Page 41 of Best Served Cold

“Uh, yeah,” I say, feeling a throbbing pain developing in my temple. “Did you ask your granddaughter to go there to keep an eye on us?”

Was she one of the ladies with the kid?

“Of course,” she says smiling, completely without qualms “I told your aunt Penny I’d keep an eye on you, and I intend to do a thorough job of it. What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk into a situation like that without any help at hand? Did Hannah put up those posters we made?”

“You…” I can’t actually find the words to complete that sentence. Dottie doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d help create something so inflammatory. “Youhelped her?”

“I tried to convince her we should say he has a dark aura,” she says, clucking her tongue, “but she told me some young women would be drawn in by that. No young woman wants crabs.”

That certainly sounds like Hannah.

I give Dottie a quick rundown of what happened last night, and she nods decisively. “Oh, dear me, yes, everything is happening as it should. I have a very good feeling about this. Let’s go there now.”

It’s hard to say no to Dottie. I mean, I married myself just because she “suggested” it was a good idea. So I’m not surprised when I nod my agreement. “Okay.”

I unlock the car, and she’s sitting in the passenger seat before I even open my door. As soon as my butt’s in the seat, she hands me the Tupperware, labeled withSelf-Love.

She beams at me. “It’s okay if you’d like to keep them all to yourself, dear. Once you’ve loved yourself long and well, you can think about giving your cookies to other people.”

I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds sexual, so I pointedly change the subject, asking Dottie about her granddaughter, as I tuck the Tupperware into the back seat. I start driving to The Ginger Station, and Dottie tells me a long story about her granddaughter that takes us all the way to the brewery.

Once inside, we walk up to the bar together, but Dottie peels away, gravitating toward a couple sitting at the other end.

The bartender is the same woman who was working last night, although her brunette hair is pulled back in a tidy bun today.

My cheeks flushing, I try to get her attention.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows. “For what?”

“I was here last night?”

Her face is still a blank slate. “And?”

I sigh “I was the one in the bridal gown who fell on the floor.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, you. Your friend put up the flyer that caused all that fuss.”

“I know. I’m sorry for that too. Sort of. He deserved it, but obviously she should have been more careful. I’m here about the bill, though. I’m so sorry we ran out without paying.”

She gives me a look that tactfully suggests I’m an idiot. “The guy you were with opened a tab. We never give out drinks without getting a card number first.”

Rob.

I don’t even consider the possibility that it might have been Otis. Because, let’s be honest, it isn’t a possibility.

A tide of emotion rushes through me, and tears spring to my eyes. It’s not just this piece of kindness from Rob. It’s that he was this kind to me when his brother, the man who was supposed to love me, treated me so poorly. My emotions are close to the surface right now, ready to well up in response to the slightest scratch.

The bartender’s eyes widen. “Uh, it’s not a big deal. You can buy him a drink another day. These things tend to even out.”

“He doesn’t drink,” I say in a strangled voice.

“You can give him some of your cookies, my dear,” Dottie says, stepping in beside me and taking my hand. “A piece of kindness at the right time, in the right place, can change a life.” Turning to the bartender, she says, “Did you know that young man—the one from the flyer, I mean—was supposed to marry this dear girl, but instead he slept with her two best friends?”

Her mouth opens. Then shuts. “Twoof your best friends?”

“Dottie,” I chide. “They weren’t my friends until after I found out.”

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