One Little Thing (3 page)

As other conversations started up again, she turned to Colette. “So what made you come to Magnolia Beach?”

“I'm originally from Bay Minette, so I'd come here for football games and stuff growing up. It's a neat little place and it didn't have a day spa. There was a niche needing filling, so I filled it.”

“She's the one who convinced me to come here when I was ready to open my own place,” Heidi added. “I was skeptical at first, but I can't complain. What brought you back?”

Every eye turned to her. It was a little discomforting, but she was ready for it. In fact, this was probably the best possible scenario to take this for a test drive. And since how she handled it this time would set the tone for the next sixty or seventy times she'd probably be in this situation, it was extra important that she hit the right balance of understanding, acceptance, and humor. “I've always loved Magnolia Beach. I hated leaving so much that finding out the Palmer place was up for sale seemed like a sign I was meant to come back . . .” An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Even Heidi and Colette were avoiding eye contact, which meant they'd heard the stories already. “Y'all, it's fine. There's no need to dance around the subject.”

“You don't have to talk about it,” Adam said quickly.

“Actually, let's do. I know people are talking about it, and I've got nothing to hide.
I
didn't do anything wrong.” She tucked her skirt around her knees as the breeze kicked up and waited for someone to speak. No one did. “Do we need to pretend I'm not here so y'all can talk freely?” she teased.

Alyse frowned at her. “Sophie . . .”

Even though she'd said it to her reflection a thousand times, she still took a deep breath first. “I know it was a big scandal for Magnolia Beach, but in the grand scheme of things, there are far worse things my dad could have done. If this town wasn't so small, an affair with the physics teacher wouldn't have been so earth-shattering. To anyone other than my mom, of course,” she added, proud of how casual she sounded.

“I know it had to be bad for your mom—and you, too,” Lacey said, “but I liked Mr. Delmarco. I think it's terrible that they fired him because he was gay.”

“They didn't fire him because he was gay,” Adam corrected, “they fired him because there was a morals clause in his contract that he violated.”

“That's splitting hairs,” Sophie said. “This is Alabama, remember? Not exactly the forefront of tolerance and diversity.”

“Maybe that did have something to do with it back then, but times have changed. We have openly gay people living here now,” Adam said defensively.

“So the morals clause is gone? Well, isn't Magnolia Beach progressive these days,” she said with a laugh.

Adam shrugged. “You're still deep in the Bible Belt. I'm pretty sure
any
teacher having an affair with the married parent of a student would still get fired today regardless of the gender of the parent or the teacher. Small-town gossip and scandal and all, you know.”

“Whatever happened to Mr. Shipp?” She took a sip of her drink, pretending only a mild interest in the answer.

“He continued to teach until he hit retirement age and then moved to Mobile to live with one of his kids,” Howie supplied. “He was a little bitter about the whole thing, too, if that makes you feel any better.”

Sophie nearly choked on her drink. “
He
was bitter?”

“He thought he was breaking Magnolia Beach's own Watergate scandal,” he said with a laugh. Turning to Heidi and Colette, whose confusion was evident, he explained, “Mr. Shipp taught journalism. I think he confused the
Pirate Herald
with the
Washington Post.
”

“I wonder whatever happened to Mr. Delmarco,” Quinn said quietly. It was the first thing he'd added to this conversation, and it wasn't even really directed at her.

Still, she had to bite back a smile. “He's doing just fine. He and my dad are very happy together.” She was intentionally casual and was rewarded with looks of shock on every face. “Mom and Dad divorced shortly after we got to Boston. She's in Texas now with her new husband, and Dad and David got married in Boston before they moved to North Carolina. Happy endings for everyone.”

“Still,” Heidi said carefully, “I'm surprised you'd want to come back here after all that. I'm not sure I could.”

“I was bitter and angry at first, but mostly at my parents. And David. I felt like I was being punished for their mistakes because I was forced to leave a place I liked. No one
actually
ran them out of town on a rail—they chose to leave. They
could have sucked it up and stood their ground, but they didn't. That was their choice.” That much was true, but it still stuck in her throat. “And yeah, it was rough for a while, but it all worked out.”

“You're quite forgiving,” Quinn said, finally speaking directly to her. He seemed strangely serious, which was completely at odds with his earlier humor—even if it was at her expense.

“I just never saw the sense in carrying grudges or simmering in resentment.” She lifted her chin, not caring that it might look defiant. “Success and happiness are the best revenge anyway.”

“Amen,” Lacey said, raising her glass in a toast. Sophie smiled and drank deeply.

“So,” she said, trying to move on to the present and the future, “now that we've gotten
that
taken care of, what do y'all do in this burg for fun these days?”

Howie refilled her cup. “We manage. You'll see.”

He hadn't known she was going to be there, or he'd have had plenty of witty things ready to say. But the look on Sophie's face had been more than enough. And except for a few uncomfortable moments when Sophie had talked about her family and the circumstances that led to them leaving Magnolia Beach, it was all going well. Small talk, reminiscing, plans for the future, current events . . . He might not know much about Sophie from before, but a grown-up Sophie was smart and funny and sharp—and occasionally sending looks his way.

Her looks were unreadable, though. The shocked jaw-drop had been immensely satisfying—after all, he didn't get that much anymore. He wasn't the same dorky teenager he used to be. When added to the deep red color she turned when she realized he knew she'd been watching him . . . Any lingering issues he might have had from high school trauma evaporated.

He was nearly smug about it.

Their original crowd waxed and waned as the evening went on, with people wandering up to say hello and hang out for a few minutes, others leaving as it got later to get children from babysitters or get to bed early—after all, they were all pushing thirty these days.

When the band called it quits around ten, Sophie said, “And that's probably my cue to call it a night as well. Night, y'all.” Then she stood and swayed dangerously. “Whoa.”

“You okay?” he asked, catching her arm.

“I must've had more to drink than I thought.”

“Firefly Tea sneaks up on you,” Adam said with a laugh.

“And yet it sounds so harmless,” Sophie said. “It has a rather misleading name.”

Sophie didn't look all that drunk, and she wasn't slurring her words or anything, but looks could be deceiving. He couldn't believe Howie had given her the drink without warning her first. “It's called Firefly Tea because it lights you up. Howie makes his with Everclear.”

“Good Lord, no wonder I'm wobbly.”

Quinn stood. “Come on. I'll walk you home.”

“I'm fine, really.”

“It's on my way, and I'm ready to go anyway.” That wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't going to let Sophie walk home alone half-drunk. Magnolia Beach was a pretty safe place in general, but he couldn't vouch for the tourists she might encounter—or even just the possibility she might fall and hurt herself if she was more than just “wobbly.”

“Let Quinn walk with you,” Heidi said. “Just to be safe.”

She hesitated. “Only if you're sure it won't be a problem.”

“I wouldn't have offered if it were.”

Ten o'clock was pretty late to be out by Magnolia Beach standards, and most of the crowd on Front Street was gone. Vendors were packing up, tables were being loaded onto the backs of trucks, and Mr. Donovan was conscientiously sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store. He waved and said goodnight as they passed.

Sophie looked uncomfortable and Quinn was feeling a bit like an unwelcome puppy following her home, especially since she'd been so animated and talkative just a few minutes earlier. “Did you have a good time?” he finally asked.

“I did. That Friday night thing seems to have been a really good idea.”

“It's good for the local businesses and gives the tourists that taste of small-town Southern goodness they see on TV, so it's a success all around.”

“And there seemed to be plenty of locals about too, so that's good.”

“Yep.”
This conversation is rapidly heading toward lame.

“Now I guess I should apologize.”

The sudden change in topic threw him. “For what?”

She stopped and looked at him. “You know for what. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. With the . . .” Her lips twitched. “‘Meditating.'” She seemed both amused and embarrassed at the same time, but he had to give her props for being upfront about it.

“Hey, ‘meditate' how you want, when you want. It doesn't bother me.” While true, he stopped short of telling her how much he liked it.

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “That doesn't mean it's not rude.”

“If I'm not offended, is it actually rude?”

She thought for a moment. “That's a good question. Like the ‘sounds of trees falling in the woods when no one is
around' philosophical-type questions. It's not something I can decide when I've been drinking Everclear.”

“Let's get you home, then. You can riddle it out later.”

She started walking again. “Either way, I'll quit. You can enjoy your mornings creeper-free from now on. The offer for coffee still stands, though.”

“Like I said, it doesn't bother me.”

“Still, it's easier to objectify a stranger. Now that I know it's you . . .” She shrugged.

He was disappointed to hear that. It probably meant there was something seriously wrong with him, something that needed therapy to sort out his newly discovered inner exhibitionist, but that didn't change the feeling. “If that's what you want . . .”

Sophie stopped again and looked up at him, her eyebrows pulled together like she was puzzling something out. Then her face cleared, eyes widening and jaw dropping slightly. “You
liked
it.” She smacked him on the arm. “You were
enjoying
it.”

He couldn't help the grin. “So were you,” he reminded her.

“True,” she admitted. “But at least I feel a little ashamed about it.”

“I have nothing to be ashamed of. I just took my doggie to the beach.”

Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “I take back my apology, then.”

He shrugged. “I didn't want it in the first place.”

With a sigh and an eye roll, muttering something about “show offs” and “egos,” Sophie took off again, turning onto Lister Street, where cookie-cutter houses lined both sides of the street and the street lights were farther apart. He caught up with her easily, and she huffed in his general direction.

“You know—”

The thought was cut off as a small, furry blur shot across the sidewalk, barely missing Sophie's exposed toes, and disappeared into the Haversons' yard.

Sophie squeaked and jumped out of the way, bumping into him and knocking them both off-balance as she grabbed him like she was about to climb him. He held her arm to steady her. “It's just a mouse.”

“
Just
a mouse
?
”

“Okay, not
just
a mouse. It may have been an Alabama beach mouse.”

“Like that's
better
?” She looked around as if there might be a whole horde of them headed her way. And she didn't let go of his arm, either, not that he minded.

“It is.” At her look, he added, “They're endangered, you know. We don't get a lot of them this far north, and especially not this far from the beach. He must be lost.”

“Endangered rodents? You've
got
to be kidding me.”

“It could just be a regular mouse, of course,” he offered. “But, either way, he's long gone.”

“I think I'd prefer it be an endangered mouse. That's a little less horrible.” She shuddered slightly, but she still didn't release him, so he tucked her hand under his arm and started walking. “I don't like mice. Or rats. Or snakes,” she added.

“If you don't like mice, you really should like snakes.” When she looked at him strangely, he added, “You know, because they eat mice.” She continued to stare at him. “Jeez, how much
did
you have to drink?”

“Funny,” she said but she didn't answer the question. And even though he was now walking arm-and-arm with her, she didn't seem all that unstable on her feet. “My ex had a snake when we first started dating,” she said, apropos of nothing. “He had to give it to his nephew before I'd move in.”

“You're a hard woman. Making a man give up his pet.”

“It's not like it was a dog or something,” she protested. “And he was allowed ample visitation with it. At his nephew's house,” she stressed. “Moving it back in was the first thing he did when I moved out.”

He hadn't been sure how—or if—to mention her divorce as she hadn't mentioned it or her ex, even in passing, anytime this evening until now. Now that she had, though, he felt like he should say
some
thing. But what? Congratulations? Condolences? Finally he settled for, “Are you and your ex on good terms?”

She shrugged. “Good enough. We're not keeping in touch or anything, but it wasn't an ugly divorce, either, so . . .”

“That's good.”

She cut her eyes sideways at him. “It was
easier
, that's for sure.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to imply . . .”

She patted his arm. “I know you didn't. We got married while I was still in college, and it just didn't work the same once I wasn't.”

“Too young?”

She laughed quietly. “I was, at least.”

“Surely he was, too.” At her look, he added, “I mean, if y'all met in college . . .”

“We did
meet
in college. He was one of my professors.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I know it sounds bad, but we really were in love. Even though nothing happened until I was out of his class, there was some backlash, and that caused problems right from the start.”

“You landed on your feet, though.”

“Divorce is always painful, regardless of how amicable, but for me it was profitable, at least.”

It seemed Sophie had a mercenary streak, and that surprised him. “Either your ex is generous or you had a damn good attorney.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Let's just say I know some things he'd rather others not know, and he was willing to pay me quite a bit of money to ensure no one found out.”

Granted, he didn't know Sophie well—then
or
now—but flat-out extortion was cold.

She dropped her voice. “I wanted to start my own B&B, so I was happy to take the money, but I wouldn't have told anyone anything anyway.”

Whew.
“You had me worried there for a minute, Sophie.”

She laughed. “It hurt my feelings a little that he even asked me to sign a non-disclosure agreement, but”—she laughed quietly—“the money did help lessen the sting of that. I mean, it's not like he was involved in something illegal or anything, so there was no moral imperative for me to say what I knew. After all, there's no need to destroy someone's life unnecessarily.”

Boom.
The guilt landed hard. Sophie had no way of knowing that, though. That was his own conscience dropping the hammer. In his defense, though, he hadn't
meant
to destroy anyone's life. He'd gone looking for one thing but found something else entirely, and how could he have known what Mr. Shipp would do with that information once he had it?

That was his defense. He'd been a kid, and it had been an accident.

But accident or not, it was still his fault.

For all Sophie's airy dismissiveness earlier, he heard the bitterness underneath that statement. Maybe the Everclear had loosened her up a little. “Not quite as okay about it as you said, are you?”

She sighed. “It's hard to explain. I
am
okay with it. Dad and David were wrong to have an affair, and they paid the penalty for that. But it all should have been
our
business. I'm bitter that Mr. Shipp rained down all that crap on my family when he didn't have to. I'm bitter he went digging into things that weren't any of his business in the first damn place.” She stopped and cleared her throat, calming herself. “Sorry about that. I can get a little ranty about it. People who stir up shit for no good reason just piss me off.”

“That's understandable.” His conscience might be telling him to tell her the whole truth, but his good sense didn't want that bitterness turned in his direction. It wasn't just self-preservation stopping him, though. Sophie was not only holding his arm for support, she was also letting her fingers stroke almost absently against his skin in a gentle caress. He didn't know if she was even fully aware of what she was doing, but he liked it and it boded well.

And while he didn't approve of what Mr. Shipp had done with the info he'd naively provided, Mr. Shipp had kept to the journalistic tenet of protecting his source, and there was very little to be gained with a confession now, even if his dishonesty would make the baby Jesus cry. “I'm surprised you came back to Magnolia Beach, then.”

Just like that, the bitterness was gone, and Sophie's tone turned conversational again. “From a business perspective, it's a wise move. Real estate and the cost of living are quite low comparable to other beach and resort areas, and the Palmer House is ideally located and good value for the money.”

“So it's not just nostalgia bringing you back to town.”

“I have a BA from Boston University's School of Hospitality Administration. I assure you my business plan is quite sound,” she said primly. “The nostalgia was just a bonus. What about you? Did nostalgia bring you back or did you stay?”

“I left to go to school, and didn't really plan on coming back, but then my mom got sick and I came home to be with her. Somehow along the way I ended up buying a newspaper, and after that it seemed I was here for the duration.”

“And your mom recovered, I hope?”

“Fully. She's hale and hearty.”

“That's good. And am I safe in assuming there's no Mrs. Quinn Haslett?”

The question, asked in a casually leading, yet upbeat tone, nearly caused him to stumble.
Safe how?
“Uh, no. I'm not married.”

“Good.” She patted his arm right above where her hand was nestled in the crook of his elbow. “I'd hate to get you in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Walking a woman home—while gallant—can be misinterpreted. Particularly by a wife.”