“Oh he’s always f-ing busy. Busy thinking he can string you along while he does whatever and whomever he wants up there, while you sit around waiting for him down here.”
“I’m done talking about Garrett.”
“Just be done with Garrett,” says Sistine. “Then we won’t have to talk about him.”
“Y’all are making me feel like crap right now,” I say. “Besides, Garrett has actually texted me this week. Rhodes has not. He didn’t even get my number. Didn’t kiss me. Nothing. I know he wants the fountain from the store, so I assume I’ll see him again, but I’m pretty sure it ends there.”
Kendall holds my hand across the table. “We didn’t mean to make you feel like crap,” she says.
Patsy touches my back. “Yeah, sweetie. We want you to be happy, and Garrett does not make you happy.”
“Even if things don’t work out with Rhodes,” says Sistine, “we want you to know you deserve a guy in that league. You’re beautiful, and?—"
“Y’all, please stop. I’m done with this conversation. Let me live my life.”
We all get quiet and finish our beer. The rest of the night, we gossip about Kendall’s ex-husband, the drunk girl at the bar, and Patsy’s brother’s baby mama drama.
At the end of the night, I go home, check on Nana, and listen to music while I fall asleep. I try thinking about Garrett, but find my mind wandering to Rhodes time and time again.
RHODES
Weeks have gone by since I left Magnolia Row. I’ve buried myself in work on the Florablanca Inn project and barely left my condo, which now seems cold and unfeeling after being in the warm, cozy, small town environment.
Nevertheless, I’ve trapped myself in here to finish this proposal. I’m surprised my neighbors haven’t called for a wellness check. I pace the cold hardwood floor, eat frozen dinners, and work. Sometimes I sleep, but even then, I dream about work.
My friend Jaxon agrees to handle general contractor duties for the hotel, which is fantastic since he exclusively works on historic buildings and is the only person I trust with an undertaking this large. He’s working on getting a structural engineer, an electrician to replace the knob-and-tube electrical system, and some local guys for the plaster and plumbing work.
Once I finish my final proposal, complete with estimates, blueprints, sketches, and an overall description of my vision for the project, I call my client.
“Wilhelmina,” she says, answering the phone as if introducing herself.
“Um, hi, Mrs. Caxton?”
“It’s Wilhelmina, darling. Don’t be so formal.”
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I thought you said?—”
“Yes, well, I changed my mind.” Her voice echoes like I’m on speakerphone. I imagine her with a glass of red wine and doing her makeup in one of those mirrors with the big lightbulbs all around it.
“Okay, uh, Wilhelmina. This is Rhodes Cauley, the architect you?—”
“Yes, Rhodes. I know who you are. I had my assistant program my phone so that your picture pops up when you call. How are things coming along?”
I ignore the picture comment. “I have the final proposal ready to send you. The only thing missing is the price of the fountain. I located the original to the lobby of the hotel, but I’m not sure how much they want for it.”
“However much it’s worth, double it if we have to. Everything has a price, darling.”
“Um, okay.” I’m not sure how to respond. Her flippant approach to finances makes me a little uncomfortable, so I move on. “I included the fountain in my design, assuming we can get it. Do you want me to email this all to you, or do you want to meet in Magnolia Row sometime soon?”
“How is next week? Maybe Thursday? We can meet on site. I hate computers. Never email me anything. I won’t see it. Besides, I haven’t been around a good-looking man all month and I’d love to see you.”
I shake my head. “Yes, ma’am. Thursday works fine. How’s one o’clock?”
“Don’t call me ma’am. It’s Wilhelmina. And one o’clock is perfect.”
We hang up. I sit on my black leather sofa, look past the bustling city towards Red Mountain, and sigh.
Going back to Magnolia Row will mean seeing Micah again, finally. For the past few weeks, I’ve been kicking myself for not getting her number or at least going in for a kiss. She probably thinks I forgot about her. I really blew the ending of that date.
