“I don’t smoke pot behind the storage building,” Trina scoffed. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I’ve seen the butts.”
“Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trina turned her knowing gaze to me. “I smoke pot in the woods. Only an idiot would smoke out in the open like that. I store the butts close to the building so I can roll another joint out of them when I have enough.”
I forced a smile. “How ... awesome.”
“How do you even know what a joint butt looks like, Brad?” Trina challenged. “Only someone who knew from personal experience would be able to say with any degree of certainty what was in the ash tray behind the storage building.”
Brad’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I don’t smoke pot. It’s illegal.”
“Actually, it’s legal in Michigan now,” I pointed out. “You can smoke it wherever you want.”
“It’s not recognized on a federal level,” Brad barked. “She’s breaking the law.”
“It’s more fun when I can wind him up before I do it,” Trina explained. “Don’t ruin my fun.”
Working with family was such a joy. “Okay, then.” I tugged my shoes back on, ignoring the way my feet screamed. The new Skechers were supposed to help, but I’d had them less than a day before Hunter confiscated them. After what happened while I was wearing them, I no longer wanted a return on my investment. “I’m heading back in.”
Trina offered up a haphazard wave. “Have fun.”
My cousin Annie was holding down the fort when I rejoined her near the front counter. She was listening as some guy — I had no idea who — regaled her with a deer hunting story that would’ve bored me to tears in five seconds flat. She, however, kept a polite smile on her face and periodically nodded to let him know she was still listening.
“And then that deer hopped up on two legs and tried to punch me in the face,” the man said, solemn. “It was like a movie.”
I knew better than to ask but I couldn’t stop myself. “Have you seen a lot of deer boxing in movies?”
“Not nearly enough.” He kept his gaze on Annie. She was willow thin, had no hips to speak of, and ran five miles a day. Her skin glowed as a result of healthy eating and exercise. She reminded me of one of those athletes they photograph for the front of fitness magazines. I wanted to hate her but she was just too pleasant.
“There’s a new table coming in,” I said, grabbing menus from the slot at the end of the counter. “I’ll take it.”
Annie nodded. “Sure. Chet and I are having a nice discussion.”
It didn’t sound that way, but I was looking for an escape. The two women who took the corner booth on the far side looked like a good option.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted them without looking at their faces. “Welcome to Two Broomsticks. My name is Stormy and I’ll be your server. Can I start you out with something to drink?”
Neither of the women immediately spoke, and when I shifted my gaze to the one on my left I almost choked on my own tongue as recognition hit me like a fist in the face. “Oh, hi.”
“Hello, Stormy.” She beamed at me as if we were old friends. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’ll say.” I felt like an idiot. Phoebe Green was the worst person who ever lived. Okay, I’ll give you Hitler and anyone who appeared on a reality show, but Phoebe was right up there with them.
We’d been sworn enemies in high school. I forgot how the animosity started, but it progressed to endless threats of hair-pulling and one-upmanship. When I was named homecoming queen (mostly because I was dating Hunter and he was voted king thanks to his position on the football team) she ran a smear campaign to make sure there was no repeat performance at the winter formal. She was standing on the stage with Hunter several months later, and they were forced to dance, something she endlessly rubbed in my face in the months that followed. Hunter always told me to ignore her, but it wasn’t easy. She spent two years stalking my boyfriend, trying to break us up via any number of horrible acts. She was one of the few people I was happy to put in my rearview mirror when I’d left Shadow Hills.
And now I was waiting on her. Life could be so cruel.
“Phoebe.” I felt as if I was drowning in quicksand. The longer I stood there, the smaller I felt. “I didn’t know you were still in town.”
“Oh, I never left.” She gave me what I assumed she thought of as her friendliest fake smile. There was no warmth in her eyes, but there was amusement. She was enjoying herself far too much. “I’ve always loved this town and what it has to offer. I never wanted to leave. You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get out — and now you’re back.”
“Now I’m back.” It took everything I had to keep from jabbing my pen in her carotid. Every nerve ending sparked with outrage as I recoiled at the thought of having to wait on her. “Do you guys need anything to drink?”
“Iced teas would be great.”
“For both of you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a second with the menus. I’ll be right back.”
I was breathing hard by the time I slipped through the swinging doors. I was so wrapped up in the fact that Phoebe was on my turf that I almost missed Trina as she futzed around with the soda machine.
“The CO2 is out,” Trina announced to no one in particular.
“Then change it,” Brad shot back.
“You know those tanks are too heavy for me. You have to do it.”
“I’m cooking. I’m doing my job. The CO2 is your job. The problem with society is that nobody wants to work.”
Trina’s eyes fired with indignation. “It’s your job.”
“I don’t think so.”
Their yammering was more than I could take. “I’ll change the freaking CO2 tank if you go out there and take my table,” I offered Trina.
“I don’t want to take your table.” Trina shook her head. “I’ll change the tank.”
“But ... .”
“No, no, no.” She patted my arm. “You need the money.”
I scowled. Obviously my mother had been talking out of turn. Again. We were going to have to have a long discussion at some point. “Fine.”
I filled the glasses with iced tea and returned to the booth. I was determined to pretend everything was okay, whether I felt it or not. “Here we go.” I delivered the iced teas and yanked out my order pad. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have the chef’s salad with no cheese or ham, fat-free dressing on the side,” Phoebe said.
That sounded like the worst lunch ever. “Great. And you?” I focused on her friend.
“I’ll have the same.” The woman handed over her menu and I turned to leave, but Phoebe called out to stop me.
“Actually, Stormy, it’s good that you’re here,” she supplied. “I’ve been trying to set up a meeting with your grandfather and he’s always dodging me. Now that you’re back, perhaps you can serve as a facilitator of sorts.”
I was instantly suspicious. “A facilitator?”