Page 24 of Suddenly Dating
Lola filled her in on what she had so far, and then their talk turned to books and the authors whose work they enjoyed.
“Actually,” Lola said, “My favorite author of all time is Birta Hoffman. My sister told me she has a house on Lake Haven and comes to East Beach to write at a coffee shop every morning. I’ll be honest—I came here this morning hoping I might meet her,” Lola said, and laughed at her own foolishness.
“Your sister is right, she is in East Beach,” Mallory said. “But she doesn’t come to the coffee shop every day. I’d say it’s more like once a week. If she does come, I’d be happy to introduce you.”
“Youknowher?”
“Sure,” Mallory said with a slight shrug. “Everyone in East Beach knows everyone.”
Lola could hardly contain her excitement. “So what’s she like?”
“She’s kind of intense,” Mallory said. “But you’ll see when you meet her. Guess what I do? Never mind, you can’t guess. I own a candy shop.”
Lola blinked. “Of course! Mallory’s Candies and Curiosities! I’ve seen that shop.”
“You want to come have a look?” Mallory asked.
“I wouldloveto see your candy shop. I’m a huge fan.Huge. Me and candy go way back.”
When Lola had finished her coffee, they packed up their things and went out. Mallory pushed open the coffee house door. “Look at this day, will you?’” she proclaimed, and went out into a crisp, sun-splashed world.
Lola would later think about the chance meeting and how a great friendship had sprung from it. She and Mallory hit it off—they wandered around Main Street, then ended up having lunch. They chatted like old acquaintances as they strolled along the shore of Lake Haven. Mallory invited Lola to join her at yoga the next morning and even offered to come and pick her up. And Lola didn’t think about Humorless Harry more than twice. All right, fine—she thought of him three times. Maybe four.
It was midafternoon before Lola returned to the lake house, carrying a basket full of fresh produce purchased at Donovan Farms, which Mallory had told her about. Lola was happy. In spite of the weird roommate situation with Harry, she was beginning to feel like this was the place she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was doing at this point in her life. In fact, when she sat down with her book, and stared at the same blank page that had been staring back at her for days, she had a breakthrough. Just walking away from the book had helped to clear her head. She realized that her main character was too nice. She was supposed to be a little psychotic, but Lola had written her too weakly. Frankly, she was too much like Lola—her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she was taking the high road like a boss.
Lola didn’t want her to take it like a boss. She wrote:Sherri killed Brad with a hammer. It happened to be the first thing she could put her hands on when he said, “I’m sorry, Sher, but I’m just not feeling it.” “Feel this, asshole,” she said, and swung before he even looked up...
That was it. That was exactly what her book needed—a littleoomphbefore the detective showed up and began to put the pressure on Sherri. For the first time in days, words were flowing again.
Lola worked into the evening, until her stomach began to rumble. She made a vegetable frittata for dinner. Maybe it was the splendor of the day or the organic vegetables, but Lola was fairly certain it was the best frittata she’d ever made.
After dinner, she worked more on her book, then turned in to read.
Sometime after ten, she heard her roommate return, his work boots crunching on the gravel drive. She heard him again, in the kitchen now—which, she hoped he noted, had been cleaned to his OCD standards—and heard him opening and shutting cabinets and the fridge. The microwave dinged, which caused Lola to wrinkle her nose. What did people cook in microwaves, really? Other than frozen dinners, that was. Ugh.
After that, there was only silence.
She didn’t hear him again that night, or early the next morning. She had gotten herself out of bed and ready for yoga, and was standing on the drive at the appointed time with a mat strung across her back. Lola heard her ride turn off the road, heard the pause as the driver punched in the code Lola had given Mallory. The vehicle started down the drive at the same moment she heard the front door open and those work boots crunching the gravel again. She glanced over her shoulder. “Good morning!” she said brightly.
Harry had his head down, his gaze on his phone, and was clearly startled by her, and did a bit of a backward hop. He was dressed in worn, faded jeans and a white collared shirt today. He’d brushed his hair behind his ears, had donned a ballcap with the bill at the back of his head. Apparently he’d run out of time to shave. He looked tired. But he also looked so manly and hot that Lola had to look at her feet and quickly remind herself that he wanted to kick her out of her fantastic deal.
“Morning,” he said curiously, taking her in. “Are you looking for a ride? Because I’m running late—”
“A ride!” Lola laughed as if that were ridiculous. “Askyou? Oh no, no, no, I wouldnever.”
The car—a black sedan, just like the ones she saw dropping people at the airport—coasted into the drive. Harry looked puzzled as the car came into view and rolled to a stop. Lola was puzzled, too, when a driver got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the back door. “Good morning, Miss Dunne.”
Mallory had failed to mention that “picking her up” meant having a chauffeur. “Good morning,” she said, and leaned to her left to look inside. Mallory was there, talking on her phone.
Lola glanced sidelong at Harry, who was staring in disbelief at the car.That’s right,pal, I have a car and a driver, so suck it!She took a step toward the open car door, then paused and looked back at him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked, cupping her hand around her ear.
“Nope,” he said briskly. “Not a word.”
She smiled. “I didn’t think so. Oh, by the way, I noticed that you left some papers or something on the end of the kitchen bar. You might want to tidy that up.”
He looked surprised. Then annoyed. “Huh,” he said. “I’m surprised you noticed one flyer through the stack of wine glasses you seem to be collecting on the bar.”
“For your information, the wine glass rack is broken,” she said.
