Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Anna

Brit stands in front of my desk at Banks Family Dentistry, hands on her hips and an I'm not taking any of your nonsense look on her face. "You promised, Anna. You promised you'd come out tonight."

Sighing, I pull my purse out of my locked drawer, stand, and put my book and phone inside it. "I know, but?—"

"No buts," Brit declares, wagging a finger at me. She's dressed for a night out in a sparkly burgundy tank top and jeans that fit her curvy hips before flaring out at the bottom, a pair of wedge sandals on her feet. She's always so put together in outfits that are classy with just a hint of an edge, perfect makeup, and perfectly manicured nails. The grown up version of girly I've always admired but never even attempted to attain because it seems so far out of my abilities.

It's girls' night tonight, and Brit has been doing her best to get me to join her group for the last few months since Victoria quit. She's the former dental hygienist who moonlighted as a seamstress and Brit's best friend. Last year, Victoria got hired to help with costumes on a film that came to town. She ended up dating Hayden Maddox, who she met on set. That contract job turned into contacts that landed her more costume work plus making couture gowns for film premieres and awards shows. I'm pretty sure she also makes things for Brit's store downtown—Bitty B's Treasures.

Hayden Maddox actually came into the dentist office looking for her once, but since you don't expect to see movie stars in little old Arcadian Falls, I didn't even realize it was him until later. Victoria's parents still live here, so Victoria, Hayden, and her daughter come back pretty frequently for visits, but it's been long enough since the last time that I guess Brit's feeling like she needs someone new to slot into the spot Victoria used to fill. She's never been this persistent before about me coming to girls' night, but apparently I can't get out of it now.

She's asked before, of course. And for a while, I could put Brit off with the excuse that I was so busy at work rescheduling everyone until we could get a full-time hygienist to replace Victoria. But Dr. Banks hired Heather a few weeks ago, and work is pretty much back to normal.

And it's not that I don't appreciate Brit's invitation. I do. It's just that I'm an introvert, and after spending all day "on" at work, being friendly and helpful and making sure everything's running smoothly, I just want to go home, put on my raggedy lounge pants and the T-shirt with a hole in the armpit, and have dinner in front of my TV, after which I'll pull out my current knitting project—the perfect pullover sweater for when the weather gets bitter cold next winter. It's covered in squishy cables, and I'm thrilled with how it's turning out, even if I'll finish it long before I need it. But winter always comes back, and the winters here are much colder than the Seattle winters I'm still more used to, even after being here for a few years.

"I know," I tell her, trying to be placating. "But it's been a long week."

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. "It's always a long week. And besides, tomorrow's Saturday! You'll have the morning to sleep in and lounge around and whatever it is you do all by yourself. Just come out for an hour. If you're bored and not having fun, then you can leave."

I narrow my eyes at her, considering her proposal. "Fine," I concede at last, holding up a finger. "One hour. One."

A wide grin takes over Brit's face, and she claps her hands in excitement. "Yay! Okay. Let's head to your place so you can get changed real quick. I promise you won't regret this."

Famous last words, I think as I let Brit hustle me out of the dentist's office, though when I pause to lock up, she stands off to the side, arms crossed and foot tapping.

It's late June, and there are hours of daylight left, the sun blazing hot and glaring off the pavement. I can't believe Brit's wearing jeans. Hopefully, she doesn't try to stuff me into a pair. My wide-leg olive linen pants are perfect for working in an air-conditioned office in this weather—they look professional and put together with my white blouse, and I don't freeze to death in the A/C, plus I can throw on my cardigan if I get chilly.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I grumble as I head to my car parked around back.

"Nothing, if you're forty-five and work in an office."

I toss a glare at her over my shoulder. "I do work in an office," I shoot back, though even I know it's not a very snappy comeback. Snappy comebacks have never been my forte.

Brit snorts, not bothering to disguise her laughter. "But you're not forty-five. I know that much. Or …"

The hollow sound of her footsteps on the sidewalk slows, and I turn to see what's wrong. She's standing with her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed, then she lifts one hand, palm out. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be mean." I quirk an eyebrow indicating my disbelief, and she laughs again and rolls her eyes. "I didn't say I was trying to be nice , but I'm just teasing you. I'm not trying to be offensive. But now I'm second-guessing myself. Are you in your forties and just have an amazing skincare routine? And if so, what's your secret?"

Looking skyward, I shake my head and sigh. "No, I'm not forty-five. I turned thirty in January." Spreading my arms, I look down at myself. "And I saw this outfit in an article on looking put together for the office. What's wrong with it?"

Brit presses her lips together and hooks them to the side. "Nothing's wrong with it," she says carefully in a tone that indicates that nothing's really right with it either. "I'm sorry." Now she's holding up both hands. "I am. Here I am trying to get you to come out with me and be my friend, and I'm being insulting. I promise I'm not trying to insult you. And you're right that for office wear, it's perfectly fine. But it's girls' night. You need to dress up a little. Have a little fun with your outfit, y'know?"

"So I need to wear sequins and rhinestones?"

She cackles, miming a big rectangle at her waistband. "Oooh, like one of those giant cowboy belt buckles all covered in rhinestones?" Her eyebrow quirks up as she looks me over like she's imagining it. "Honestly? I think you could pull it off."

That makes me laugh, too, but I shake my head. "No, thanks. I'm not that flashy."

"That's alright." Still grinning, she steps closer and hooks her arm through mine, dragging me toward my car—which is easy for her to find since it's the only one still in the lot. Presumably, she parked at her downtown shop a few blocks away. "Let's go shop your closet. If we need to, we can swing back by my place to finish off your outfit."

Dread coalesces in a ball in my stomach. "Uhh …"

She gives me a look I can't interpret. " Trust me, Anna. I won't steer you wrong."

"You know," I muse aloud, acting like I'm talking more to myself than to her, "con men always tell their marks to trust them."

She cackles again. "The difference is," she quips, "you don't have anything to lose!"