“And another thing,” she said. “Everyone in the world has had a credit card rejected, so you can’t possibly hold that against him. And finally are you saying that the only reason a man might show some interest in me is that stupid necklace?”
“No, of course not. You’re fabulous. But as far as we know, he could be cozying up here because of the necklace. Maybe he thinks you have it stashed upstairs in your bedroom.”
“How would he know about the necklace?”
I frowned. “From his father?” I was losing the argument, so I added, “Besides, a week ago you were claiming to be bored by him.”
That was a mistake.
Jane scowled. “Yes, I was and I feel terrible about that. He has been nothing but polite and helpful since he checked in. He seems to be a very nice man and his attention is . . . flattering. You can’t argue with that.
I could, but that wasn’t the point. “Fine. But what about Andrew Braxton? Who is this character, anyway? Why is he so insistent on staying here? And then he comes over and flirts with you? I don’t get it. I’m just . . . I’m worried. Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that Jesse dies and suddenly these two guys show up and . . .”
I realized halfway through my rant that she was glaring at me. I stopped talking instantly. How much bigger and deeper could I dig the hole in which I was about to bury myself?
I held up my hands. “Never mind. I love you, you’re my best friend, and you deserve every bit of joy any man can bring you.”
“Oh, thanks so much for your blessing.” Jane huffed out a breath. “Jeez, Shannon, can you really not spare one little teaspoon of happiness for me? You know me. I never go out. I rarely date. And now all of a sudden, my life is different. I have the bed-and-breakfast and I have two fascinating men who want to spend time with me. Can you not enjoy the moment with me?”
“Stephen’s fascinating?”
She frowned at me. “Focus, Shannon.”
I felt so awful for hurting her feelings I was going to start crying any second. But before I could say another word, Jane stomped out of the powder room and returned to her guests.
I slunk out through the kitchen and drove home.
*
I don’t know how word got around that Jane and I had had a little tiff, but the very next afternoon, as I was preparing to hang drywall in the bedroom of one of the Victorians I was rehabbing, I heard through the grapevine—my foreman Carla called me because she’d heard from her sister, whose best friend worked for Jane’s chef—that Whitney Reid Gallagher had shown up at Hennessey House to invite Jane to lunch.
How had Whitney discovered that Jane and I were fighting? It was a mystery. The woman had radar when it came to finding opportunities to interfere with my life.
And because I was paranoid about Whitney in general, the feeling was spreading to other areas of my life, such as, why had Whitney joined the Festival Committee? Had she done it as a way to get close to Jane and try to drive a wedge between us? It wouldn’t surprise me.
Jane had never been as much of a target of Whitney’s ire as I’d been, even though we were both considered “townies” by the mean girls in Whitney’s crowd. The real conflict between Whitney and me had grown out of the fact that I was Tommy’s girlfriend. He was adorable, the quarterback on the football team, and the most popular boy in school. I was popular, too, and very friendly. In those days, I was head of the high school welcoming committee, so whenever new kids came to town, I would befriend them or find out their favorite pastimes and introduce them to others who had the same interests. I wanted everyone to be happy and get along. Just call me Little Mary Sunshine.
Whitney and her group of snooty pals disdained my friendliness from the start. Since I’d never met anyone like her before, I thought maybe she was just shy, so I doubled my efforts to get to know her. Big mistake.
It didn’t help that I liked to dress in jeans and T-shirts and work boots so that I could join my dad at his construction sites after school. The rich girls teased me mercilessly over my outfits, not to mention my mop of red hair and lack of interest in makeup. They assumed I was poor and bashed me for that, too. The irony was that my father made as much money as theirs, but that didn’t matter to the kids whose parents had moved into the gorgeous modern Victorian homes along the Alisal Cliffs—most of which were built by my father.
To Whitney’s group, my friends and I were the working-class people who existed to make life easier for them. It was an age-old struggle, and Whitney and her friends played right into the stereotype, ridiculing us and making our lives as miserable as they could. Usually they failed because we just didn’t care about them as much as they cared about us.
“Enough melodrama,” I muttered as I mixed up a batch of mud to slather across the drywall joints. I’d gotten over my high school angst a long time ago, but unfortunately Whitney was still around, trying to ruin my life. And she couldn’t have found a better way to do it than to come between me and Jane.