Page 77 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“Wait till you try everything else,” he says.
“Who’s minding the restaurant while you’re here?”
He shakes his head. “Are you kidding? The whole town is here. We closed down shop and my servers are here instead.” He waves his hand toward the already larger crowd in the building, and I see several people in white shirts and black pants weaving through groups of people with large trays of food. A buffet table is off to the side, artfully arranged with charcuterie, fresh bread, desserts, and glasses full of champagne. The band starts up, abluegrass group that everyone seems to know, judging by the way the crowd cheers upon the first notes.
I’m pretty sure this is going to cost me a fortune. I must have said so because Griffin shakes his head. “It’s not going to cost you a thing,” he assures me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I say, completely embarrassed. “Of course I’ll pay, and I’ll tip.”
“We have it covered,” he insists. “Come on.”
He takes my arm, and I look back at Ashton, who grins and nods me forward before he goes in search of Bec and his daughter. Griffin shows me the huge, empty water jug at the entrance. On it is a sign that reads “Donations for Local Staff,” and inside is a growing pile of money, getting larger with every person that enters through the door. “We take care of our own,” Griffin tells me. “That’s what it means to be in a small town.”
He leaves me standing there by the bottle, feeling the floor drop out from under me.
Corporate town.
Alexander’s plans for this place tear at my gut. These people have no idea what’s in store for them. I don’t even know, but I have a pretty good idea.
And I can’t say a thing.
Alexander doesn’t deserve this shop. He doesn’t deserve this town. If he gets away with his plans, he’ll make a ruin of all the people here and force them out of town.
I take in the smiles of everyone around me, watching as they greet each other like family. Many of them offer me the same warm looks, some touching my arm to thank me for bringing us all together, to exclaim over the use of this space, or to mention how they recognize some of the items from stores they love.
I smile back, though I’m starting to feel a little weak in my stomach. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing tray and down it before grabbing another.
“This is some party,” a voice says next to me. I turn, my breath catching at the sight of Bernie beside me.
We’ve avoided each other this whole time. Our first interaction soured me, though Ashton’s stories of her kindness softened the bitterness. Still, I’m sore about the armoire she wouldn’t sell. It shouldn’t matter—I’m leaving soon—but I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Hello Bernie,” I say coolly. I glance at her, then gawk. She looks completely different than the last time I saw her. Gone is the hotel uniform. She’s wearing a black evening gown, her silver hair in waves as it cascades around her shoulders, her face done up with light makeup. Frankly, she’s lovely.
“You look beautiful,” I breathe. She smiles, a stunning move. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile that way before, at least not in my direction. It softens her features, makes her look pretty even.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says. I laugh, soliciting a wider grin from her. “I have to say, I had my doubts about you, but this place looks magnificent. It’s missing something, though.”
I peer around us, trying to spot anything that’s out of place. “What?”
“That armoire you fell in love with,” she says.
I feel a prickle of disappointment in my gut. She’s fucking with me, I just know it.
“Listen, if you came here to throw it in my—”
“No,” she says, holding her hands up, “I’m offering it to you. For sale, of course. I know how much you wanted it. Look, we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m afraid I wasn’t my best self.” She looks around, then gestures at the whole of the room. “I mean, look at what you’ve done, how you’ve brought us all together.” A sad look crosses her expression as she looks around again. “This is what this town is all about,” she says softly.
Oh man, how I want that piece. But knowing I’m leaving in two days, it seems even less important to have. I mean, Alexander won’t see the value in it, even with the high price tag. He likes new and modern, but this is a piece with history.
No, it belongs with someone who understands the stories within the piece.
“Bernie, I can’t. I know how much you love that piece, and honestly, you shouldn’t ever sell it. It was a part of your family’s history, and it belongs with you.”
She shakes her head. “Things are meant to be parted with. It’s the people you can’t replace. And what am I going to do with a silly old armoire? Especially since I have no place to put it.”
“What do you mean? You have Lock & Key, it belongs there.”
“That’s no longer her store,” a voice says behind me.
