Page 30 of Building What's Meant to Be

Bess says, “I’m sorry for thinking you were cavorting with the enemy.” She looks at me less like I’m an enemy and more like I’m the butt of a joke.

“Fraternizing,” I say without thinking...because that’s the correct word and because I’m not dumb. I legitimately didn’t know where pickles came from. Growing up, we had a chef and instead of hot dogs and hamburgers, we had beef tartar and beluga caviar on the regular.

Bess lifts one eyebrow in surprise. “Right. That’s what I meant.”

This would be the moment in the movie when the audience cringes because I’m on thin ice with the Fuller family and Tayloras it is and I just dug in my toe pick, causing a crack along the surface.

I swallow thickly. “I just say that because I’ve read a lot of scripts and have had to look up specific definitions to ensure that I’m accurate with the stage direction. It’s common to get cavort and fraternize mixed up.” I’m about to share the mnemonic device I use to remember the distinction when I realize everyone at the table is quiet and looking in my direction. “Sorry,” I murmur, feeling as humble as...well, the pie that’s no longer on Aiden’s plate.

Since meeting the ladybosses and their guys outside the jail, I’ve wanted to fade into the background, blend into the shrubbery, or ghost. Poof. Where are the Ghostbusters when you need ‘em? This might be a first because my typical position is as close to centerstage as possible.

None of those exits are easy to do in a sequined dress...and without a car or any idea what I’m going to do when I leave this diner. Another reason I threw myself to the lionesses is because I need time to regroup and think about my next steps. It’s not like I can leave Butterbury until the thirty days of community service are under my belt.

“Thank you for the apology,” Aiden says to Bess.

Like a cat watching a toy zip back and forth, everyone swings their gaze to Aiden and Mae to see what she’ll say.

“Your explanation about the thing with Stoll was acceptable. I’m also sorry for thinking you were up to no good. However, you’re still cavorting with the enemy.” Mae looks pointedly at me. Earlier, I sensed she was going to tackle me, pregnant belly and all.

I clear my throat and correct, “Fraternizing.”

“Thanks for the vocabulary lesson, Tinsley,” Mae says dryly. “However, from where I sit, it sure looks like my brother is doing plenty ofcavortingwith his eyes.”

Someone at the table titters. Someone else mutters, “Ooh, burn.”

Aiden opens his mouth as if to deny it then thinks better of it. However, he seems to relax as if relieved his sister is a degree or two less angry with him than she was when we got to the diner.

If only my siblings and I could make up so fast.

“Well, for now, you’re stuck with us.” Aiden leans back in his chair and stretches in a way that looks like he’s making himself at home.

His shirt shifts, drawing my eyes to his midsection. I can tell it’s tight, toned.

Mae grunts.

I avert my eyes. If I weren’t on a man-cation, I ought to find a nice, normal, average guy. One who clocks in at an office promptly at nine am and is home for dinner by five thirty. We’d watch a show together in the evenings and go to home décor and improvement stores on the weekend.

I would not be ogling the guy next to me. I mean, the pie. It was indeed drool-worthy. Not that I’m going to have any.

My brother may have accused me of acting like an adult lady child, but I can behave like a grown-up.

How old am I? Old enough not to want to answer. Old enough to worry that I might lose roles because of the fine lines appearing around my eyes. But not too old for Aiden Fuller.

Mae gives me a flat look like she’s reading the bad girl thoughts about her brother—that decided to throw a party, complete with confetti—in my mind.

“So, um, tell me about Bubba’s,” I ask not knowing if it’s a who, a what, or a where.

“Bubba’s is a—” Louella Belle starts before Mae interrupts.

“As if Tinsley would get her hands dirty.”

I look down at my slender fingers and manicured nails—most recently painted in the French style with sparkly tips instead ofthe traditional white. It would be a shame to break another one after the granite rock incident in Newport. But I got myself into this mess, I’m going to get myself out of it.

“Mae, be nice,” Louella Belle scolds. “We ought to show Tinsley some southern hospitality. Bless her heart, she’s new in town.”

“No, she’s been here before,” Mae says.

“For less than a day,” I reply.

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