The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(53)

Bridget scowls. “That is not fair.”

“In addition to knowing how to milk money out of people, I’m an excellent fashion consultant,” Phoebe says.

“If you teach my daughter how to manipulate people, your grandmother will be the least of your worries.”

Her mouth twists into an amused smile. “Wow. That really was easy.”

One point to Phoebe.

That won’t do, and don’t let the fact that I’m struggling to not smile fool you. I’m not amused. “As to your other offer, your fashion sense is lacking. Bridge, you want to work in an office all day and spend your nights going to parties with people you don’t like?”

Phoebe tugs her ponytail back over her shoulder. “That’s very presumptuous of you that my knowledge of couture would be limited to professional and formal attire.”

“No offense, but he’s right,” Bridget tells Phoebe. “Your aesthetic really doesn’t vibe with my personality. I’m gonna be a marine biologist who plays in a grunge-rock band on the weekends.”

Today, anyway.

Last week, she was going to be a social justice warrior, and the week before, she wanted to be a band teacher.

The music part’s consistent. I’ll give her that.

Phoebe’s not deterred by Bridget’s initial rejections. Naturally. “I thought you said you were going to be a solar panel engineer.”

“Hello, I can do all of them.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“I’m learning guitar.”

“So’s my brother.”

Bridget cracks up.

“Hot damn, she’s funny?” Willie Wayne says.

“I’m multitalented, Mr. Johnson.”

“Jorgenson,” he corrects.

Her nose wrinkles. “I have name blindness. My apologies.”

“That’s not a thing,” Jane mutters.

“It depends on your social circles, and I’m trying to get over it,” Phoebe tells her. She turns back to me. “If I can’t pay for tutoring and I can’t barter for services, then are we out here for nothing, or are you merely enjoying the fact that I’ve once again had to get in a boat to come negotiate with you? Not that I mind. Your daughter is a lovely conversationalist, and she knows so much about the town.”

And you is the unspoken rest of that sentence.

Shit.

What’s Bridget telling her? How long have these two been hanging out today?

And why am I enjoying this more than I should? “You could volunteer at the cat shelter with Bridget.”

“Oh, swag, you could,” Bridget squeals. “We have kittens. They’re so cute. You’ll love them. We have to play with them so they get socialized right.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrow. “Volunteering entails playing with kittens?”

“And cleaning up litter boxes,” I offer.

“And finding them forever homes,” Bridget adds. “You could totally call your friends back in New York and introduce them to homegrown Wisconsin kittens that they need in their lives.”

Phoebe’s smile goes tight. “One would think.”

Huh.

Wonder if she’s been checking her emails when she’s in Deer Drop and isn’t liking what she’s seeing.

“Dunno, Bridge,” I say. “Seems Tavi has the better platform for that.”

And there it is.

I have finally poked the bear.

Idiot, my good shoulder angel says.

Pass the popcorn, my bad shoulder angel replies.

She’s hot when she’s pissed, my crotch chimes in. And you know we like her hot. Like in that dream last night.

Phoebe’s straightening slowly, like she’s stretching before a good fight. “Mr. Miller, are you aware of exactly why my grandmother needed space in that abomination of a closed-up community hall you showed her the other day?”

Unfortunately, I do. “She’s trying to buy her way out of hell?”

“She’s conducting interviews for biographers, screenwriters, and directors to tell the story of her near-death experience.”

Can’t deny that news gave me pause.

But even if all the Hollywood and literary types invade Tickled Pink, too, it usually takes years to get projects off the ground, and there’s no way in hell anything’s getting filmed here.

We’re known for Pink Gold.

There’s not a person in this town who would rather it be known for Estelle Lightly. That, we won’t let happen. And I’ll be leading the charge to stop her.

Means doing things I haven’t done in years, things I swore I’d never do again, but there’s something about having the Lightly family in town that’s making it hard to deny who I am at my core.

Not today’s problem, though.

Especially since, unlike with the school, Estelle’s calling in actual contractors to fix the old community center.

I lean back in my easy chair and pop the footrest, even though the clouds approaching and the dipping sun are telling me that it’s about time to head back to shore for the day. “Tell you what, Ms. Lightly. You want Bridget to tutor you, you’ll volunteer at the cat shelter two hours a week, pay her whatever Shiloh says is a fair rate, and you’ll make sure none of those literary and film people your grandmother wants to bring to town show up.”