Page 10 of To Have and to Scold

Chapter Four

Dallas

I feel otherworldly as I walk into my new job Monday morning, with thoughts of Billy the Local pinging in my head.

Hugging him was a boost to my whole psyche—a totally unexpected shot of pleasure on a very strange night.

I could use another dose of Billy right now because when I say I’m feeling “otherworldly,” it’s not as in “so achingly beautiful and exotic that no one can describe me.”

But otherworldly as in…Martian-like. Green around the gills, with a flustered set of nerves. Almost like I’m still a kid and everyone around me is a fully-fledged adult. A rush of air billows in my ears, like I’m wearing noise-canceling headphones. My head is airy, like I’m detached from the rest of my body. Like I’m somehow taller than I was yesterday.

Which would really be something for my five foot three-ness.

I’m actually five foot two and a quarter, but I decided long ago to round up and I can’t just magically change my height all the sudden, right?

Anyway, I arrive at the Integrity Construction building on Main at 7:45 AM sharp, with a tiny stress ball in each blazer pocket. I’m employed by Willow Cove’s mayor, Martha Dobbs, who has just started a side gig—a wedding venue business. Mayor Dobbs subleases a couple of offices inside the construction company that’s heading the renovation of Willow Wood Mansion.

Integrity Construction is housed in a Victorian home, painted in bright blue with white trim. Scalloped siding adds a decorative touch above the carved, stained glass-inlaid front door, which is painted a pale yellow. I was told to be here at eight, but being exactly on time is for duds.

Since the debacle in Atlanta with the Clancy and Bozzelli weddings, I cannot afford to be a dud, so I am early, like always. The sooner I rock this job and get back in Shoshana’s good graces, the sooner I can return to Atlanta where I belong.

The Clancys and the Bozzellis: two of the most powerful families in the south. It was my moment, the exact right next step in my five-year plan where I’ll eventually take over Amore, with Shoshana’s blessing. She wants to retire. I needed these weddings to work perfectly. They were a very big deal.

But when I found out that Holden and McKenna were dating, I felt betrayed. Not by Holden, since he’d been a diversion. He was not part of my big career plans. Once I run Amore, I can think about dating again.

No, it was McKenna who hurt me by not telling me they were dating. We told each other everything. She was the sister I never had. And yeah, I didn’t like that my cousin and ex were dating, but for her to have all of this happen and not even tell me?

I was off my game for the Saturday Clancy and Bozzelli weddings. So flustered over the news that I sent the cakes to the wrong wedding. When I learned of my mistake, I rushed to fix it, but the receptions were delayed. The mothers of the brides were horrified. Angry. And they insisted I was fired.

Shoshana had no choice but to let me go, sending me to Willow Cove since the mayor here was her college roommate. “Just until this all blows over. Work there for one wedding season, maybe two. Those mothers will get over it and then it won’t be a big deal to have you come back,” she’d said.

So here I am. In Willow Cove.

Billy from the other night was a surprising welcoming gift. And the way we hugged?

Never before has a hug had levels of meaning to it beyond just the surface stuff. It was both casual and tight. Not “I can’t breathe” tight. More “We fit quite nicely” tight.

Very unlike a mama turtle to her babies. More like a joey to his mama kangaroo. All warm and comfortable. And good.

We joeyed. Is that a thing? It should be a thing. Except, it wasn’t familial. More like an instant comfort. Like if you could spoon standing up and facing each other.

Yeah. That.

Reversed, standing spooning.

I blink rapidly to get my head in the game in my new job. Past the narrow entryway, there’s a small room with a couple of tufted sofas, potted plants, and an ornate front desk. “Hi,” I say with a big smile to the woman at the front desk. “I’m Dallas Cardon. I’m starting my new job today.”

“You’re Dallas?” The woman frowns, her penciled-in brows arching in confusion.

“Yes.” And then it occurs to me. Rookie mistake, not remembering why she’s looking at me like this. It’s because my head’s in a wind tunnel. “I’m Dallas Olivia Cardon. There are women named Dallas!” I offer a breezy laugh and press a hand to my chest. “And I am one of them.”

I don’t mention that my mom went utterly crazy when she was pregnant with me and insisted I was named after the prime time soap “Dallas,” something she used to watch religiously as a kid with her parents. It was either that or “Dynasty.” All of those not familiar with those shows, count yourselves lucky. Although the whole “Who killed J.R.?” thing really did grip an entire nation in a totally impressive way. I’ve googled it.

I’m just forever grateful she didn’t choose to name me “Dynasty.”

And for reference, my younger brothers are named Aragorn after the character fromLord of the Ringsand Caspian fromThe Chronicles of Narnia.

At least she didn’t name either of her sons after Robin Williams’s character in “Mork and Mindy,” another show she watched as a kid.

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