Page 25 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Chapter Six
The entire car shuddered as Hallie gunned it over the railroad tracks. “Sorry,” she muttered as Megan grabbed for the panic bar.
“No worries. I figured it was on purpose, to jolt us into realizing that we’re officially on the wrong side of the tracks again.” She pointed at the large Welcome to Crow Harborsign at the edge of the road.
It was true. The neighboring town couldn’t be more different from Swan Cove. Her current hometown had the fancy science institute, the college, the yachts, B&Bs, and mansions, whereas Crow Harbor was the home of the working waterfront—commercial fishermen, processing facilities, boat repair, and marine transport.
“Uh, you grew up here, too, Megs. Maybe don’t trash talk the place that made us who we are.”
Megan pulled out her red lipstick to do final touch-ups at the light. “Just stating facts.”
Ooh. That reminded her of Fitz so sanctimoniously “stating the fact” that she’d crashed and burned at the campaign kickoff. Hallie gripped the steering wheel tighter. How dare he? How dare he assume that she couldn’t regroup all by herself?
It was bad enough that Felicia had offered to help out of friendship and, well, pity, but Fitz doing it was low. Pretentious. Arrogant. With a possible teeter toward misogynistic.
Was she overcompensating with her anger at him out of her embarrassment at sucking? Possibly. A tiny bit.
Fitz made a convenient target, though. Besides, didn’t she get a warm-up? One event to test the waters? To feel out what it’d be like?
It was in no way a “fact” that Hallie couldn’t reassess and come back stronger than ever at the next one. The nerve of the man!
And for him to be outraged that she saw through his sexploits. Sexploitation? He’d come sniffing around to try and turn her head with flirting and more almost-kisses. The very lowest of the low stunts. One of the oldest tricks in the book.
Did Fitz Montgomery actually think his shoulders were so broad, and his smile so charming, and that twinkle in his eyes so bright, and his chest so hard, and his hair so tousle-able, that she’d go weak in the knees and forget they were enemies? It took more than a sexy body and a beautifully resonant voice to distract this woman!
“Uh, Hallie? Light’s green. Light’s been green for a while.”
Oops.
Her foot jerked onto the gas pedal. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. You know my parents adore you. I didn’t want them to spend all of dinner gushing about how me running for mayor is the first step to becoming president.” Once the shy, quiet bookworm in the corner, always the woman who preferred to not be the center of attention.
“Hang on. You pitched a fit about running for mayor. You really want to be president?”
“Of course not. Never. Never ever.” Talk about something she’d never hear the end of from her bestie. Megan would no doubt proprietarily insist on being the one to put Hallie’s name on every ballot, as a tradition.
“The president does get a butler, and a valet. Or whatever the female version is. Tempted now?”
She turned at the house with four rotted-out boats on the lawn that had been up on blocks her entire life. “To be responsible for sending troops into war? No. Count me out.”
“Oh sure. Get me all excited at the possibility of a butler bringing me an iced tea on a fancy tray and then just yank it away. You’re such a tease.”
That surprised a laugh out of Hallie. Megan was the femme fatale. The flirt. The fun one. Hallie was the opposite.
Of all those things.
“I think every man along the Maine coast, if forced to choose between us, would label you the tease and me the…well, the librarian.”
“Fine with me. And I’ll go ahead and change the topic if your parents get stuck in the rut of praising you too hard. If your head gets any bigger, I’ll have to change your hairstyle.”
“Very funny.” Hallie parked right behind the bright yellow school bus that took up most of the driveway. Her mom was the driver. She always said that parking it at their house was a badge of honor. Pam Scott appreciated that parents entrusted her with their children every day.
“You know you’re lucky to have parents who think you walk on water,” Megan said as she patted today’s hair, which was in two French braids with turquoise ends. A bitter aftertaste hung on her words.
Megan’s parents weren’t anywhere close to supportive like the Scotts. They’d stayed locked in an ugly, violent marriage until the day she graduated high school, blaming her often for keeping them stuck in it. Now split, they’d both left town and never checked in on their only child.
Hallie knew she was better off without them polluting her life.
She also knew Megan would always carry a deep wound from their heartless actions. So, she made sure to ask her to come along to visit the Scotts at every opportunity. That way Megan still felt like she had a version of a family.
