Page 90 of The Choices I've Made
This meant only one thing—a trip to Terri’s.
Jake’s next-door neighbor.
I let out a sigh, grabbing my purse from my dresser. Taking one last look in the mirror, I tucked my light-blonde hair behind my face, noticing a faint tan across the bridge of my nose and brow from weeding the garden earlier that day. I had to admit, it wasn’t half bad. The gray shorts and flowy top hugged my curves but not too tight. The floral shirt gave the slightest hint of cleavage without appearing too revealing.
My sister had dragged me out into town to one of the few places with clothes that didn’t have the wordsOcracokeorOuter Bankswritten all over them and talked me into several new things. Although I’d stomped my feet and pouted, demanding we had completely opposite style preferences, I was actually enjoying what she’d picked out.
For once, glancing in the mirror, I didn’t look like a rushed maniac in three-year-old flip-flops and a messy topknot. I’d never taken stock in my appearance, always believing it was what you put out, what you did in this world, that truly mattered.
But I’d never thought about how my appearance affected that.
Before my guests arrived, sure, I’d clean up a little, but did I represent my business well enough? Surely, when Millie went in to visit clients, she was polished to a high-gloss shine, and her company expected no less.
So, why was I selling myself short?
My business deserved more.
Hell, I deserved more.
Feeling a new sense of purpose, I headed out the door, ready for anything.
Even if it meant running into a hot doctor along the way.
My newfound confidence died a little when I drove past the dull blue house. Since Jake had left, the once-vivid hue had faded into something sad and tragic.
It perfectly summed up the Jameson family.
Pulling into the gravel driveway, I turned to the right, giving the green car that was already parked there room to back out.
Terri was a busy woman.
I waited in my car, playing a game of solitaire, while she finished up with her client—a local restaurant owner who was avid over supporting local businesses. Terri’s small supply couldn’t keep up with his business but it was the thought that counted. She repaid him with frequent visits to his restaurant with, of course, plenty of suggestions regarding his recipes.
Once they were through, I gave a quick wave as he pulled away, and I headed for the door.
“Please tell me he didn’t take all the good stuff,” I said, placing my purse by the front door.
She closed the screen door behind me, leaving the heavy wooden one open to let in the spring breeze. It felt heavenly—something I’d miss when summer rolled around.
“Nah,” she muttered, leading me through the front foyer and toward the kitchen. “He just likes to come over and charm me, I think. He never buys more than a bag of corn most weeks.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re cute,” I said with a wink, laughing.
“Oh, hush yourself. That man is young enough to be my son!”
“He is not,” I replied. “He’s older than my daddy, which makes him nearly the same age as you!”
“Ah, well, what would he want an old broad like me for?” she said, making herself busy. She’d already pulled out two tall glasses and an ice-cold pitcher of sweet tea.
She never asked if you wanted some. She just served, and you were expected to drink it and the forty-seven cups of sugar she’d dumped in there.
“What do you mean, old broad? And what’s wrong? You look tired.” It was something I’d noticed since the moment she opened the door. It was subtle, a hand at her waist, as if she were covering a pain, bags under her eyes where there weren’t any before.
For once, she looked her age.
“Just a bit under the weather.”
Just a bit?
