I nod and open my mouth to respond while lifting the tailgate back into place, but Savannah has already turned away to walk across the front lawn. Her dress blows to the side from the light breeze. She holds one side of it with one of her hands and smooths over her curls with the other.
Her favorite habit is walking away from me, but we actually got pretty far into that conversation before she bailed. Progress.
13
SAVANNAH
“Good, right? She makes it from scratch every summer,” a warm voice says behind me.
I freeze with the glass to my lips and a mouth full of the ice-cold drink. I was trying to be sneaky and hide the fact that I was on my fourth glass of strawberry lemonade, but I guess someone noticed.
Swallowing the lemonade, I turn on my right foot and come face to face with a woman whose salt and pepper hair is pulled back into a sleek low bun. She plays with one of her dangling earrings and shoots me a friendly grin.
“It’s delicious. Not too sweet,” I say as I hold my glass up. “I hate it when lemonade is too sweet.”
The woman’s smile widens and she nods. “Her best lemonade is the blackberry one, but apparently those weren’t ready to pick quite yet.” Her face lights up as she animatedly explains about the world’s finest lemonade.
We’re standing under the minimal shade of a pergola just off the house in the Grant’s backyard. It’s a pretty addition but does little to fight off the summer heat so I dab my forehead with the back of my hand and take another sip of my drink.
“Who?” I ask. “I mean, who isshethat you’re talking about? That makes the lemonade?”
“Oh, that’d be Gayle!” She answers my question with a broad grin.
“Yes?” another lady pokes her head out in the doorway behind us after hearing her name. We turn to face her, and she smiles at us from around the corner of the sliding glass door that leads inside the house. She’s wearing an apron with ruffles around the edges and holding a pair of tongs in her hand.
I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen someone with kinder eyes. Her light sandy hair and golden complexion send alarm bells off in my head warning me that this might be Warren’s mom.
“Oh, we were just talking about your fabulous lemonade,” she says to the lady in the doorway and then turns back to me. “And my name is LouAnn, by the way. LouAnn Grant,” she says as she holds her hand outstretched toward me. I stare down at her delicate wrist iced with colorful bracelets that make a musical sound when they bump against one another.
“Savannah Chase. Nice to meet you.” My palm meets hers in a gentle handshake.
I start to think of how to make the best first impression with her when out of nowhere, the other woman who was peering out at us from the doorway comes straight for me, her two arms wrapping around my shoulders and sweeping me into a hug.
My eyes shoot open, but out of instinct, I reciprocate the embrace. After a few squeezes and rocking back and forth, she finally pulls away and holds me at arm’s length.
“That’s my lemonade she’s bragging on about,” she beams. “I’m Gayle Farrow, and you’re my son’s girlfriend, is that right?”
Last night while staring at the ceiling, I came up with as many believable responses as I could. What I didn’t do was practice my facial expressions, because she looks confused when I accidentally wince at the suggestion that I’m dating Warren.It hasn’t even been ten minutes at the cookout, and I’m already slipping up. I manage to replace my accidental reaction with a forced smile and nod in response.
“How long have you known each other?” Gayle asks.
“We met not long after I moved here,” I say. “Not quite two months ago.”
“That’s a long time in Farrow years,” she laughs loudly. “If he’s anything like his sister, I’d bet y’all are already living together.”
“God, no.” I slap my hand over my mouth. Shit.
Your job is to convince them,I remind myself.
“I mean . . . yes.Yes, we’re—definitelyliving together. At the same place. Living. One roof—” In a frazzle, I ramble out the most false and idiotic confession. My hand waves around above my head as I explain and I can’t stop the stupid words from spilling out of my mouth.
If she’s surprised, she doesn’t look it. In fact, a sheen of liquid covers her eyes and she tilts her head. I look over Mrs. Farrow’s shoulder to see Mrs. Grant casually popping a cucumber slice into her mouth as she watches.
I start looking around, frantically this time, for a save from Warren. Where the hell did he disappear to?
I should take back everything that I just said immediately before word spreads that we’re officially shacking up now. And in this town? That piece of gossip would spread like wildfire. But then I’d look like more of a nutcase than I already do.
“Mama.”
