Page 25 of Paging Dr. Summers

“I’ll send these to you.” Brooke beamed. “You should smile more often, friend.”

Now, I regretted giving her my number. I knew those photos would torture me, just like Brooke did. It was maddening that she had no idea what she was doing to me. Using the wordfriendproved it. She was treating me like her BFF or whatever acronym women were using nowadays. We were barely friends and hardly knew each other.

Not that I didn’t want to know her better. Heaven help me, I did.

“Charm bracelet booth next,” she announced, grabbing Sophie’s hand. Sophie grabbed mine, and they pulled me through the crowd. I hardly noticed where we were going. My thoughts wrestled between my wife and the feel of Brooke’s skin. Guilt consumed me. I got a reprieve when a Latina woman manning the Harrington Ventures booth called out to Brooke.

“Hey, chica, I love your T-shirt!”

Brooke halted, forcing Sophie and me to almost stumble. Thankfully, I was able to steady Sophie before she fell.

“Thank you!” Brooke called back. “My mom was the lead singer and drummer for the Roxannes.”

“Get out of town. It’s my dad’s favorite band.”

Brooke’s face lit up like someone had just handed her a little pink dragon. “Are. You. Serious?”

“Totally. He has one of those T-shirts and some of their old cassette tapes,” the woman replied. “Sometimes he still listens to them on his retro stereo.”

“Logan, can you believe this?” Brooke asked before prancing overto the booth with a large banner reading,Proud Sponsor of the Strawberry Festival for over 40 Years.

I recognized the company’s name. Harrington Ventures was a huge land developer. They probably owned a third of the town. If memory served correctly, one owner had been the governor, and one had served for years as Aspen Lake’s mayor. Mayor Maxwell Harrington was his name. His dad had been the governor.

Sophie and I followed Brooke over to the booth, which was actually an elaborate tent with well-designed displays prominently touting their mission—Building the Future by Shaping One Community at a Time. Free chocolate-covered strawberries wrapped in cellophane and tied with fancy red silk bows lined one of the tables. Brochures and pictures of the communities they had developed in Aspen Lake and the surrounding areas covered the other tables.

Brooke paused as she neared the woman, who could be no older than twenty-five, although she dressed as though she ran the place in a red wrap dress. Brooke tilted her head and studied her.

“Do we know each other?” she asked.

The young woman blinked a few times. “Maybe. You seem familiar.”

“Ever been to Nebraska?” Brooke joked.

“No.” The woman laughed. “I’m Lola Harrington, by the way.”

“I’m Brooke Crawford.”

“Is this your husband and daughter?” Lola pointed to Sophie and me.

“Uh, no.” Brooke giggled like it was a ridiculous question, and I found myself a little offended. Hadn’t she wanted me to be her fling just a few days ago?

“This is my neighbor and friend, Logan, and his niece Sophie,” Brooke introduced us.

“Hi,” Lola said.

“Hello,” I returned the greeting.

“I wish my dad were here, but he and my mamá are in Mexico visiting my abuelo,” she said with a hint of a Mexican accent. “He would awkwardly say he was stoked to meet you. He swears at one time he was cool and a rebel, but I don’t believe him.” Lola smiled.

“If my mom were still alive, she would have been totallystokedto know that she still had a fan.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom.”

“Me too.” Brooke smiled. “But the fact that there are still people besides me listening to her music means she lives on. I’m really glad I met you.”

“Me too,” Lola replied.

“Well, we’ll let you get back to work.” Brooke waved, but as she walked away, she kept looking back, and, oddly, Lola kept staring at her too.

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