Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(2)
“Actually, Dad, I’m supposed to visit Van in Pearl Lake this weekend. I was planning to go on Friday, but I could head up there early, and that would give you and Danielle a chance to get things settled.” My brother Van casually suggested I come visit him soon, as he does almost every time I talk to him, but I didn’t make a commitment to go. Hopefully he doesn’t mind me spontaneously dropping by, and in the middle of the week, with a plan to stay for several days.
A furrow creases his brow. “I didn’t know you were going to see Van.”
“Oh? I thought I mentioned it,” I lie.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave early because Danielle is moving in.”
I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Van won’t mind. He’s been renovating the upstairs of the garage into a one-bedroom apartment, and it’s nearly finished. Are you okay with me taking a long weekend?”
“Of course—you rarely take time off.”
“I’ll pack a bag and tell Van I’m on my way up. It’s supposed to be gorgeous there this week. Unseasonably warm for late April. I’ll take a couple of books with me and enjoy some sunshine and relaxation and time with my brother.” And I can fill his freezer with homemade dinners like I did last time. He and Dillion both work long hours, and Van loves having ready-made meals to pull out of the freezer when the two of them are working late.
“You really are the best daughter a father could ask for. Thank you.” He pulls me in for a hug and kisses me on top of my head, like I’m six, not twenty-six. “Maybe I’ll set up something romantic for Danielle. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Absolutely!” And this is exactly the reason I don’t want to be here this weekend. I don’t have a problem with my dad doing romantic things for Danielle, but I don’t need to witness it.
He nods and spins around, a hop in his step as he makes his way down the hall to his office. I close my bedroom door and sag against it. I rub the space between my eyebrows, trying not to frown or furrow. Portia, my ex–best friend, always used to tell me that I should never show any emotion unless it was happiness if I didn’t want premature wrinkles. I blow out a breath. Normally I would call my brother, but if I hear his voice I’m going to want to spill the beans over the phone. This would be a much better conversation in person, so I send him a quick message instead.
Teagan: How close is the garage to being ready for occupancy?
Van: 85-90%. Why what’s up?
Teagan: Thinking about taking a couple vacation days if you don’t mind a guest for the weekend.
Van: You know you’re always welcome. When you heading this way?
Teagan: In an hour or so if that’s okay?
The dots appear and disappear a couple of times. I’m about to tell him I can hold off until tomorrow or Friday, but another message pops up.
Van: For sure, you know how to get in. Dillion asks that you bring the stuff for those gin cocktails you make.
Teagan: Will do! See you soon!
Half an hour later I have my bags packed. I put the gin and cocktail mix into a box, along with a couple of bottles of wine, and toss my prescriptions into my purse, checking to make sure I have enough to get me through until the end of the weekend.
I stop by my dad’s office on my way out and tell him I’ll be back on Sunday night and to have a great weekend with Danielle. And then I’m in my car and on my way to Pearl Lake.
I stop at the post office to mail the care package to Bradley and grab a coffee to perk me up. I pull my hair into a ponytail so I can put the top down on my convertible and enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine. While we had to get rid of most of the cars when we downsized and consolidated my dad’s debt, I was able to keep my convertible. But only because I was the one who’d bought and paid for it. I’ve had it since I was eighteen, and it has sentimental value more than anything.
It’s also not super flashy as far as convertibles go. It has a hard top for winter and a soft top for summer. It’s probably one of the very few things I still have from our previously lavish and frivolous lifestyle. Over the past year I’ve gone from weekly spa appointments and expensive dinners out several times a week to painting my own toenails and learning how to cook meals. I had no idea how pampered I was until I wasn’t anymore. And honestly, I don’t miss it that much.
The highway soon turns into tree-lined two-lane roads, the brush growing thicker and increasingly lush with every passing mile. The farther I get from Chicago, the easier it is to breathe. I try to appreciate the beauty of the drive and not think about Dad and Danielle or what the house is going to look like when I get back on Sunday.
I arrive in Pearl Lake just after noon. A Footprint Construction truck is parked in the driveway, in front of the garage, which isn’t unusual. Dillion is Van’s fiancée, and they’ve been living together for months. She often drives into work with her father, who owns the construction company in town, since she and Van live right next door to her family.
I decide I should go ahead and make myself comfortable in the apartment above the garage rather than heading for their love shack. If I don’t, there’s a chance that they’ll try to convince me to sleep in one of the spare rooms in the cottage.
I grab my suitcase from the trunk and heft my weekend bag over my shoulder, along with my purse. It’s a lot for a long weekend, but I’ve never been particularly good at packing light.