Page 29 of Southern Storms

Fact: I never told them I was a city girl. I told nosy Nancy that when she stopped by the other day with muffins.

Another fact: Don’t trust nosy Nancy, no matter how good her muffins are.

“I’m doing good, ladies.”

“Oh, yes. That’s good and all,” Kate said, pursing her lips, “but if you don’t mind me prying, what are you going to do here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no offense, Kennedy,” she started, which meant something offensive was about to be said. but you can’t just sit around here and not have a job. Don’t you have bigger ambitions than that? I mean, you’re what, twenty-nine, thirty?” she asked.

The insult was loud and clear through her tone, and I wasn’t sure how I restrained myself from slamming the door in her face.

“Twenty-eight,” I answered.

They both frowned. “That’s a shame,” Louise said. “You’re too old to be doing nothing. Maybe you should come to the mani-pedi nights I host with a few other gals. We have one next week. Perhaps one of the girls in town can get you started with a job. You know what they say—network, network, network! And honey, I’m sure your nails will thank you for the pampering. Plus, what about dating? Mary’s cousin Bernie is single. He’s a bit odd, too. Quirky, I should say—like you. I bet you two would be a great fit!”

Not Bernie again. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’m going to have to pass.” Part of me wanted to tell them about my novels. About how I’ve had a successful career. A bigger part of me knew I didn’t own them a thing.

“You should really consider having Bernie take you out on a date. At your age, you should settle down, don’t you think? I bet you want kids at some point, don’t you? Time is ticking, and it only gets harder the longer you wait.”

Wow.

They had crossed a line, and they didn’t even care that they had. More and more each day, I was becoming certain that I wouldn’t be able to stay in that house with these two women living right down the street.

“I’m sorry, that’s kind of a private question, and—”

Louise cut in. “Did you know you can freeze your eggs? I read an article that you can do that.”

Before I could reply, Louise was waving over at Lars, who was digging up some dead plants. “Hey, Lars. It’s good to see you,” she sang, eyeing him up and down like he was a T-bone steak she was going to devour. “I see you’ve still been working hard as always.”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and gave a devilish smirk. “You know I can’t keep myself from getting my hands dirty, Louise.” He then winked at me, and my stomach flipped fifty-seven times.

Louise fanned herself and blushed as if she wasn’t a married woman while Lars went back to work. “Wow, my gosh. If I were still a single girl, I would love to get down and dirty with that man.”

“Amen,” Kate sang along with her sister. “Anyway, let us know about the pedicures, Kennedy! And about Bernie. You two would get along so well. I just know it.”

The two hurried away, and I’d have been lying if I said I missed them when they left.

At the end of the day, Lars came knocking on the door to let me know his team had headed out. “Let me show you what we’ve accomplished today,” he said, gesturing to the front yard.

With a hesitant smile, I followed after him. We walked around as he gestured here and there, explaining what it would look like a few months from now. He spoke about the garden that would be placed in the back yard and went on and on about the lighting fixtures that would be put in place. He boasted about how talented and intelligent—and single—he was, sometimes touching on the amount of success his business had achieved in Havenbarrow. Then, as we were looking toward the corner where the lilac bush would go—Mama’s favorite flower—he placed his hand on my lower back, and I shot forward.

“What are you doing?” I said, feeling a jolt of nerves rushing through my system.

He cocked an eyebrow, apparently baffled. “I’m sorry? I was just—”

“Touching my lower back without my permission,” I spat out. “And frankly, that is highly inappropriate.”

Instead of apologizing for his actions, Lars rolled his eyes. “Come on, lady. It’s not like you haven’t been coming on to me all day since I arrived here with my team. The signs seemed pretty clear.”

“There were no signs. I wasn’t coming on to you at all.”

“There’s no need to lie about it,” he argued, raking his hands through his hair as if he were the most confident man alive. “I get it. You’re a good-looking girl. I’m a good-looking guy. It only makes sense that”—he placed his hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine—“we’d be attracted to each other.”

“I’m not,” I said, my voice growing louder as I tossed his hand from my shoulder. “And if you touch me one more time, you’ll regret it.”

“No need to be a bitch,” he huffed. “The truth is, you’re not even my type.”

---