Page 2 of The One You Want

Going home right now didn’t mean I was giving up. I could always try again tomorrow—maybe without the cookies nexttime.

“Hey, girl,” a familiar voice said, and I looked over to see Libby Johnson heading my way through the park. “How’s itgoing?”

Immediately, all of my confidence in my outfit went out the window. Out of anyone on this island, Libby knew how to dress. She always looked cool and stylish and put-together—three things I had never been able to get the hangof.

Today was no exception. Libby was dressed in a jersey wrap-dress that was doing amazing things for her figure, her shiny blond hair falling in those perfect beach waves I’d spent an hour trying to achieve. She made it all look so effortless—the clothes, her hair, the flawlessmakeup.

And it wasn’t just superficial stuff. Libby oozed confidence and competence. She owned her own store here on the island, had been elected treasurer of the commerce committee, and had more friends than anyone Iknew.

“Sweetie, you look great today,” she said, eyes scanning me as she approached mybench.

Did I mention that she was also really, reallynice?

“Thanks, Libs,” I told her, trying not to fiddle with the edges of my cookiebox.

“Seriously.” She perched on the bench next to me, bumping my hip with hers to get me to move over. “You should wear your hair like that more often. And I love thisdress.”

“The hair took longer than I’d like to admit,” I told her, and shesmiled.

“The things we do for beauty. Did I tell you that I agreed to be Sherry’s guinea pig last week? She’s considering adding a new service to the salon.Waxing.”

From the way Libby’s lip was twitching, I had a feeling she wasn’t talking about hereyebrows.

“Oh, Libbs,” I said, horrified. “Youdidn’t.”

“Girl, you will never know fear until you have Sherry Mercer squinting at you through her bifocals while she approaches your lady-bits with a bucket of hotwax.”

I snorted in laughter and Libby joined me. I loved this about her—the way she viewed everything as an adventure, an opportunity to gather a new story totell.

“Hey, Libby,” someone called from the walkingpath.

“How’s it going Hank?” she called back to the man, before turning to me like there’d been no interruption. “Speaking of Sherry, I think she’s leading the meeting tonight. You’re coming,right?”

Again, I fought the urge to fidget. Libby hosted a woman’s club—aptly named after her— on the island. The Libbies was meant to be a book club slash baking type of thing but the meetings usually devolved into lots of drinking and gossip without much concern for whatever books or baked goods were on theagenda.

I enjoyed attending the Libbies meetings, I really did. But those women had a tendency to be…well, let’s just call them wild. It could be a littleintimidating.

But I was supposed to be the new and improved Jenny Hillman, right? And the new and improved Jenny Hillman didn’t get intimidated by a bunch of drunk and bawdywomen.

Before I could respond, someone else passed by—Jerry Brooks, a local farmer—shouting out a greeting to Libby. Then, as an afterthought, he added “And Jenny. Nice to see you,too.”

I was used to this. Lilac Bay Island was small. In the summer we got crowded with tourists, people pouring in from downstate and all over the country to enjoy our small town vibe and abundant nature offerings. Our population more than quadrupled over the summer months. But those of us who stuck around all year, even through the harsh winter, made up a pretty small and tight-knitclub.

Well, most of usdid.

It wasn’t at all surprising to me that Libby had been greeted by our neighbors twice since sitting down. Meanwhile, I’d been on this bench for nearly twenty minutes and hadn’t received so much as awave.

We both called our hellos to Jerry and Libby turned back to me. “The meeting?” sheprompted.

I squared my shoulders. “Of course I’m coming. I just hope Sherry doesn’t try to do a waxing demonstration for heractivity.”

Libby snorted. “Right? It was bad enough the time she tried to give out free perms. I mean, I love that crazy old woman, but seriously—who wants to look likeSherry?”

I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn’t be tempted to admit that I had only recently voluntarily let Sherry at my hair. Luckily the really rough parts had grown out now.Mostly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re coming,” Libby said, patting my knee. “It makes me happy to see you getting outmore.”

I ducked my head, knowing I wasblushing.