twelve. Whether it was when his appendix burst at eight, or when he was five and had a hundred and four fever and was hospitalized with strep, or when he was ten and he broke his arm falling out of a tree, or when he got behind in school before he was diagnosed with dyslexia.

I worried. Constantly. I wanted to protect him from…everything. But I couldn’t. For a control freak, that was a personal hell.

My phone rang again, and I saw it was the property developer. They were probably following up on the letter they’d sent Grandad.

“Don’t answer it,” Grandad demanded.

“You know, Grandad, with the money we would get from selling the farm, you could move to Sunset Shores.”

Ever since Meemaw passed, Grandad had been dropping hints about moving to the retirement community. Not just hints; he’d out and out said that’s where he wanted to be. But there was no way we, or I, could afford that with all the bills piling up.

“We’re not selling the land. That land’s been in the Mitchell family for four generations. Your Great Great Grandaddy Mitchell won that land in a poker game.”

I never knew if that made it better, somehow more sentimental, or not, but it was something that both my daddy and grandad always proudly made a point of mentioning whenever they talked about the farm and how we’d come to obtain it.

“We just gotta tighten things up a bit.” Grandad harrumphed as we pulled in front of the estate.

I wasn’t sure how much tighter things could get. Farm Strong was the only thing keeping us afloat. And although it was getting us by month to month, we needed a long-term plan to crawl out of the debt we were in. Preferably something that wasn’t dependent on weather conditions or a fad. Sure, right now, it was hot, and my classes were full. But in the winter, things always slowed down. Plus, I had no idea what my client retention would be in five years to ten years. Soon, there would be a new fitness craze, and bootcamps in the country wouldn’t be in high demand. Farm Strong was great, but it wasn’t sustainable long-term. I needed to figure somethin’ out, and I needed to do it fast.

7

DAPHNE

As we movedthrough the throng of attendees filing into the banquet hall, Miss Shaw whispered emphatically, “Can you believe they’re gonna be parading men out here like slabs of meat? It’s that new mayor’s bright idea for raising money. I don’t see why we can’t just have a respectable dinner.”

“Oh, don’t be such a fuddy duddy, Caroline.” Aunt Rhonda waved her friend away dismissively.

As the two women chatted, aka gossiped, I did a cursory scan over the sea of men and women in ball gowns, black ties, and masquerade masks. My aunt had mentioned that the entire town was coming, and I had to admit, it looked like she was right. There were hundreds of people there, and they were all dressed to the nines. I made a mental note to send Nadia flowers, or maybe an edible arrangement, as a thank you for the emergency dress loan. I wouldnothave been able to pull off jeans or sweats and heels.

“These are our seats,” Aunt Rhonda motioned to a couple of chairs at a large round table in the center of the room.

As I lowered down onto my seat, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that my little eye hadn’t spied hottiewith the body, Harlan Mitchell. The man had taken up residency in my brain, and, regardless of what Alexandra said, Iwasonly going to be here for less than twenty-four more hours. Time was ticking. Seconds were slipping by.

As I looked around, I had to admit there was an electric energy in the air. Maybe it was because everyone was dressed up and wearing masks. I wasn’t sure. Thankfully, it didn’t have anEyes Wide Shutvibe. It was more like the Hilary DuffCinderellaStoryscene.Although, if I did manage to find Harlan, I wouldn’t mind a littleEyes Wide Shutaction.

Typically, attraction was something that grew with me. At least the sort of attraction I wanted to act on. The couple of one-night stands I’d had were lackluster and disappointing, to say the least. Never before in my life had I met someone and wanted to rip their clothes off. Until I stood on Harlan’s porch, that is. I’d had all sorts of X-rated urges that I was still fantasizing about six hours later.

More people filtered through the grand double doors, and soon the lights dimmed, and servers appeared with dishes. All through dinner, I continued covertly searching the room for my shirtless, low-riding gray sweatpants, kitty cuddler. I would have thought that at his height he would be easy to pick out, but they grew ’em big in the country. This room was filled with extremely attractive—at least if you were going by jawlines since I couldn’t see anyone’s face—extremely large, well-built men.

Beside me, Miss Shaw and Aunt Rhonda were speaking in low tones, gossiping about everyone in attendance. Since I had no clue who any of the people they were discussing were, I lost interest and tried to keep myself occupied by mentally guessing people’s ages behind their masks. That was only entertaining for a few minutes, since I had no way of verifying if I’d come close or not.

By the time the entrée was served, I was starting to nod off and needed a boost of energy. I’d sworn off drinking since I was still nursing a hangover from my trauma flight, but halfway through the meal, I decided a little champagne wouldn’t hurt. I was two glasses down when my bladder reminded me of another reason I didn’t like to drink. Alcohol passed right through me. I’d spent almost as much time in the airplane bathroom the night before as I had in my seat.

When the mayor took the stage, I leaned over to let my aunt know I was going to the restroom. He welcomed us all there and began the tribute to Grammy Moore. Three people she’d worked with during her time at city hall spoke on her behalf. I’d love to say that their speeches were beautiful, but I was doing everything I could not to pee my pants, so I was a little distracted. There was a slideshow, and then Mayor Baldwin called my aunt and me up to the stage.

The entire room erupted in a round of applause, and I forced myself to smile as I did the adult version of the pee-pee dance, which was basically pressing my thighs together tightly as Aunt Rhonda and I weaved our way through the tables.

After miraculously making it up onto the stage, I stood with one foot over the other, crossing my legs as Mayor Baldwin, who really liked to hear herself speak, waxed poetic about Grammy Moore’s contributions to the town and how much she meant to Firefly Island. Finally, we were handed the award, and we made our way back to our seats as the crowd cheered for Grammy Moore once again.

“I have to pee,” I whispered to Aunt Rhonda as she sat down.

I didn’t wait for a response before rushing out of the ballroom.

“Bathroom?!” I asked the first person I saw, desperation dripping from my voice.

The masked woman with a headset pointed. “Down the hall.”

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