Page 14 of Rumor Has It

“I’ve never known you to have low self-esteem, Cass. And who cares? If Isaiah wasn’t at Kingsbrier, and I’d truth or dared you into admitting you’d take a hall pass with a super-hot celebrity, you would have been all‘gotta get me some of that’without overthinking.”

“Reality has consequences.”

“And that’s why God invented condoms! Please tell me you took your birth control this morning.” Her words are as good a reminder as any that our mutual sister was an “oops”.

“I did.” As soon as I returned to my room. What does that say about me? “Why are you trying to talk me into sleeping with him?” I ask, more suspicious about my motives than my best friend’s.

“I’m doing nothing of the sort!” Rhiannon rolls to the side, flopping her head on a pillow the way she’s done since we were teenagers. “I’msimplysupporting a decision that you’ve already made to be open to a one-night stand. Can you imagine the look on Rude Rudy’s face if he saw you with Isaiah Roomer?”

“That sounds so cheap, Rhi. Like I’m using him.”

“You can’t be using one another? What makes Hottie McCrooner getting his jollies from a female fan okay, but you having a celebrity as a notch in your bedpost wrong? Forget who he is for a minute. If Isaiah was some rando who asked you out—and you were both crazy attracted to one another, because,duh,I have eyes, Cass—would you be as hung up on any of this?” She sits up, giving it to me straight. “Instead of pretending you haven’t had any wild notions whatsoever, andhaveconsidered having sex with that man, can we get to work on what you are wearing?”

“Only if you understand I’ve also entertained the possibility thatnothingwhatsoever will happen other than having a nice meal with a gentleman.”

“Have you not known me since the day I was born, woman?” She grabs my hands like we’re praying.

The thing about Rhiannon is we understand each other so well that she’s both my conscience and the devil on my shoulder.

I agree to let my bestie since birth sift through my closet. Rhiannon’s sloppy, letting garments fall off hangers as she pushes and tugs my clothes left and right. Whatever falls, I pick off the floor and place it on the empty opposite rod.

My room is the Tudor mansion’s original master bedroom. The citizens of a small country could occupy it with room to grow their crops. I also have a luxury bathroom that fits another nation inside. I’d like to feel worse about the extravagance. The suite would fetch an amazing nightly rate for the B&B when the vineyard hosts weddings. But our older sister, Gracyn, says there’s a season for change and it’s serving its purpose as my oasis for as long as I’m the inn’s breakfast chef.

“What about this?” Rhiannon holds a slinky black dress against her torso. “The tags are still on.”

I finger the thin, silky fabric that clung like a second skin to my form when I tried it on at the store. I’d planned to wear the dress last New Year’s Eve. However, Texas had a cold snap and slipping it on that night was akin to getting out of a hot tub in a soaking wet bathing suit in Vermont during the winter. I didn’t think anyone would’ve seen past my glaring headlights, so I chose something else.

“This dress is a little much for the steakhouse.”

“Or perfect if you are going for the slutty look. I still can’t understand why you wouldn’t wear it to the country club. You looked fantastic in it.” Rhiannon, who hasn’t had a stitch of color in her entire wardrobe since high school, ponders the black dress. “If my hips were slimmer and my boobs were as big as yours, I’d love to borrow it.”

“Stop being critical of your body. It could fit like a glove for all the complaining you’re doing. I’m happy to lend it out, seeing as it’s been collecting dust for three hundred and sixty-five days.”

Rhiannon insists she’s disinterested, but I toss it on my bed for her to take along when she leaves. A pile of other dresses land on top of it.

“A-HA! You don’t even have to model this one. I haven’t met a man yet who doesn’t notice you in it.” Rhiannon fist pumps victorious. “Now onto the pièce de résistance!” She tackles my underwear drawer with gusto.

Panties and bras fly everywhere. She laces three of my sheerest thongs on her arm. They dangle like obscene bracelets. Shapewear is slung over her shoulder. And the way she’s picking through my bras, muttering to herself about wire versus no wire and what textures will show under the dress is making me apprehensive about wearing what she’s deemed perfect.

I’m exasperated, ready to ask my cousin if she plans to clean up the mess she’s making when the front door chimes.

I’m not expecting anyone. The perishable and non-perishable shipments for the kitchen are on pause. Family members let themselves in and out using the keypad on the morning porch door—the backdoor that I took Isaiah out when I gave him the fifty-cent tour of the ranch. And Rhiannon mentioned Isaiah, Uncle Cris, and Jake were so engrossed in their guitars none of them noticed she ghosted.

“I’ll get that,” I say since she’s up to her elbows in myerm, private business.

Glad to escape my room, my feet bounce down the staircase.

I keep unusual hours, which makes dating hard for me. Even the shift-working single dads I meet get put off by a woman whose bedtime is earlier than their kids’. Not to mention, my days off are inconsistent and rarely over the weekend.

Rhiannon pulling my delicates out of mothballs made me panicky. Thinking Isaiah is being anything other than grateful for a place to stay in a pinch, or a gentleman, is presumptuous of me. His type is the jet-set Kylies of the world. The electricity I feel between us is probably the flirty mood he puts me in rebounding off of an impenetrable energy shield that surrounds famous people.

The bell rings a second time as I reach for the door handle. Met with a black garment bag being shoved in my face, I yelp.

“Oh, man. Sorry! I was about to knock. Probably should’ve used my empty hand.” It’s not until the guy moves it back that the letters MF go from fuzzy to readable and I recognize the Tom Ford logo.

“Um,it’s ok-ay.” I stutter, curiously accepting the bag. “Who is this for?”

“I was just given a delivery address, ma’am.”

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