“Um—”
Cain named an exact figure, and Violet did a double take. “You added that up in your head?”
“A drink,” he said, lifting a finger in warning and ignoring the question. “You’re buying.”
He shut the curtain to the dressing room with a snap, and Violet turned to Jacob. “We’ll be wrapping up after this. But can I get your card? I’d like to bring him back to look at your blazers.”
She heard Cain muttering curses behind the curtain.
“Some other day,” she whispered to Jacob. He nodded knowingly.
Eight
Lemongrass rooibos okay?” Violet asked, carrying her great-grandmother’s tea set into her living room and setting it on the glass coffee table.
Ashley Shores turned away from the record player in the corner, Ella Fitzgerald album in hand. “Perfect. We haven’t had that yet—have we??”
“Tea Thyme had it on sale the other day,” Violet said, referring to the local loose leaf tea shop around the corner from her apartment. “I have about a dozen other varieties to use up, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Just like I can never resist Ella,” Ashley said with a happy sigh as Ella’s warm, rich version of “Misty” filled the room.
Kicking off her pristine white tennis shoes, Ashley tucked her legs beneath her, curling up in her usual spot in the corner of the settee. Coco had been playing with her champagne bottle squeaker toy on the carpet, but she jumped up beside her Auntie Ashley and hunkered down in her familiar Sunday afternoon routine. Violet sat in her usual chair and began the familiar process of pouring tea, a splash of milk and one spoonful of sugar for herself, a half spoonful of sugar and no milk for Ashley.
Ashley had been one of Violet’s closest friends growing up, her partner in crime at slumber parties, the one who’d tried valiantly to coax Violet’s straight hair into “power curls” before a debate club tournament, the one she’d called when Brendan Glaxter had broken her heart in sixth grade, and the one who’d brought over Reese’s Pieces when Matt Casey had dumped Violet for Rosemary Nowak their junior year.
They’d drifted a bit in college; Violet had stayed on the East Coast, attending Brown, while Ashley went to the California Institute of Technology. But both had returned to the city after graduation and picked up right where they’d left off, though they’d traded their weekly Friday night sleepovers for Sunday afternoon tea.
It was one of Violet’s favorite parts of the week. After she’d escorted Edith to church, after the social butterfly Ashley had attended one of her many brunch invitations, the two friends always found themselves here, in Violet’s quietly old-fashioned living room, listening to old music and sipping tea from the rose-patterned china set that had belonged to Violet’s great-grandmother.
“So,” Ashley said, blowing on her tea with pursed lips before setting the cup and saucer aside and pulling her shoulder-length, wavy blond hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. “The prodigal grandson. Tell me everything.”
Violet had texted Ashley the gist of her predicament earlier in the week, but she hadn’t yet had a chance to bring Ashley, or any of her friends, up to speed on the full magnitude of the undertaking that was Cain Stone.
She sighed and blew softly on her own tea. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“I do,” Ashley said matter-of-factly. “He’s hot.”
Violet looked up. “How do you know?”
“Um, the Internet? I looked him up the second you told me about him. He’s not particularly active on social media, but he has an account with a picture.” She fanned herself, then looked worried. “Tell me he didn’t just post a glamour shot and is actually a troll in real life.”
“No, he’s attractive,” Violet admitted. “In a rugged, bad boy sort of way. If you’re into that.”
“Sweetie, everyone’s into that,” Ashley said. “The bad boy thing is irresistible. It’s a fact.”
“Not irresistible to me,” Violet said, though the past couple days had her questioning her stance on that.
“True,” her friend admitted. “Keith is as far from bad boy as they come. I bet his onesies were made out of argyle cashmere. Not that he isn’t handsome!” she rushed to assure Violet.
Violet smiled at the too-enthusiastic exclamation. Ashley would never speak an overtly bad word against Keith, but she’d never done a good job of disguising the fact that she didn’t particularly like him. The two were mostly polite to each other if forced to be in the same room, but they’d never clicked.
Keith was less subtle in his dislike. He’d been known to drop the word flighty when Ashley’s name came up, no matter how staunchly Violet reminded him that for all Ashley’s bubbly mannerisms, she was also a clinical research assistant in genetics.
“So, here’s my issue with this whole thing,” Ashley said, picking up her teacup and taking a careful sip to test the temperature. “As much as I understand Edith’s desire for a legacy, doesn’t this My Fair Lady thing feel sort of… messed up?”