Page 11 of Here With You

“Just looking at him gives me a toothache.” She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose, praying he’d be gone when she opened her eyes, but nope, there he was, looking as decadent as one of Tilly’s treats. “Can you believe he’s here?” She lowered her head to the table and banged it on the wood several times. “I can’t believe everyone kept this from me. He’s working next door, for God’s sake. And speaking of God, he was staying with Marybeth.”

“Will you forgive the girls for not letting you know he was staying at the church?”

Tilly was the kindest soul she knew and fiercely loyal, which made her the best of friends. She arrived at The Brown years ago looking for a job and worked her way up from prep cook to executive chef.

To not forgive them would make her a hypocrite. “I told them never to mention his name. As far as I was concerned, Miles McClintock was dead to me.”

She turned to look out the window. “What a resurrection. Have you seen those muscles?”

“I haven’t noticed.”

Tilly laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Em took a bite of her sticky bun, but the sweetness made her stomach turn, so she set her fork on the plate, pushed it aside, and stared out the window.

“Why does he have to look so good?”

Tilly sipped her coffee. “Because karma is a bitch.”

“He’s out there looking like Adonis, and look at me. Even Charlotte thought I looked like roadkill.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “That’s because his damn dog licked my makeup off.”

“That expensive stuff Charlotte brings you?”

She tried to remember what she’d put on that morning and giggled. “I suppose I can’t blame him. I was wearing Cricket’s honey on my crow’s feet.”

Tilly touched the crinkled corners of her eyes. “You don’t have crow’s feet. Yours are more like sparrow’s feet.” She thumbed the corners of her eyes. “Look at me. I have pelican claws.”

Em stared at Tilly. The longer someone was around, the less you noticed them. Tilly had grown up with her. She was a sister from another mister, and she saw her every day, but she never noticed how she’d aged over the years. Now that she was paying attention, she saw the fine lines her friend described as pelican claws.

“You’re crazy. You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“I already said it. You’re a terrible liar.” She reached for the honey on the table. “Do you think it works?”

“It can’t hurt.” She held up her hand and shook her head. “Scratch that. It can if you get it in your eyes.” She’d done that once and had to visit Dr. Robinson for an eyewash.

They watched Miles continue to scrape off the gum from the underside of the picnic table. “Are you punishing him?”

She was a lousy liar and didn’t want to be dishonest to Tilly or herself. “Partly.” Then she remembered the news. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down in her seat. “Trixie posted today about a travel critic visiting Willow Bay. Having an extra set of hands to do the dirty work could be more of a boon than a bother.”

“They never said they were coming to The Brown.” Tilly reached into the discarded paper basket and pulled out today’s Gazette. She opened it to Trixie’s Travels column and pointed. “Read it.”

Em pushed it away. “I’ve already read it, but where else would they stay? When you’re looking for luxury, you come to The Brown.”

Tilly leaned back and crossed her arms. “There’s The Kessler, and what about the campgrounds or Airbnb’s?”

A bitter taste rose in Em’s throat. Comparing The Brown to The Kessler or a campground was unthinkable. No rental home would be equal either.

“Have you lost your mind? The Kessler is barely open, and a campground? People have to pee in bushes and bathe in a stream. There’s no air conditioning, rowboats, or room service. There’s no Tilly and her fabulous Shepherd’s Pie.” She reached for her discarded plate. “And there aren’t any hot-from-the-oven sticky buns in anyone’s rental home.”

“You got me there, but I don’t think the critic is coming to give my buns a try.” She stared out the window. “Speaking of buns. He wears his jeans well.”

She didn’t want to look but couldn’t help herself. “That man needs a uniform.”

Tilly smiled. “Speedo?”

That wasn’t a vision she needed in her head. “No one wears Speedos these days.”

With a shake of her head, Tilly said, “Not true. Do you remember when my Uncle Werner visited? He wore that one with the daisy right—”

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