July 12

“When you invited me over for coffee, you really meant mimosas, right?” Delaney is grinning at me from behind her sunglasses. We’re out by the water on chaise lounges, soaking up the sun on a glorious, picture-perfect Sunday morning.

“Of course. Mimosas are healthier, anyway.” I swing my legs off my chair and get up to walk toward the house.

Delaney snickers as she follows. “Right.”

“I’m not sure what I have for fruit...”

She waves her hand at me. “No worries, Maddie-cakes. It’s not about the fruit. Or the juice.”

Once inside the house, Laney goes to the refrigerator, taking out the carton of orange juice and then peering into the fruit drawer. “Ooh, I spy strawberries! Perfect.”

She’s opening the cupboard beneath the sink to get a cutting board. I love that she knows where everything is in my kitchen. We’ve been best friends since college, living on the 4th floor in Somerset at the University of Maine. Both of us were business majors, and I went the realty route while she ended up selling machined products (and as she puts it, her soul) for a company in Ellsworth. She once told me it was basically like laying beneath a hairy fat man and faking an orgasm from 9 to 5.

Delaney is one of those women who other women initially hate, because she’s impossibly beautiful—we’re talking naturally curly/naturally blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a heart-shaped face. But when you find out how whip-smart and hilarious she is, any petty jealousy is squelched, and hating her isn’t an option anymore. Although at times, you still really, really want to.

As true best friends will do, she’s been with me in the worst of times, like during my unexpected divorce a couple years ago, where she put me to bed numerous weekends after my solo parties with Jose Cuervo, and she was there in the morning brewing black coffee. She loves me enough to be honest, like when I’m wearing pants that are just a little too tight (okay, no...I can see your vagina), she refuses to allow me to get bangs no matter how much I beg her, and even though she’s one of the least hateful people I know, she hates my ex more than I do. Which is really saying something.

I go down into my basement to retrieve a bottle of Brut Cuvée. I haven’t told Delaney about meeting Jackson Decker yesterday, and I feel surprisingly nervous about it. I don’t want her to read more into it than there is, and maybe part of my anxiety is because I don’t want to read any more into it, either. She knows I don’t fall easily for people, and I’ve made it clear I’ve basically sworn off relationships for the unforeseeable future. So if I do say anything, I’ll have to be careful and do my best not to sound like a high school girl telling her BFF that the football captain sat with her in study hall.

There’s more to my apprehension. The other thing that’s stressing me out is that I haven’t responded to Jackson’s email. I know I need to, and it’s ridiculous that I haven’t, but I’m hesitating because I’m…

Scared. Terrified, actually.

The estimate was very reasonable—less than I’d anticipated. The issue is that Jack Decker is more than I’d anticipated. Much more. The very thought that this man will be in my house for the next two to three weeks makes my pulse pound, my stomach clench, and other parts of me do other things. I have always known how to handle attractive men and keep them at bay. But I have no idea how to handle this one.

Laney looks up at me from cutting strawberries and nods in approval at the bottle of champagne. I stand on my tiptoes to take down two crystal flutes (wedding gift) from the cupboard and open the breadbox to get two fresh bagels. We go back to the beach with our drinks and food on trays and settle against our pool chairs with contented sighs.

“God, I love summer,” Laney says, sipping at her mimosa. “You’re on vacation this week, right?”

“Yes.”

“Weather forecast looks great.”

“I know. I’m glad.”

“It’s about time for your ’rents to visit, isn’t it?”

My parents live in Arizona and usually spend a good part of July visiting me. Because of Dad’s upcoming hip replacement, they won’t be coming this year. And although I love them dearly, I have to say I’m not sorry they’re staying put, given the recent developments with my, um, renovation.

God forgive me for being even just a little bit glad my father has a bad hip.

“No, they’re not going to come this summer...Dad’s surgery, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. Do you have any plans, or just hanging out here?”

“Hanging out. Maybe a day trip here and there. Downtown Bar Harbor to shop.”

“Not that you need to go anywhere, with this place.”

“True. I feel very lucky. And you’re welcome any time. I love having you here.”

Delaney blows me a kiss and smiles. “Thanks. I love you lots.”

Now I feel an uncontrollable urge to tell her about Jack. Part of me thinks that if I talk about him, it’ll take away some of the mystique and normalize it. I mean, people have good-looking men renovate their houses all the time, and they don’t get all fluttery and stupid about it.

I chew my bagel purposefully and swallow, hoping my voice won’t betray me. “Did I tell you I’m having the upstairs bathroom renovated?”

“No, you didn’t. That’s cool. What are you having done to it?”

“Enlarging it. It’s always felt a little small to me. I’m getting a bigger tile shower, big tub.”

“I detect a theme here. But bigger is usually better.”

Like six foot five men with huge work boots.

“Ha! Truth.”

“When is that going to happen?”

“The guy said he could start tomorrow. He—he came over yesterday to do an estimate.”

“Well, that’s good. So tomorrow?”

“I guess. I need to email him tonight.”

“You sound a little hesitant. Was he expensive?”

“No—quite affordable.”

Laney pushes her sunglasses up on her head to look at me, her dark blonde eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. “So what’s the issue? Did he creep you out or something?”

“No, I just—”

“OR...” Her blue eyes widen.

Shit. “There’s no ‘or.’ I just haven’t responded yet.”

She’s grinning at me in delight. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“I would say he’s...kind of attractive, yes.”

“Your face is getting all red.”

“It’s the sun.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, Maddie.”

“Like what? I’m not like anything.”

“Flustered over some guy.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Have you been baking?”

She knows I tend to do that when I get stressed. “Delaney. Don’t make more of this than it is.”

Thankfully, she backs off. “Okay. Okay.” Her eyes get gentle as she leans forward in her chair. “I’m just teasing. I know you’re not looking for anything, and if anyone gets that, I do. But hey—at least enjoy the scenery while you have him! Maybe you can invite your friends over to see his, um, big tool.”

Laney raises an eyebrow and looks so comical that I burst out laughing. And then we’re both giggling like a couple of fifteen-year-olds, and I feel better about everything—like I’ll be able to take my best friend’s advice and just enjoy the scenery.

When we go back in the house, I send an email from my iPhone: Thank you, Jack – you’re hired. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I try hard to ignore my shivery spine.