A towel slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor. “Shit,” I muttered, swiping it off the floor. Straightening, I shook the towel out. “Can we talk about something else?”
Angela’s brown eyes widened as a pink blush zipped across her face. Clutching a towel to her chest, she looked seconds away from bursting into tears. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even thinking.”
Closing my eyes, I took a slow, even breath and then forced a smile. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I talk without thinking. My mama is always telling me it’s going to get me in a world of trouble. Ethan says the same thing,” Angela said in a rush. “And she’s right. I am so sorry. That was totally inappropriate of me.”
I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes. “It’s really okay.” Folding the towel, I ignored the tremor that curled up my spine. “You said your boyfriend works in Frederick,” I said, redirecting the conversation to much safer grounds. “What does he do again?”
Even with the topic of conversation going in a different direction, the atmosphere was strained as we replenished the towels and switched the sheets over to the dryer. Afterward, I went downstairs and plopped down at the registration desk. Flipping open the leather-bound reservation book, I tugged the bobby pin out of my hair. Strands of hair fell over my shoulders as I scanned the reservations for the upcoming week. I really needed to get my hands on the accounting to see where they were with the profits and the losses. Turning to the month of December, I picked up a pen—
Hands slammed down on the desk, causing me to shriek and jump back in my seat. Heart thundering against my ribs, I lifted my gaze as I clutched the pen, prepared to thrust it through someone’s eyeball.
“Surprise!” Miranda Locke shouted as she waved both hands.
“Oh my God, you gave me a heart attack.” I dropped the pen on the desk and shot out of the chair. Reaching across the desk, I smacked Miranda’s arm. “Seriously.”
“Shut up.” Humor danced in Miranda’s dark brown eyes as she flipped a rope of long skinny braids over her shoulder. “You should be hugging me right now, because you love and miss me.”
“That’s the only reason why I’m not stabbing you with a pen right now!” Rushing out from behind the desk, I threw my arms around Miranda’s shoulders and all but tackled the slimmer, taller woman. “Oh my God, it’s been too long.”
Miranda squeezed me tight. “It’s been—what? Two years?”
“Way too long.” Drawing back, I clasped the arms of my best friend since sophomore year in high school. We’d met in gym class and had immediately bonded as we sat side by side on the bleachers and our extraordinarily attractive gym teacher strolled into the gymnasium. We’d both started drooling.
Miranda was a stunning dark-skinned woman and had the personality to match her beauty. She’d always been there for me—even when I bum-rushed out of this town and didn’t want anything to do with anyone, Miranda had refused to be kicked to the curb.
Standing in front of her, it struck me with the force of a speeding freight train how much Miranda had done to maintain the friendship. “I’ve been such a shitty friend.”
Miranda’s head cocked to the side. “What?”
Dropping my hands to my sides, I stepped back and leaned against the desk. “I’ve just been a crappy friend. When I left here, I didn’t even tell you.”
Dark, elegantly shaped brows rose. “Yeah, that was pretty shitty.”
“See!” I shook my head. “And you called and called. I never answered. Other friends gave up, but you didn’t.”
“Of course not.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Friends don’t give up on one another, especially after they’ve been through a traumatic-as-hell event in their life. And those friends who did give up? Screw them. They should’ve known you were going through things and been there for you. They should’ve done what I did. Given you a couple of months and then got their ass on a plane and gone wherever you were.”
And that was what Miranda had done.
After I had been . . . after I’d been released from the hospital, I’d been a mess—a physical and emotional disaster. Mentally checked out for weeks. Obviously no one blamed me. When my head had finally pieced together, I’d decided that I couldn’t stay here. Not when the few times I had stepped out in public, people stared. People whispered. They pitied me. And then there was the media.
Freaking vultures circling prey.
I’d holed myself up through the fall while researching colleges far, far away and it was only when I’d picked Florida State that I’d told my mom about my plans to finish college away. Mom had hated it, but she’d understood.
I hadn’t told anyone else.
“I’m glad my mom told you where I was all those years ago,” I said with a faint smile. “And I’m glad you got your ass on that plane and found me.”
“And I’m glad your ass is finally back home. I love you,” Miranda said, tone serious. “You’re my sister from a different mister.”
“Ditto,” I replied softly, and then took a shaky breath. “You look great.”
“It’s because I have no boyfriend, so I spend my free time in a gym instead of in the bed.”
Tipping my head back, I laughed. “I was talking about the hair. It’s new.”
“You like?” She patted her braids. “I had to drive over an hour to find someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Not like I was trusting anyone in this town to touch my hair. That was the only good thing about you living in Atlanta. Salon options were limitless whenever I visited you.”
I giggled. “Want to get something to drink and go out back? It’s not too cold outside. I was just up here checking out the reservation book.”
“Has your mom made her sweet tea? If so, then it’s a yes,” Miranda returned. “Her tea is like crack—the good kind of crack that doesn’t rot your teeth or make you pick your face.”
I laughed again. Damn, I missed how often Miranda made me laugh. The sparse in-person visits and weekly phone chats were so not the same thing. “She always has a pitcher of sweet tea ready.”
James was in the kitchen, fussing with two rotisserie chickens he had in the oven. The lemon and herbs smelled something wonderful, but when Miranda said so James grumbled something inaudible back to her.
Mr. Jordan was not much of a talker.
“Is there anything I can help with?” I asked as I placed the pitcher of tea back in the fridge.
James grabbed an oven mitt. “Best you can do is stay out of the way.”
Miranda’s dark eyes widened, but I grinned. “That we can do,” I said, starting toward the back door that led to the old kitchen.
“You been down in the basement?” James asked, stopping me.
“No.” I glanced at Miranda, frowning. “Why?”