Page 7 of Dahlia Made A List

Whatever she dangled over the balcony sent a jolt of fear through Pretty Boy. He backed off his weak-ass confrontation with me and scrambled over the sidewalk and grass to stand tense beneath the edge of the balcony, hands extended high. “Dammit, Dahlia,” he barked up at her. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“If I was vindictive, this stupid glass would be in smithereens!”

She held a tall pilsner glass, the kind found at any decent beer joint and every Octoberfest.

“Good thing I’ve got a little restraint, huh, Brandon?”

She waved the glass, eyes wild, looking like a lot of things, none of them restrained.

“Please, Dahlia! That’s my entirefuturein your hands!”

It was a glass. A snort escaped and I forgot I still held the phone to my ear.

“What’s happening?” Millsy demanded.

“Nothing.”

“You snorted.” Her tone turned wheedling and I pushed off the tailgate to stand up straight. Dahlia dropped the tall glass into Pretty Boy’s outstretched hands. I slammed the tailgate back up. With a last glare over his shoulder at his ex-girlfriend, he tucked himself into the Golf. This time I strolled to the driver’s side door of the Silverado, leaving him plenty of room to maneuver out of his spot. Looked like things were coming to as peaceable an ending as these two could manage here. I would cut my tenant some slack and not insist on replacing her unsanctioned lock tonight. Especially since I now had a date with my grandmother out on her farm.

“Wyatt Weston, tell me what’s happening right this minute!”

“Looks like my tenant at Number 26 took out the trash.”

Chapter Three

Dahlia

Theridesharedriverturneddown a long gravel path just a mile or two out of town. The car cut between pristine, white-fenced paddocks, winding around more red barns and stables than I’d ever seen in one place. I’d known Ms. Minerva held an influential position in the area, but I don’t think I quite understood where that influence came from.

Back home in the salon where I’d learned my craft, we’d had a matriarch not unlike Ms. Minerva. A woman others paid close attention to. Respected. Feared, even, at times. I figured every town had one and was just glad Ms. Minerva seemed like a sweet woman and had taken a liking to me. The feeling was entirely mutual.

As the car meandered, I tightened my fingers into the flouncy hem of the floral top I’d paired with jeans for tonight’s adventure. Just what I needed. Sweaty palms. I’d seen enough of Virginia to recognize old money and a lot of it. What was I getting myself into?

The drive ended in front of a beautiful white two-story farmhouse with a separate garage to one side and a pretty little pond to the other. Cars dotted the circle driveway. I recognized Maia’s flashy little Miata as my driver scooted between parked cars to let me out closest to the front door.

Tension slipped from my shoulders. With the presence of both Maia and Ms. Minerva, meeting strangers would be oh-so-much easier. They’d smooth my way into a new social situation. I loved people. It shouldn’t be so hard to make new friends.

But if I didn’t talk a mile a minute and overshare every detail of my boring little life, I’d hide in a corner. One or the other. No happy medium. And tonight, with the drama of the day behind me, I didn’t want to let myself hide in a corner nomming carrot sticks and pretending everything was hunky dory. I wanted tomakeeverything okay, instead.

Or at least return to the pretense that everything was. A lie that wrapped around me like a comforting old afghan. A shield against recognizing I was alone in the world; that even my parents, the people I should have been able to count on more than any other, were content to let me fade out of their lives. That boyfriends traded me away for easier partners. That my smile was practiced and as lacking as the rest of me.

The annoying buzz just under my skin warned if I wasn’t careful, whichever option bubbled up, neither was going to end well.

I climbed from the rideshare, fumbling two bottles of wine. Negotiating the short stretch of gravel driveway in four-inch heels turned into a game of How-Far-Can-I-Jump on the balls of my feet. But when I landed on the bottom step leading up to the bright red door, my cheeks burned with the stretch of my satisfied grin.

I’d always been excellent at embracing distraction.

Cradling the bottles of wine to my middle and swinging my purse back over my shoulder, I raised my hand to knock. But before I could, the door swung wide and Maia grinned out at me, both arms outstretched. “Girl, you made it. Welcome to the Shameless Readers.”

She hugged me close and over her shoulder, I caught sight of several more people milling about inside. Crap, I hoped I wasn’t late. “Yeah.” I bit my tongue against the urge to spill my guts about the drama I’d arrived home to earlier today. “This place is gorgeous.”

Maia looped her arm through mine, and clutching the wine bottles against my chest, I let her guide me into the house.

“I’m so glad you came, Dahlia. This is such a great bunch. We lost a member last month when they moved up north somewhere. Ms. Minerva and Ms. Beck keep us running, but have been hemming and hawing about whether to add a new person or not. I about squealed when she invited you this afternoon.” She squeezed my arm with gentle fingers.

More of the anxiety twisting up my insides unknotted, and I returned Maia’s squeeze. “What exactly have I been invited to?” I wiggled the bottles against my chest. “It’s got to be a good time, if there’s wine involved.”

Maia’s fawn-brown eyes widened. “She didn’t explain about the Shameless Readers?”

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