Page 4 of Stick Move

Brighton laughs at that and something about the sound goes through my body and does the strangest things. “Three scoops is always the right choice, isn’t that right…” Her voice falls off as she arches her brows at me.

“Her name is Camryn,” I tell her.

She aims a genuine smile at my daughter. “What a pretty name.”

“She was named after my grandfather, Cameron.”

“You were close?” she asks.

I nod and Brighton smiles as Camryn asks, “Who are you?”

I’m about to correct her and tell her it’s not polite to ask in that manner, as Brighton works to clean the ice cream from her shirt but only manages to spread the chocolate further. Brighton answers before I can speak. “I went to high school with your father. I’m Brighton. Brighton White.”

Bright white…at least everything about her was bright white, until she met with the third scoop of chunky monkey.

Camryn takes a big lick of her ice cream. “That’s pretty too.”

As I watch my daughter and my old nemesis hit it off, I once again remember how good Brighton was with the kids at the resort.

“If you don’t want to see Brighton on the streets, you should buy the resort and keep her on. Make her do all menial work.”

I clear my head of that ridiculous thought. “Please send me the dry-cleaning bill.”

“It’s okay, Noah.” A garbled sound crawls out of her throat. “I probably deserved this.”

I open my mouth but my words get lodged in my throat as pain spills into her eyes. That’s when I notice the dark circles, ones I’ve never, ever seen before. “I should get going. You two have a great day and it was so nice meeting you, Camryn.”

“You too, Ms. Brighton.” She gives me a curt nod and circles around us, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. I turn to watch her go, not really hating the view. When she disappears around the corner, I reach for my daughter’s hand.

“Come on, Camryn. I need to check something out.”

2

BRIGHTON

“I’m just parking. I’ll be right there,” I inform my realtor on the other end of my phone as I ease my car into my spot at the resort. I would have been here sooner, had I not gotten a flat tire. Triple A couldn’t come for over an hour, so I simply pulled up my sleeves and changed the damn thing myself. I guess dating a car-obsessed guy in high school, who spent nearly all his spare time working on his vehicle, as well as talking about it, finally benefitted me.

I kill the ignition and snatch up my purse. I’d like to have five minutes to at least change my soiled clothes, but my realtor and the possible buyer for the resort are inside the lobby, and I can’t keep them waiting any longer. I step from my car and take a deep breath to calm myself. I want this deal to go through, need it to go through, and pray to God, whoever is interested in the place doesn’t want to tear it down and construct condos like investors are doing everywhere else along the shoreline.

Honestly, a part of my soul would die if I couldn’t keep the resort alive. The ocean has been my playground my whole life, and the staff count on their jobs. The thought of them losing work and seeing the place torn down would seriously gut me. Also, with any luck the new owner will want to keep me on—doing something.

I smooth my hand down my white dress, and that’s when I notice the streak of black grease staining the linen. “Oh, God,” I murmur, and hold my hands out to discover more grease. I glance over my shoulder, to my family’s estate, situated just behind the main lodge. While I want to run up to the house to scrub up and change, there’s just no time. I’ve kept them waiting long enough, and I don’t want anything to ruin this possible sale.

I put my big bag in front of the grease stain and hurry up the steps, my thoughts returning to last week, when I had ice cream all over my clothes. Honest to God, seeing Noah up close and personal like that really threw me off. I mean, I’ve seen him around town during the NHL off season, but I always go the other way. Not because I hate the guy, but because he hates me. I don’t blame him one little bit. The way my friends treated him…my stomach cramps in memory.

Crater Skater.

My throat grows so tight it hurts. Why are teenagers so damn cruel? Maybe the better question is, why did I hang out with people who were hateful, and why didn’t I stand up for Noah? I might not have shouted names, but by not stopping the others, that makes me just as bad as they were, and I hate myself for keeping my mouth shut.

I have to say, though, Noah looked good. Strong, healthy, confident, and his little girl is a sweetheart. From the rumor mill and social media, I know Camryn’s mother ran off shortly after Camryn was born. Not that I’ve been checking Noah’s socials…not a lot anyway. Does he have someone else special in his life? Before we ran into each other on the street, I’d seen him at the park sandwiched between two women.

But now is not the time to be thinking of Noah, or his current relationship status. I need to put on my game face and sell it to someone who wants to keep it a resort. I step up to the automatic doors, and they don’t open. Why does this keep happening lately, and not just at the resort. I glance up and wave my hands. I realize maintenance had done some work on the sensor mechanism after our last big storm, but why is it still not working properly? I wave my hands again. Nothing.

It’s because the sensors don’t register someone as shallow as you, Brighton.

From inside I spot Simon, our concierge, and he comes hurrying over, the doors automatically opening for him. “Good afternoon, Ms. White. Everything okay?”

“Hi Simon. Are the doors not working again?”

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