Gold Rush (Blackwood Security #4) - Elise Noble Page 0,55

take the boxers with me as a souvenir. Nick would never notice a pair missing, and... Good Grief, Lara, get a grip. What was wrong with me? I’d never had these thoughts about Billy. No, Nick’s underwear needed to go in the wash, not in my purse.

By one o’clock, the house sparkled under its chandeliers, and I couldn’t help smiling with satisfaction as I prepared to leave. From dump to model home, the place shone enough for me to take Monday off and head to Missy’s a day early.

When I left Baysville, the journey to Virginia had passed quickly while my nerves fluttered with a sense of adventure. The trip back to the town I’d once called home seemed to take twice as long, and I realised that apart from seeing Missy, I’d be glad never to go there again. The place held a few good memories, but more bad ones, and those were magnified by the knowledge that Billy was living there again.

Things only got worse when an electrical goods salesman sat next to me after our ninth stop. He spent the rest of the journey telling my cleavage which vacuum cleaner sucked best, and I thought wistfully of the peace and quiet of Nick’s limo as I tried to block out my new friend’s overpowering body odour.

I was first off the bus at the terminal, and Missy’s squeal pierced the air as soon as my feet hit the concrete. From the hug she gave me, you’d think I’d been gone for years, not months.

“I’ve got Clyde’s truck out back. My minivan’s in the shop. Do you have a case?”

I held up my duffel bag. “Just this.”

“Really?”

I nodded. Missy couldn’t do a weekend away without taking her entire wardrobe along.

Her fiancé still had the same tired Ford pickup as when I left, complete with its collection of empty soda cups and fast food wrappers. If Missy didn’t pick up after him, their house would rival Nick’s.

“I keep telling Clyde to clear this mess out,” she said. “But he hasn’t gotten around to it, and I’m not gonna do it for him.”

“Well, I’m not doing it either. I’ve spent enough time cleaning up after Nick.”

“Too right! We’re going to have a nice, relaxing few days. I’ve booked us in for mani-pedis tomorrow morning—my treat. My friend Margie works at the salon, so we get a discount.”

“I can’t wait.”

I’d missed hanging out with Missy. Life in Virginia was good, but at times it was like being on a different planet. In Rybridge, the manicures came with real diamonds.

“Then in the afternoon, we’ve got an appointment at Theresa’s Bridal Shoppe. And in the evening, I thought we’d go see a movie. Clyde said he’d play cab driver. I know you said you didn’t want to go out, but Billy’s never gonna watch a romcom.”

“As long as he’s not there, I’m good with that.”

At the salon, Missy convinced me to go patriotic. I had to admit, the tiny stars and stripes on my toenails were cute.

“You should get them on your fingers as well,” she said.

I shook my head. “Too much.”

Missy didn’t understand the concept of moderation. She went with neon-green for her toes, and her candy-floss-pink fingernails were even more girly than usual, covered in sparkly crystals. After a bite to eat in our favourite café, she led me into a shiny, puffy, lace-and-satin-induced hell. The hundreds of bridal gowns hanging all around left her on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“I can’t decide! There’s just so many. Do you prefer the cream one with the rhinestones? Or the white strapless one? Or the one with the train? Ooh, what about this one with the little butterflies? Oh my gosh, they light up! Lara, look at this!”

Now don’t get me wrong, Missy was one of my two best friends in the whole world, but one thing I’d never understood was her sense of style. How did I tactfully tell her that if she chose the rhinestone dress the guests would have to bring sunglasses? And the strapless one was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.

Missy tried on six more dresses, and I forced myself not to grimace. Finally, she had a shortlist of three—the butterfly affair; one with a back made entirely of lace, which on Missy, who described herself as “Rubenesque,” was unfortunate; and another with a train so long I wasn’t sure it would fit into the church at all. I’d be left standing outside, holding the end of it.

“You

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