Page 12 of This Time Around
“Your career. Your daughter. Your amazing, perfect life. Everything.”
They were the words he’d wanted her to say, the reason he’d come here in the first place. But they didn’t make him feel smug.
They made him feel hollow.
She gave him a small smile, and the hollowness filled with something warm. “I’m glad you’re doing well,” she added.
“You, too,” he said, though it occurred to him they’d hardly talked about her life at all. About what she was doing now. God, he was such a self-centered prick.
“Hey, if nothing else, it was a good chance to remember why we’re lucky we didn’t end up together,” he offered.
She gave a bark of laughter and tossed her hair. “That’s for damn sure.”
Her answer stung a helluva lot more than he expected.
The first things Allie noticed when she stood on the front porch of the Rosewood Bed and Breakfast were the heavy brocade drapes. Faded and dusty, they were the same ones her grandmother had ordered from Paris at least a dozen years ago.
The second thing she noticed was the swath of tiny holes marring the cedar trim over the window. It looked like someone had jammed a kebab skewer into the wood over and over again. Allie squinted at the holes, wondering what the hell could do that sort of damage.
She didn’t realize someone was staring back at her until she heard the squeak.
“Aaah!” She jumped back, nearly knocking herself off the porch. She grabbed hold of the railing and peered through the window at a cat who peered right back with clear disdain.
“Jesus,” Allie muttered. “I didn’t see you there. Who are you?”
The cat didn’t answer, probably because it was a cat, and also because it had better things to do than converse with thirty-six-year-old single woman standing on the porch of a B&B that looked a lot rattier than Allie remembered. The cat looked ratty, too. Its fur was the color of an old gym sock and stuck out in all directions. Her grandmother had always had a cat or two around, but Allie didn’t remember this one.
Bored by the human attention, the cat lifted one paw and began cleaning behind a ragged ear.
“What’s wrong with your paw?” Allie stared at it, trying to remember if cats were supposed to have thumbs. This one had at least three extra digits on the left front paw, and on the back?—
The door flew open and Allie tore her gaze off the cat to size up the woman standing in the doorway. “Hi.” Allie smoothed down the front of her navy sheath dress and tried to look presentable.
“Hello,” the woman replied as she studied Allie with a curious expression.
The long, dark hair she wore loose around her shoulders had a few cobalt-blue streaks running through it. Her feet were bare, and her flowy, tie-dyed dress looked like she’d been attacked with a paint sprayer. Her face bore no trace of makeup, and she had a porcelain complexion with a smattering of freckles. Allie couldn’t begin to guess if she was eighteen or forty-eight.
The woman scrunched her brows a bit and regarded Allie with a curious expression. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Allie.” She stuck out her hand, and the woman took it with a firm shake. “Allison Ross. My grandmother is Victoria Ross.” She closed her eyes, and swallowed the wave of grief that threatened to grab her by the throat. “Was Victoria Ross.”
A pair of warm arms enveloped her, and Allie opened her eyes to find herself wrapped in a patchouli-scented hug.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “Your grandmother was such an amazing woman. I just adored her. I can’t believe she’s gone. You must be so heartbroken.”
“I—yes, thank you.” Allie tried to spit out the woman’s hair, not sure how to disentangle herself from the hug. She’d never loved physical affection from strangers, but there was something about this hug that felt familiar and warm, so Allie relaxed and let the woman hang on for a few extra beats. “I didn’t catch your name,” Allie said.
“Oh, sorry.” The woman drew back and tucked the wild curls behind her ears. “It’s Skye. Skye Collins. I guess that didn’t show up in the email we exchanged?”
“No, just the info@rosewood address and the signature lines at the bottom—all the stuff my grandma’s web guy must have plugged in years ago.”
“Right,” Skye said. “Sorry, it’s been a little crazy around here.”
“Were you not expecting me?” Allie glanced at her watch to see it was half past five, right on the dot. “We did say Thursday at five-thirty, right?”
“Yes, of course, it’s my fault. I was studying for exams. I’m a student at the Aesthetics Institute. Hair, nails, facials, that sort of thing. I guess I lost track of time. You know how it is.”
Allie wasn’t sure she did. Punctuality had always been her forte, and she kept track of her appointments in duplicate using both her iPhone and her Erin Condren LifePlanner.
