Page 67 of The Scars I Bare
She grinned. “Well, I mean, you could.”
“Millie,” she growled.
“I know, I know. I have the date blocked off. I can’t believe it’s so soon. So, what’s up? Have you opened a daycare at the inn?”
She laughed. “No, this is Lizzie Ashcroft, and this”—she panned the camera over to me where I proceeded to do a lame wave in her sister’s direction—“is Cora Carpenter, Lizzie’s mom. They’re staying at the inn until they find a more permanent place to call home. They just moved here from Virginia Beach.”
“Oh God, why—I mean, great!” She coughed, making no effort to disguise the mock horror on her face.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Lizzie obviously thought it was funny, too.
“Well, welcome, I guess. What’s it got to do with me? Not that I’m not thrilled you called.”
“We need fashion advice.”
“Come again? You lost me.”
Millie had stopped moving and must have seated herself at a bar or restaurant because, suddenly, she was speaking a different language. “Si,” she said to someone we couldn’t see as she pointed. “Vorrei uno, per favore.” Then, she nodded, and her attention was turned back to us.
“She’s got a date.”
“The kid or the mom?”
“Me,” I said, kind of wishing I had just pulled something out of my closet at this point.
“Oh, okay. Got it. Show me what I have to work with,” she said. “Also, with whom?”
“What?” Molly said,
“With whom does she have a date? There are, like, five eligible men on that island, so I’m bound to know him; I might have even dated him. Figured I’d tell her whether he was worth the time.”
A waiter set a fancy drink in front of her while she waited for an answer.
“Um, Dean Sutherland,” I replied.
A sly smile spread across her face. “You’re setting her up with your old boyfriend? Man, that place gets weirder and weirder. Okay, let’s dress you up.”
I guessed I’d gotten her seal of approval because, within the next twenty minutes, I’d gone from tired mom to understated sex kitten, and Millie McIntyre was officially my new best friend.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said the moment I opened the door.
There, standing in front of me, was a very well-dressed Dean, wearing a pair of distressed jeans that always seemed to hang on his hips in just the right place and a short-sleeved collared shirt that accentuated the green in his eyes.
But, as handsome as he was, it was what was behind him that really grabbed my attention.
“A golf cart?”
He grinned one of those signature Dean grins that sent shivers down my spine and made me think wonderful, evil things.
“Yep.”
“But I thought you didn’t like golf carts?” I asked, unable to hide my amusement.
“No,” he replied, “I said, I’d never driven one, not that I hated them. They’re actually pretty fun. Well, once I got the hang of my gigantic foot pressing on the tiny pedal.”
I laughed as I watched his eyes settle on the short, asymmetrical white dress that seemed to do fabulous things for my legs and made my skin look ridiculously tan.
“You look…” He paused, like he was searching for a word.
