Page 16 of Once Upon a Lie

Alfred loved his sweet Avalyn in a way I don’t know if anyone has ever loved someone in the history of the world. She was his heart, his soul, and everything. Ten years ago, she passed away from a long battle with breast cancer, and he’s mourned her every day since.

“She would’ve loved you, girl. To her, you would’ve been the daughter she always dreamed of having,” he says, and it’s not the first time I’ve heard this. It’s also not the first time he’s told me about Avalyn not being able to have children, either, but it’s still just as heartbreaking as if it were. “She also would’ve put you to work in the garden and then talked your ear off about anything and everything.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“She was perfect.” He nods wistfully, then quickly shakes it off. “So, tell me, did your father stop by any more this week to bug you?”

Alfred probably knows more about me and what’s going on in my daily life than anyone else in the world, and it’s undoubtedly because I feel like I can tell him anything. Sunnie and Cher are confidantes, too, but some things are better bounced off a man with eighty-plus years of experience. Pedicures, hot dudes, pop culture—the girls. The painfully long endurance of withstanding a man with my father’s influence while he puts the relationship blade to my neck over and over again—the elderly.

“Of course my dad stopped by,” I say through a sigh, my shoulders tensing from muscle memory and tightness built through years of the same argument. “This morning, he showed up with his posse, trying to play matchmaker again.”

“With that Leonidas, right?”

“Yes.” I groan. “But how about you just call him Leo. Or, matter of fact, how about you don’t bring him up at all?”

“Leo makes him sound more like a Labrador than a big, strong man,” Alfred comments, and I snort.

“If the collar fits. Woof, woof.”

“You’re bad, girl,” Alfred says through a laugh. “I know he’s not your style, but I’ve seen it with my own eyes—he does, in fact, like you.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling isn’t mutual,” I comment, drawing hearts in the water with my toes.

Alfred puts Pip on the flamingo raft and steps into the pool, and my phone starts firing off vibrations from the inside of my purse like it’s trying to achieve liftoff.

I scoot the small bag toward myself and pull it out, already knowing it’s probably the Magnolia Connect chat—the app that never sleeps thanks to HOA-bulldog Rita—going crazy with messages from my condo building’s residents, and prepare myself to have a good laugh. Even if it were possible to silence the notifications—an impossibility thanks to Rita—I’m not sure that I would.

While Rita herself is the ultimate caricature of serious business and condo royalty, the rest of the chat isn’t exactly normal either. Though what normal is, I’m not sure.

Callie (Unit: 1205): ​​Anyone seen the new guy who just moved into 1807 yet? Heard he moved in yesterday.​​

Jillian (Unit: 510): ​​My husband said he drives a black SUV. I think he’s probably a doctor.​​

Stanley (Unit: 1007): ​​I know his last name is Maddox. Saw it on his mailbox.​​

Denny (Unit: 1106): ​​I thought it was Matthews.​​

Stanley (Unit: 1007): ​​It’s Maddox. Read the mailbox, Denny.​​

Denny (Unit: 1106): ​​Dang, Stan. Relax.​​

Lissa (Unit: 815): ​​I think I saw him walking on the elevator yesterday! But he had a stack full of boxes in his hands. I didn’t get a good look at his face.​​

Jillian (Unit: 510): ​​He was carrying his own boxes? He didn’t get a mover? Goodness, I hope he’s not uncouth.​​

I laugh under my breath, and Alfred glances over his glasses. “What’s so funny?”

“The Magnolia chat,” I answer and turn the screen of my phone toward him for a quick second. “Apparently, there’s a new guy in my building, and he’s got everyone speculating.”

“Is he young and handsome?” Alfred questions, arching a knowing brow at me. “Because if that’s the case, I think maybe you should start speculating too.”

“Get real, Al.” I roll my eyes on a snort, and the dismissal comes easier than honesty would. “I don’t care if the new guy in my building is young, rich, handsome, and has a big you-know-what, I’m not looking to find a man.”

“Oh, Teeny Girl.” Alfred cracks up. “You’re going to have to stop being such a pessimist about love.”

“I’m not a pessimist.”

He eyes me knowingly. I stare right back. “I prefer to be the star of my own fairy tales.”