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“Who wears sweatshirts in the summer?”
“Have you met me?”
“Good point.” Thayle was always, always cold.
“Is that all I remember?” I pressed, tempting fate. That day had been the one and only time in all the years I’d known Thayle that there had been an inkling of something more than friendship between us. It was right after her first attempt at waterskiing. She’d been so thrilled that she’d gotten up that when I helped her back onto the boat, she hugged me.
Wet, ecstatic, bikini-wearing Thayle had thrown her arms around me, and I could have sworn she’d hung on for longer than normal. Longer than just an old friend who was simply expressing her elation over a successful ski.
That day I thought a look might have passed between us when she finally let go. But now, years later, I was pretty convinced I’d planted the false memory, but I knew I couldn’t—shouldn’t—discount the way she’d moved on to hug Min, and even Marco, after embracing me, the way she’d bounced around the boat, so proud of herself after years of us begging her to try. So I’d dismissed the incident as nothing more than wishful thinking.
“Hmm, let me think. Oh yeah, you remember how proud of me you were when I got up on the very first try.”
“I was proud of you,” I told her honestly.
Thayle went quiet. She finished her donut and reached for the volume on the radio, turning it up just slightly. Country music. One of the interests we had in common. Most of my family despised it. Only Cos would agree to attend any country concerts with me, not because he loved it, but because he loved me. My older brother was honestly the best guy on the planet, and I was lucky to be working with him. Doing something I loved.
There was only one thing missing in my life.
“I wonder if you remember—” Thayle cleared her throat. I glanced at her briefly.
“What do I remember?” I prompted, trying to keep my tone light. I wasn’t sure I succeeded.Say it, Thayle.I wasn’t deluded enough to think that if she ever showed me the slightest hint of interest, bad idea or not, I’d not latch on to it.
Over and over, I’d replayed in my mind scenarios like this one. Where Thayle would say,I remember the way you looked at me. And want you to look at me that way again.
I would remind her of Cosimo and Brooke. That they’d begun as boss and employee. But unlike them, we weren’t practically strangers. Just the opposite.
Of course, Thayle didn’t profess her undying love to me. She didn’t confess she’d dreamed of tearing my clothes off, wondering what it would be like if I slipped my hand across the seat and made her come in this very car as we drove to Skaneateles.
Instead, she seemed to mull it over for several seconds, then said, “Lost it. Sorry, you know my memory is like a sieve.”
And with that, Thayle’s hand slipped inside the bag for a second donut. “Want one?”
I wanted something alright, but it wasn’t a damned cinnamon donut.
EIGHT
thayle
“Neo, look. A wedding.”
We’d just finished dinner, the wall of windows affording a magnificent view of a fairytale style courtyard. I’d never been to Mirabeau Inn before but had heard about it. Even though Skaneateles was only an hour or so from Kitchi Falls, I could count on one hand how many times I’d come here. And the one time I had, I didn’t stay at this inn. It had been named one of the top spas in the country, which meant it wasn’t exactly in my price range.
When Neo had said we were staying at Mirabeau and that “of course all of your expenses on this trip are paid,” I hadn’t known what to say. I protested, of course, but he’d shrugged it off. It was a business trip, but really it didn’t feel like one at all. Spending the day with the owner of Angela’s, talking shop and touring their facility, was almost enough to distract me from that car ride.
Almost.
“I see the wedding party,” he said, “but no bride or groom.”
We watched as the wedding party made their way from one side of the courtyard to the other. Designed to look like a French village, individual cottages were dotted around a magnificent courtyard, complete with a lily pond and water feature that, as the receptionist told us, “could be seen and heard from every cottage on the property.” With benches and stone-covered walkways, the fall foliage made it look every bit like the country village it was modeled after. At least, it looked that way to me, as someone who had only ever actually seen the French countryside in pictures.
“There they are,” I said, pointing to the bride. “I wonder if the reception is here?” I looked around the restaurant but didn’t see any section large enough where even a small reception could be held.
“They’re probably next door,” Neo said. “We had my parents’ anniversary party there and stayed here for the night.”
“Why did you come here?” I asked. The Grado property was as beautiful as any, and with an entire estate and on-site cottages, I couldn’t imagine why they would need to come to Skaneateles.
“Do you remember Nonna Grado?”
