don’t know the guy, so I wasn’t expecting a reaction either way,” I lied nonchalantly.
“But you didn’t expect him to be so black-and-white about things.”
No, I really hadn’t.
Bailey contemplated me. “Let me buy you an ice cream cone and I’ll explain a few things.”
“An ice cream cone?” I grinned. I hadn’t had an ice cream cone in years.
“From Antonio’s.” She pointed down the boardwalk to the Italian pizzeria that stood next to Paradise Sands Hotel. “But there’s no Antonio—it’s owned by a couple named Iris and Ira.”
Antonio’s décor was very 1950s diner, with black-and-white-check flooring, red leather booths, and high round black tables with red-leather-topped chrome stools. Every inch of the white walls was covered with black-and-white photographs of Hollywood stars and musicians. All the frames were red or black. It was sleek and it sparkled, it was so clean.
The restaurant itself wasn’t so busy at that time of day, but the ice cream counter had a small line of people at it.
A man with a full head of dark gray hair, a beaming white smile, and a stocky build was manning the counter. He cheerily scooped up ice cream for his customers and as soon as Bailey and I stepped up to the counter that smile went full wattage.
“Sweetheart!” he boomed, lifting the countertop to come out and hug Bailey. “Iris!” he yelled in Bailey’s ear, making her flinchand then giggle like a little girl. “Bailey girl is here!” He turned back to her. “How are you doing? Cooper says you’re run off your feet at the inn. That you need some help. Remember Kevan? Iris’s nephew’s son? He’s in Hartwell. He needs work.”
“She’s not hiring Kevan.” A small, trim woman wearing jeans and a plaid shirt appeared. Her gray hair was cut into a perfect bob that swung as she moved in to hug Bailey. “He’s a buffoon.”
Bailey laughed. “Yeah, I need less buffoon in my life.”
“Who else is a buffoon? Tom?” The woman frowned.
Bailey gave her a look. “No, Iris, not Tom.”
Iris harrumphed at that before turning to me. I wondered what her problem with Bailey’s boyfriend was. “Who’s this?”
I held out my hand and opened my mouth to speak, but Bailey beat me to it. “Dr. Jessica Huntington. She’s a guest at the inn and she’s wonderful like me so of course we hit it off.”
I laughed and shook Iris’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ira.” The man shook my hand as soon as I let go of Iris’s. “Iris’s husband.”
“Pleasure.”
“So what brought you to Hartwell?” Iris said with curiosity sharp in her eyes.
I decided to give the less complicated explanation. “I work in Wilmington. I wanted to go on vacation but not too far away from work.”
“Hmm. Workaholic,” she pronounced and then swung her hand to the wall behind the cash desk. “Our daughter, Ivy, is just the same.”
I stepped closer to take a look at the photographs. One in particular caught my eye. A gorgeous brunette wearing a floor-length ivory evening gown stood on a red carpet. Standing next to her, his arm around her waist, was a handsome older man in a tux.
“Ivy is a Hollywood screenwriter,” Ira said with pride. “Engaged to Oliver Frost, the director.”
“Wow.” Oliver Frost was a big-time director in Hollywood. He’djust wrapped up filming the last in a teen dystopian franchise that had shot its young stars into the celebrity stratosphere.
“Cool, huh?” Bailey grinned at me. “Ivy and I went to school together. We were best buds until she moved to Hollywood.”
Iris threw her arm around Bailey’s shoulders. “Bailey girl, you are still best buds. You know she loves you more than anyone.” She sighed and stared almost forlornly at the photographs. “Kid just got busy.”
Bailey gave her a squeeze. “I’m showing Jessica around and our first stop is ice cream at Antonio’s. Nothing but the best.”
The couple grinned. Ira moved to behind the
“But you didn’t expect him to be so black-and-white about things.”
No, I really hadn’t.
Bailey contemplated me. “Let me buy you an ice cream cone and I’ll explain a few things.”
“An ice cream cone?” I grinned. I hadn’t had an ice cream cone in years.
“From Antonio’s.” She pointed down the boardwalk to the Italian pizzeria that stood next to Paradise Sands Hotel. “But there’s no Antonio—it’s owned by a couple named Iris and Ira.”
Antonio’s décor was very 1950s diner, with black-and-white-check flooring, red leather booths, and high round black tables with red-leather-topped chrome stools. Every inch of the white walls was covered with black-and-white photographs of Hollywood stars and musicians. All the frames were red or black. It was sleek and it sparkled, it was so clean.
The restaurant itself wasn’t so busy at that time of day, but the ice cream counter had a small line of people at it.
A man with a full head of dark gray hair, a beaming white smile, and a stocky build was manning the counter. He cheerily scooped up ice cream for his customers and as soon as Bailey and I stepped up to the counter that smile went full wattage.
“Sweetheart!” he boomed, lifting the countertop to come out and hug Bailey. “Iris!” he yelled in Bailey’s ear, making her flinchand then giggle like a little girl. “Bailey girl is here!” He turned back to her. “How are you doing? Cooper says you’re run off your feet at the inn. That you need some help. Remember Kevan? Iris’s nephew’s son? He’s in Hartwell. He needs work.”
“She’s not hiring Kevan.” A small, trim woman wearing jeans and a plaid shirt appeared. Her gray hair was cut into a perfect bob that swung as she moved in to hug Bailey. “He’s a buffoon.”
Bailey laughed. “Yeah, I need less buffoon in my life.”
“Who else is a buffoon? Tom?” The woman frowned.
Bailey gave her a look. “No, Iris, not Tom.”
Iris harrumphed at that before turning to me. I wondered what her problem with Bailey’s boyfriend was. “Who’s this?”
I held out my hand and opened my mouth to speak, but Bailey beat me to it. “Dr. Jessica Huntington. She’s a guest at the inn and she’s wonderful like me so of course we hit it off.”
I laughed and shook Iris’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ira.” The man shook my hand as soon as I let go of Iris’s. “Iris’s husband.”
“Pleasure.”
“So what brought you to Hartwell?” Iris said with curiosity sharp in her eyes.
I decided to give the less complicated explanation. “I work in Wilmington. I wanted to go on vacation but not too far away from work.”
“Hmm. Workaholic,” she pronounced and then swung her hand to the wall behind the cash desk. “Our daughter, Ivy, is just the same.”
I stepped closer to take a look at the photographs. One in particular caught my eye. A gorgeous brunette wearing a floor-length ivory evening gown stood on a red carpet. Standing next to her, his arm around her waist, was a handsome older man in a tux.
“Ivy is a Hollywood screenwriter,” Ira said with pride. “Engaged to Oliver Frost, the director.”
“Wow.” Oliver Frost was a big-time director in Hollywood. He’djust wrapped up filming the last in a teen dystopian franchise that had shot its young stars into the celebrity stratosphere.
“Cool, huh?” Bailey grinned at me. “Ivy and I went to school together. We were best buds until she moved to Hollywood.”
Iris threw her arm around Bailey’s shoulders. “Bailey girl, you are still best buds. You know she loves you more than anyone.” She sighed and stared almost forlornly at the photographs. “Kid just got busy.”
Bailey gave her a squeeze. “I’m showing Jessica around and our first stop is ice cream at Antonio’s. Nothing but the best.”
The couple grinned. Ira moved to behind the
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