“Next-door neighbor. She bought the old Thompson place. You know.”
“Yeah,” I said slowly.
She grinned, then leaned closer with an eager light in her eyes. “When she bought it last year, the roof needed to be replaced. And she chose pink! I heard it was a custom job. Cool, huh? Told Mom we should do the same to our house, but she’s totally not into spending that kind of money, which seems crazy to me. Pink is such a cool color!”
I nodded, not paying attention to the rest of the gossip pouring out of her eager mouth. I left the store dazed and empty-handed as my brain tried to work overtime to find a way to digest what Jenny had just shared.
Grandma had mentioned the neighbor who’d moved to Kingstree a year and a half ago several times.
A nice, sweet girl. A true Virginia lady.
Her job must be important. She’s always working. It’s impossible to catch her for tea or even a neighborly chat. Since she moved next door three months ago, I think I’ve run into her twice. Exceptionally polite. Such lovely bearing.
Oh, did you know she attended UVA? And Harvard for some kind of master’s degree. A smart child. Wonderful, isn’t it?
She has the most elegant name. Emily. I always wanted to name my daughter that if I’d ever had one. I wish you could meet her. You would love her.
I invited her to dinner. She’s all alone, and she could use some company.
My mental picture of “Emily” had consisted of a lady because Grandma had said so. Elegant, too. Maybe in a pale dress and slim-heeled shoes, her hair perfectly done, nails flawlessly shaped and lacquered. Speaking with precise, proper diction. And her manners impeccable.
Not some ice-cream-thieving maniac in dumpster couture who walked around muttering to herself.
I drove to the house Grandma left me when she passed away last September, then slowed down as its pink-roofed neighbor came into view. The same neatly trimmed lawn and small pine tree in front. But the walls were buttercream-colored now, and colorful gnomes held giant lollipops.
It was…pretty. Like the candy house of the old witch from “Hansel and Gretel.”
You should never judge a person by their home. It was the moral I must’ve missed when my mom read me and Mir the fairy tale when we were young.
I had no idea what Emily had done to con my grandmother into thinking she was a respectable lady. Even gotten invited for free food a few times.
But I knew her true colors. And I was going to teach her a lesson as payback for the ice cream, beer…and lying to an elderly woman.
Chapter Four
Emily
I rolled out of bed the moment my eyes opened. Unfortunately, the bedside clock informed me it was four in the morning. Damn it, overslept. I’d meant to get a four-hour nap, not five.
After splashing some cold water on my face, I put a pair of pink-rimmed glasses on and headed downstairs. Crunch time meant glasses, since I needed to write as much as I could, then nap whenever I absolutely had to rest. Contacts got in the way of naps. Besides, it was a pain if I forgot to take them out every so often. I’d gotten an eye infection from that last year, and never would I put myself through that suffering again.
I got the coffeemaker going, then scooped two big mounds of Bouncy Bare Monkeys into a bowl. Nothing could beat that combo for breakfast. The cold and creamy sensation mingled with the hot coffee in my mouth and somehow produced a repast for the gods. The gears in my head started churning faster and more smoothly.
Once that was done, I took some water and a raspberry beer from the fridge and sat down in front of my laptop. The moment I flipped the lid open, the cursor blinked on the Word doc.
Write, write, baby.
I popped open the beer and took a long swallow. Then, after linking my fingers and stretching them, I started to type up the scenes that had come to me yesterday.
“You go, girl,” I muttered to myself as my heroine Molly sassed the hero. I loved Ryan, but he needed to learn his lesson. He was a bit of an ass.
It’s unfair. I never wanted to be an ass. You made me an ass! Ryan whined in my head.
“Yeah, yeah. If you don’t like it, write your own book,” I whispered as my fingers moved across the keyboard. The tapping clicks sounded a little like rain on a roof…
The only break I took was to go to the bathroom. And to grab more beer and water because I needed to lubricate my brain and hydrate myself.
After about five thousand words, finally Molly and Ryan were about to have sex for the first time, and I needed to make it not only scorching, but funny and emotional.