Page 1 of Lovewell Lane

1

Margo

“Maybe I’ll join one of those farm worker websites and muck pig stalls in Australia.”

“You complained about getting rained on after walking from your Uber to the front door this morning. I’m not sure you could hack it,” Scarlet said with just a hint of sarcasm.

I sighed, twirling the red coffee stirrer around my fingers in one hand as I scrolled through websites on the giant monitor in front of me with the other. “I could deal with a lot for an Australian accent.”

“Do pigs have accents?” Scarlet’s voice echoed in the cavernous lobby we were alone in. She stood up from where she was resting her butt against my desk and stole the computer mouse from me.

I scoffed and took another big gulp of my macchiato. “No, but pigfarmersdefinitely do.”

A pitiful attempt at a joke, since Scarlet and I both knew I leave men at any hint of inconvenience. An Australian pig farmer could be tall, tanned, and kind, but I would still find something wrong with him.

My best friend, however, was infallible. Living in Seattle with Scarlet entertained me for the last six months, which I have to say, was longer than I’d stayed anywhere in a long time. She was the light of my life. I would never get enough of her dry humorand judgy stares. But growing up in Washington made the state unappealing to me, and I needed excitement. Staying put always made me antsy, as if I were missing out on what strangers across the world were doing without me.

“You could go to France like your Mom,” Scarlet teased.

I scoffed, not hiding the disgust on my face. I turned away from her to stare at the streams of people walking in front of our building's glass doors. They weaved in and out of each other, a mesmerizing blend of leisurely strollers and speed walkers, each person maneuvering their own way through the crowd.

My mom was originally why I came back to Seattle. I left my waitressing job at a small English pub to come home, just to find out her ‘love emergency’ was resolved mere hours before my plane landed. Margaret Sinclair taught me everything I knew about traveling. And while I inherited her love of sightseeing and her overly flexible joints, I did not inherit her need to love a new man every place she went to. The countless times in my life that I had to nurse her back to health after a breakup put me off of relationships entirely.

This time, however, my presence wasn’t necessary. Her long-term boyfriend– Salamander? Salmon? Maybe it was Sawyer. Whatever his name was, won his way back into her heart all on his own. And instead of spending time with her daughter in Seattle, she let him take her to France to ‘make it up to her’.

Which left me with Scarlet. I much preferred her company anyway, but despite my best friend’s best efforts, I still felt it was time to leave Seattle. Being the secretary of a giant office building only made me want to leave sooner. Everyone was always rushing somewhere to go do something, and I was nothing but a statue they passed on their way to get there. Scarlet got me this job, so I vowed to be the best desk ornament there ever was.

Until today.

Scarlet typed another search into my computer before stepping back and scrolling through the results. My ears perked up when I saw ‘Dreamers Initiative’. I was a dreamer. Plus, the fifteen thousand dollar bonus under it was plenty appealing.

“Click on that one. What are these?” I asked.

“They’re programs for moving to other states. This one doesn’t apply to you though, you’d have to start a business in Honeyfield, Georgia.”

I glanced at my red-headed friend. “Pause. How do you know about all this?”

She shrugged. “You’re not the only one that gets the urge to up and move on a whim.” Her perfectly manicured nails tapped on the desk as she scanned the website. “But you are the only person I know that would actually do it.”

“Fair enough, but I could totally start a business,” I defended.

Her beautiful chestnut brown eyes distracted me as she shot me a look. “You typically have to stay in a place for longer than a year to run a business.”

“It’s called Honeyfield, come on, that sounds like the cutest place in the world,” I gushed. “When I lived in Chicago, I was a manager at a bakery. I could totally open a cute little bakery in a place called Honeyfield.”

I also spent nearly every summer as a kid with my dad in Boston, working at his diner, but I didn’t say that part out loud. Scarlet and I both were a part of the dead dad club, and neither of us talked about it much.

“What job haven’t you had?” Scarlet snarked. She felt my glare and murmured under her breath, “Your sourdough is to die for, though.”

I took the computer mouse back from her and bookmarked the page. The sound of sliding doors snapped me back to reality, and my practiced smile appeared on my face without a second thought. I looked up to find a very fashionable man in a suitwalking up to the desk as Scarlet stood up straight and turned to face him.

“Good morning, sir, how can I help you?” I greeted cheerily.

Not to brag, but I was a great desk ornament. My entire life I’d perfected my craft at charming people. And I was damn good. The secret is to always act as a prism. Take in what the person offered you, and use that to refract the most colorful light that will dazzle them.

He flustered as he tried brushing rain droplets off of his suit coat. “Ponce. I have a meeting with Ponce. In a few minutes.”

I made an effort to keep my smile intact and glanced at Scarlet while I looked up the meetings on Ponce’s calendar for the day. “It looks like he’s waiting for you in meeting room 4B, it’s on the fourth floor. If you take the elevator, it will be on your right.”

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