“Thank you so much! It’s our first home. Grant and I,” she clarifies without me asking. I know I’ve successfully shifted any and all attention away from myself. “We just got married in April. So I’m not actually Ashleigh Whittington anymore; I’m Ashleigh Barnes now.”
“Congratulations, a lot of milestones happening for you.” My face is starting to ache from smiling. As a devoted follower of resting bitch face, my muscles aren’t used to this much strain.
She must not notice my discomfort though. Instead of ending the conversation like I was hoping, she lifts her hand and shoves her giant diamond in my face.
“Thank you!” She looks down at her ring and lets out a dreamy sigh. “He’s a dentist.”
I’ve never heard anybody make dentistry sound so romantic.
“Oh wow.”
“I know, a doctor’s wife. Can you even?”
She forgets about her giant diamond and wraps her long, thin fingers around my wrist while the other hand is still clenching the tumbler I’m now doubly convinced is housing chilled Pinot Grigio. She lets out a high-pitched squeal I’m sure will send dogs running and begins to jump up and down.
And it is wild.
I try to match her energy but fail massively.
Thankfully, before she notices my lack of enthusiasm, a nice-looking gentleman wearing a polo drenched in sweat approaches.
“All of the boxes are in, Mrs. Barnes.” His deep voice is a welcome change after the long burst of her whistle-tone screaming. “We’re ready to start bringing in the furniture but need you to tell us where everything goes.”
This poor man looks miserable. I wouldn’t be surprised if today is the day he decides to change careers. The dread in his voice is unmistakable, but Ashleigh either is the most oblivious person in the world or ignores it. Either is plausible.
“Thank you so much, Mark. Let me just say goodbye to my friend and I’ll be right there,” she says.
I don’t know what’s more shocking: that she called me a friend or that her tone was devoid of the condescending tone most people around here have when speaking to hired help. Ever since I’ve moved back, I’ve kept to myself, not even remotely interested in forming any new bonds or friendships. But even with her ultrabubbly personality and zest for reminiscing, I feel like Ashleigh is creeping past my defenses.
Mark, my grumpy soul brother, grumbles something that sounds like “thanks” before turning on his well-worn tennis shoe.
“Well, it was nice running into you.” I start the goodbyes, ready to retreat into the fortress that is my childhood bedroom and reinforce my no-new-friends policy. “Congratulations again on everything.”
“Before we go, are you back for good or just visiting?” she asks, and I freeze beneath her kind, curious gaze.
I want more than anything to say I’m on my way out, but the hard truth is that I’m stuck here until further notice.
“I’m staying for a little bit, just not sure how long.” Even if all my prospects are dry and I haven’t opened my computer in weeks, I can’t bring myself to say this move is permanent. Somewhere deep down, I’m still holding on to the glimmer of hope that all’s not quite lost.
“Well . . .” She drags out the word and her blue eyes sparkle with an excitement that both terrifies and intrigues me. “We’re hosting a housewarming party soon and I’d love for you to come. You can meet Grant and, not to brag, but I make the world’s best cocktails and even though people tell me it’s not a real skill, I’m an expert at building cheese boards.”
I know I should decline. Ashleigh one thousand percent makes her guests play icebreaker games. But somehow, some of her friendliness has rubbed off on me and caused my usual ability to say no with ease to drift into the ether.
Plus, I really freaking love cheese and cocktails!
Could this woman with white teeth, wedge sandals, and a penchant for joy be the Enid Sinclair to my Wednesday Addams?
“How can I say no to that?”
“Oh yay!” She bounces and strands of her blond hair fall free of the messy bun that—unlike mine—probably took tons of effort to create. “Do you have your phone?”
Wordlessly, I reach into my purse and unlock my phone before handing it to her. When she returns it, the name Ashleigh Barnes is on my screen sandwiched between rainbow and unicorn emojis. I hate that it makes me like her more.
“Thanks.” I lock my phone and drop it into my purse. “I’ll text you later so you’ll have mine.”
“Perfect! It was so great running into you,” she says before wrapping her long arms around my shoulders and pulling me in for another hug. Since physical touch is my absolute least favorite love language, I go stiff as a board in her embrace. “I’m even more excited about this move now. We’re going to have so much fun together!”
Her genuine enthusiasm is so disarming that for some reason I’m excited about her move too. Not mine, of course, but still. If I have to be stuck in Ohio, it will be nice to talk to someone besides my parents and the Karens.
She starts to walk away but turns around at the last minute. “Oh my goodness. I almost forgot. You know who else we’ll have to invite?”
“Who?” I rack my brain for literally any person other than Ruby to name but come up empty.
“Nate Adams!” She seems almost jubilant saying the one name I never wanted to hear again.
I try my hardest not to let her see me react. Things were going so well and I can’t ruin it at the last minute. Causing a scene at Cool Beans was bad enough; having a meltdown in front of my parents’ house isn’t even an option. And considering freaking out in front of my previous residence is what kickstarted my demise, it’s a mistake I refuse to repeat.
“Nate Adams?” I attempt to play dumb. “I’m not sure I remember him.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn you two were friends at Central.” Ashleigh’s gorgeous face twists with confusion. “Well, shoot, he was just here. I could’ve introduced you.”
“I’m sorry? What?” I ask sharply—too sharply to be talking about someone I’m claiming I don’t remember. Alarm bells are blaring in my head and my instincts are screaming at me to run. “He was just where?”
“At my house. He lives down the street.” Although I can see the questions in Ashleigh’s eyes wondering why I’m so shaken about a person I said I didn’t remember, she’s kind enough not to call me out on my now very obvious lie. “He was our Realtor, and I think he’s on the HOA board or something. He stopped by to welcome us to the neighborhood.”
He’s a Realtor? And part of the HOA?
The shock of discovering someone below the age of fifty is a willing and active participant in the HOA is almost enough to distract me from the very terrible, no good, awful news that Nathanial Adams, enemy of my heart and soul, is practically my next-door neighbor.
Almost.