Chapter Twenty-Nine

Francesca and Caroline ride with me and the others go with David in the van. Francesca fiddles with my phone in its stand suctioned to the window. I brush her away.

"Stop it! You're going to mess up the map!" I fight.

"I want coffee," she argues.

"We've been in the car for twenty minutes. We'll be there in ten. Chill out."

She grumbles and rubs her back into the passenger seat, adjusting her sunglasses. "I'm rarely without my children. This feels like we're going on a girl's trip, and I want to pretend that and get a cup of fancy coffee that costs seven dollars."

"You will see your children in minutes, and we're in the middle of nowhere. I'm not being murdered at a backwoods gas station."

"You suck the fun out of everything," she pouts.

I round the corner and we pass an apple orchard on the left.

"Look, cows!" Caroline calls out from the backset.

I add, "I don't want to show up without Adam. We can't walk in alone and say ‘Hi, you don't know us but we're friends with your friend, and we're here for a free night at your boujee hotel'."

Caroline asks, "What's the difference between an inn and a hotel?"

"An inn is smaller," Francesca answers. "It's like a place for weary travelers in a Jane Austen novel or an expensive weekend away for a retired couple in Charleston. Think Lorelei in Gilmore Girls."

"I didn't watch that show."

Francesca's seat squeaks, she pulls on her seatbelt, turning around. "What?" she snarls.

"I. Didn't. Watch. It."

"You have access to reruns that I did not as a child. Did you not watch the list of movies and tv shows I gave you before you went to college?"

" No ," Caroline grumbles. "I tried watching Dawson's Creek, but no one talks like that in real life."

Francesca smacks my arm.

"Ow!" I yell.

"Vee, hold me back. I have to fight a young adult."

"I'm driving," I argue, keeping my eyes on the peach at the center of David's license plate.

Caroline sighs. "What are we even going to do tonight?"

"Hopefully drink free booze." Francesca turns around. "These kinds of places always have award-winning chefs and pastry people and sommeliers."

We reach a crest in the street where the mountains shine in the sun. The sparce trees outlining the pavement wiggle their red and orange leaves over my windshield. The van hits brake lights. My phone says, " Turn here ."

"Oh my God," Francesca awes.

"That's a castle," Caroline says.

Our jaws collectively drop as we pull into the long driveway of a sprawling Tudor-style mansion with a vast green yard and ivy crawling up the walls. Manicured hedges line the path up the drive. Planters filled with mums and other seasonal flowers I don't recognize flank the entrance doors.

"I think Jay Gatsby lives here," Francesca mutters. To me she adds, "You don't understand that reference."

"It was required reading," I say.

I follow David under the stone covered portico. Two suited valets meet us at our driver's side doors.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," says a young, suited man, holding his hands out for my keys. "We will bring your belongings up to your room shortly. What's the name?"

"Rose?" I offer slowly, handing him my keys.

He scribbles it down and smiles, waiting for me to get my purse and coat. At the front doors, which are held open for us, I sidle up next to Adam.

"Hey," I growl. I hold my arms up like a scarecrow. I'm wearing a cropped black sweater and distressed jeans. My hair falls loose and stringy. "I am not dressed for something this fancy."

From the side of his mouth, he replies, "Well, me neither." He hurriedly pulls his baseball cap from his head. "I figured we'd be in a quaint five-bedroom house with his mom serving us pot pie for dinner."

We walk inside to a huge wood-burning fireplace and two distinct seating arrangements of red velvet couches, floor to ceiling windows, marble flooring and a wide, sweeping staircase. They've already set up for Christmas. Fresh greens hang from the fireplace mantel and twist up the stair railing. Wreaths charm the windows. Twinkle lights sparkle from little vignettes around the room. It smells like Santa's workshop if Santa was a cigar-smoking, robe-wearing, bourbon-sipping English aristocrat.

"Jesus. How tall do you think those trees are?" I ask Adam.

"Fire hazard tall."

People walk past with cocktails, sit by the fire with a newspaper, and exit the side doors to what appears to be a garden.

I say, "We're in the Gryffindor common room if the Hogwarts PTA hounded their rich families more."

He throws me a look.

"No, I didn't read it."

We smile at a young, sharply dressed woman who offers us glasses of champagne.

"Welcome to the Gemstone Inn!" she booms. "I'm Annabelle, Mackenzie's sister. What's the name on your reservation?"

Adam and I look at each other. The rest of our group stands behind us, David and Francesca trying to wrangle their children before the twelve-foot curtains come crashing down.

"No – we're not together," I stammer.

She doesn't hear me. "Oh my God, you're Adam Kent," she manages without a squeal.

His face changes. A mask slips over his whole body and I imagine he learned the corner smile, sink into his hip, dip his chin down low thing from the country singers he watched when he went off to Nashville. He's not my Adam anymore.

He's Adam Kent . Razzle Dazzle.

The champagne glass switches to another hand and he takes hers in a shake that she is unprepared for. Her mouth opens, but words don't come out.

"This is my friend, Vienna Rose," he says. "And the rest of our party behind us. Mac said he reserved four rooms."

She blinks, fixing her expression. "Yes! Yes. I remember. Let me just go –"

"Kent!"

I look up at a tall dark man standing beside the wooden check-in counter, his voice so loud he could have scared a scream from the marble statue behind him. His bald head shines in the lamplight. His smile can't be more broad or genuine.

"Mac," Adam laughs, embracing his friend.

Mackenzie pulls away and glances at me. "And you must be Vienna."

"Oh," I say with surprise, watching Adam run a hand though his hair, eyes squeezed shut. "Well, that I am."

Mackenzie ping pongs his eyes back and forth between us. Before he can say another word, Adam hurriedly introduces us to the rest of the group.

"I'm so glad you all are here!" Mackenzie boasts. "Anything you need is on us . We've got comment card boxes all over the building, but feel free to tell me what we can do to make your stay better. That's the point of this week – to be the best mountain retreat in the southeast."

"You've got my vote so far," Francesca says, running her eyes from the walls to the ceiling.

"Annabelle, thanks for the help," he offers to his sister as she continues to gawk at Adam. He claps his hands. "Let me get you all room keys so you can explore the property. We've got a map and an itinerary of small events this evening: dinner, wine tastings, tours of the garden." His voice drops. "Perhaps a fireside guitar session from a certain well-regarded musical artist…"

Bathed in a smile, Adam pats him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow morning, I won't wake up spooning my dog. Man, as long as my guitar gets out of the car unscathed, I will follow you around this mansion and play whatever you want like your own personal soundtrack."

We follow Mackenzie to his computer, and he hands David an elegant brass key with a mauve velvet ribbon.

"Thanks so much," David replies, taking the half-sheet of details and clutching Grayson's hand as the boy tries to escape.

Kate takes a green ribboned key for she and Caroline. "I'm dying to change," she says, her eyes alight with embarrassment and envy as she assesses the better dressed women around us.

They all walk up the stairs with Francesca wrapping a whiny Alice across her body like a belt and telling me, "We'll see you two up there."

Mackenzie screws his face into a grimace. "Ah…there's a problem."

"Problem?" I repeat.

"Sorry, buddy," he directs to Adam, his face contorting into regret.

"Sorry for what?" Adam responds.

Mackenzie holds out his palm and it contains a single key. "It seems I got the room count wrong and we're all booked up. I've only got one room left."

It's quiet between us until I set my champagne glass on the marble counter. I dance my eyes back and forth between the two men. "Just one room?"

"You must have a lot of family and friends," Adam says with a flat, sarcastic tone. He sets his glass beside mine and folds his arms across his chest.

"But there's two of us," I explain.

"He can count, Vee."

Mackenzie doesn't say a word, but hangs back apologetically, dangling the key between Adam and me. We stare at it, quietly, until Adam looks sidelong and raises his brow, questioning.

He is waiting for me to spill out my thoughts, but I can't tell him about how bubbly I felt when Annabelle mistook us for a couple. How my heart swelled when Mackenzie knew my name. We're edging our toes to an experience didn't happen fourteen years ago. This one is adult and real. We're out of the bubble of the lake house, and I wonder what happens next.

Oh wait . This morning we decided that nothing happens next. I decided, I remember, catching Adam's prying eye.

I say, "I'll stay with Kate and Caroline."

" No ," Adam responds fast. "Because then a certain someone will want to trade places with you and insist on staying in my room." He picks up the key and eyes its crimson red adornment. "The red room? That sounds intense."

Mackenzie shrugs. "Sorry Adam. I'll find a way to make it up to you, I promise, but I can't magically conjure another room to sleep in. I'm guessing you two aren't…together?"

"No," I answer immediately.

Adam stares at his friend with a focused, narrow gaze.

Mackenzie swipes what could be perceived as amusement off his face.

I say, "We're just friends. And friends…"

"They what, Vienna?" Adam leans his elbow on the counter, widening his eyes. "What do friends do?"

He's insinuating that the ‘friendship' we have doesn't fall into the same category of ‘friendship' that he and David do. Thus, highlighting that we can't ever truly just be friends. Even after he suggested it this morning, he clearly struggled to not touch me.

I falter. "Well, maybe it's not that big of a deal."

"Do friends share a bed?" he taunts.

That's a chilling thought.

"A room," I clarify. "I'll bet the floor is very nice. For you."

Mackenzie laughs. "That's the spirit! It'll all work out."

The key dangles in Adam's hand. "You sure about this?" he asks me. He's clearly still so careful about boundaries.

"Yes," I answer, swiping the key from his hand.