Chapter One
By the time I realized I had ruined two paper doilies, my fingers were already reaching for a third square of red paper.
The first one had torn along the fold because I’d rushed the cut. The second had come out uneven, the curve pulling too far to one side. Mama would say handmade things were meant to show effort, but Mama would also say symmetry mattered when you were hanging decorations over people’s heads.
I folded the paper again, slower this time. I lined the corners up carefully, pressed the crease flat with my thumb, then folded it once more. The paper resisted slightly, stiff from the fresh stack Mama had pulled from storage room that morning. I adjusted my grip on the scissors and began cutting in small, careful motions, keeping my wrist steady.
Around me, the Leisure Center stayed busy. Folding tables stretched across the room in long rows. Plastic bins sat in the center of each table, filled with scissors, glue sticks, ribbon, and paper sorted by colors of red, pink, and cream. Mama had labeled each bin in her tidy handwriting.
The overhead lights were on, bright enough to make the space feel awake even on a gray February afternoon. Sunlight filtered through the tall front windows facing the road and catching on the clean floors. Mama kept them polished enough to reflect movement if you looked down.
Of course she did. She was southern and there wasn’t anything out of place or unclean. Ever. Her thought was if you kept an untidied house, you were not proper. That was Millie Kay Rhinehammer for ya.
Mama stood near the front of the room with a clipboard tucked under her arm. She wore a sweater set and pearls, her blond hair fixed neatly in place. She moved from table to table, stopping to adjust a fold here or straighten a stack there.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, garnering a snicker from Theo Mercer, the only man there. She clapped her hands once to gain everyone’s attention. “Fold first, then cut. Don’t rush. These are going to be hanging from the ceiling, which is our next task, during the Sweetheart Ball, and I want them neat.”
A few women nodded. A few laughed quietly.
I opened the paper and checked the shape. The heart wasn’t perfect, but it would do fine. I placed it in the red basket and reached for another square.
I was here as a volunteer. That was what I told myself, even though Mama had really encouraged me to be there. Since I was the editor-in-chief of the Junction Journal, I would also take this time to get some good candid shots for the newspaper’s online photo gallery under the Valentine’s Day tab. It was the place everyone would go to see what was happening around the village during the festive, heart holiday. There were so many events, I had to make sure they all had some coverage.
The Sweetheart Ball was being held at the Leisure Center this year, and Mama had been talking about it since before Christmas. She saw it as a turning point, proof that the building could host a formal event without borrowing space from the lodge or the marina. Proof that her center belonged at the heart of Holiday Junction’s traditions, when it was usually used for senior citizen activities. Mama refused to even think of herself in that age group.
The Leisure Center was Mama’s second act. She had taken a building most people had written off and turned it into something people depended on. Exercise classes filled the mornings. Bingo nights were booked weeks ahead. Community dances brought people out even when the weather turned cold. Rehearsals for the Leading Ladies squeezed into whatever open slot Mama could find when it was too cold for them at the amphitheater in Celebration Park. Seasonal workshops filled the calendar months in advance.
Mama liked to say she was not running a senior center. She was running a business for the leisurely.
“Red hearts on the left,” she called out. “Pink in the middle. Cream on the right. And please don’t mix patterns.”
“I know better than that,” I said.
Mama glanced at me. “You say that, but I’m still watching.”
I returned to cutting and took in the room without lifting my head. Clara Winslow, owner of the seaside shop that sold knickknacks to tourists, sat at the far end of the table, her back straight, her shoulders tight. She cut her paper with sharp, deliberate movements, the scissors opening and closing in a clipped rhythm. She hadn’t said much since she arrived. Every so often, her eyes shifted toward the front doors.
Across from her, Maribel Frost, the owner of the Old Candy Shop. Her shop was a staple in Holiday Junction. Maribel leaned back in her chair, one ankle crossed over the other. Her scissors rested loosely in her hand. She watched Mama, then the room, then the door again. When she noticed me looking, she gave a brief smile and bent over her paper.
Just looking at her made my mouth water for a piece of the homemade taffy sold in her candy store.
The tension in the room was quiet. It stayed tucked beneath polite conversation and the steady work of folding and cutting.
Someone at the next table asked about ribbon length. Mama stepped in to answer, demonstrating with her hands. Eleanor Pike rose without a word to fetch more supplies from the storage cabinet. She moved carefully, quietly, returning with ribbon spools balanced in her arms.
The front doors opened. The sound carried farther than it should have.
Lily Fairmont stepped inside.
I’d noticed how the conversation didn’t stop, but it shifted. Everyone started to talk in a lower voice, chairs adjusted and folks sat up and really started to focus on their task.
It didn’t go unnoticed on the effect Lily had when she walked in.
You see, Lily was in charge of the Sweetheart Ball this year. She was not in charge of the Leisure Center, and with Mama and her in the same room, let’s just say that the air thinned. Both women loved to be in charge.
Lily paused just inside the entrance, her coat still buttoned to the collar, her gloves folded neatly in one hand. Her hair was styled smoothly and deliberately, parted precisely and tucked behind one ear. Her makeup was subtle but exact. She stood straight, shoulders back, chin level. Her gaze moved through the room in a practiced sweep, from the folding tables to the baskets of decorations to Mama standing at the front.
She took in details without appearing to stare. When she smiled, it was measured. Controlled. The kind of smile people trusted because it never revealed more than it intended. She looked like someone accustomed to walking into rooms and being accommodated.
“Millie Kay,” she said as she crossed the floor and put her gloves in her coat pocket. “This looks wonderful.”
Mama brightened. “We’re still in progress, but we’re getting there.”
“I can see that,” Lily said. “It’s coming together nicely.”
She walked slowly, her attention shifting from one detail to the next. The garlands draped over chair backs. The unfinished table runners folded at the end of one table. The baskets of doilies sorted by color.
“The hearts might look better staggered,” she said lightly. “Straight lines can feel a little stiff in a room like this.”
Mama paused, just long enough for me to notice. Then she nodded. “That makes sense. We can do that,” Mama’s accommodation to Lily’s request took me back a second.
Then I noticed how everyone had too noticed. Clara’s scissors stopped. Maribel pressed her lips together.
Lily turned toward me. “And you even got Violet here to help.”
I stood and brushed bits of paper from my jeans.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, using my best Southern manners. “I brought my camera to get some candid shots for the paper too. So if you see me walking around taking a photo of you, just act natural.”
“I’ve heard some good things about the online version,” she said. Her nose curled slightly. “I don’t actually read it the Junction Journal. I’m subscribed to the New York Journal. I prefer something more global. Not so focused on small towns.”
She paused, then smiled again.
“But your paper is good for the community,” she finished in what I believed was like an insult. But I pinched my lips and decided this was for mama.
“Thank you,” I said and sucked in a deep breath. “Now that Mama owns it, we’ve got a lot of great new ideas.”
I lied. I really lied. Mama rarely had an opinion on the Journal, and for the most part, she just let me run it, with Radley as my one real employee.
Lily picked up one of the doilies and turned it over in her hand. “Who made this?”
“I did,” Eleanor said quietly.
Eleanor sat near the wall, close to a stack of folded chairs. She wore a plain cardigan and sensible shoes. Her posture was straight, and her hands were folded neatly in her lap.
“You have a steady hand,” Lily said and put the doily back down.
“I try,” Eleanor replied.
“Millie Kay,” Lily said, already turning away, “I’ll need the side office for a few short meetings this week before the ball. Nothing that should interfere with your schedule.”
“That’s fine,” Mama said. “Any time.”
“I’ll want tea,” Lily added. “Chamomile. With honey. No lemon.”
Mama nodded. “We’ll have it ready.”
Eleanor nodded too, already stepping toward the kitchenette area to check supplies.
I noticed that everyone seemed to jump when Lily wanted something.
Lily continued through the room, stopping briefly at each table. Compliments came easily. Corrections were phrased as suggestions. Nothing sounded demanding, but nothing sounded optional either.
She paused beside Clara. “I hope you’re still planning to attend the Ball.”
Clara looked up. “Yes, of course.” Clara’s face held confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“No reason. But I’m glad,” Lily said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
She moved on without waiting.
Near the refreshment table, Theo Mercer adjusted the coffee urn for the third time. His eyes stayed on Lily. When she glanced his way, he looked down.
Janine Holloway, the young woman Lily had called her assistant, slipped in behind Lily, phone already in hand. She leaned close and whispered something. Lily nodded once without turning.
When Lily left, the room eased. The tension didn’t disappear, but it loosened. Scissors resumed their rhythm. Conversation returned in careful pieces.
“Is everything okay with y’all?” I leaned closer to Eleanor and pointed my scissors toward the door where Lily had vanished.
“It’s all fine. You know Lily, if you say the wrong thing, even look at her wrong, she’ll try to get you kicked out of every social circle in Holiday Junction,” Eleanor said with a snicker, but her tone held the truth.
“So none of you try to have a friendly conversation with her?” I asked, knowing this was not how friendship was supposed to go. “Or even have your own opinions?”
Mama clapped her hands loudly before Eleanor could answer.
“All right. Let’s keep moving. We only have a couple of days until the ball, and I’d really like to get the decorating done today while I have you here.” She clasped her hands and drew them down in front of her. “I just want to take this moment to thank you so much for volunteering. I know many of you took off work today or came just to help on your lunch breaks. Thank you. All of this couldn’t’ve happened without you.”
Oh, that made me feel better. I was glad to see Mama thank everyone who showed up. And by the smiles on their faces, I could tell they appreciated it too.
I picked up another square of paper. Folded. Cut. Opened. Stacked.
Lily and Janine came back into the room. I watched and notice how Clara stiffened, then shifted her body in her chair away from where Lily was standing. And then she and Maribel gave each other the side-eye.
I told myself I was just helping, that I wasn’t working, and tried to put my journalistic instincts aside. But my attention stayed fixed on the room. I watched who relaxed and who didn’t. It was fascinating what you could learn from body language. From what Eleanor said about how Lily could get you kicked out of the social circles in our little village told me a lot about why mama was keeping her cute little southern mouth all buttoned up.
Mama loved social circles more than she loved a good casserole at a funeral repass.
Lily Fairmont hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t demanded anything outright. She had simply entered the room and shifted it. I wondered how often she did that.
I kept cutting paper and paying attention, and I looked at Lily when her phone rang.
Her expression changed when she looked at the screen. She tapped the phone once, then again.
“I can’t talk right now,” she said, louder than when she’d been talking to us. Her smile disappeared. “This is not the place,” she said sternly. “I told you not to do this.” Lily turned toward the doors. “I said do not show up here,” she snapped.
She stopped short.
“What do you mean you’re already here?” she asked then hurried down the hall.
Mama froze near the front. Clara stared at her paper. Maribel lifted her head slowly. Theo looked toward the doors. Janine straightened. Eleanor stayed seated, hands folded, eyes lowered.
“I told you not to come,” Lily’s voice echoed from the hallway. “We will handle this later.”
Everyone in the room looked around as if we were all trying to read each other’s minds. No one spoke.
Mama cleared her throat. “All right. Let’s keep moving.”
Scissors started again. Conversation returned in careful pieces. In my head, I was already planning out how my gossip sesh with mama was going to go since she appeared to have all the scoop and didn’t warn me before I got here.
I folded another square of paper, but my hands had gone stiff as soon as my intuition clicked in. Something told me Lily’s phone call wasn’t over, and before the Sweetheart Ball rolled around, it was going to become everyone’s business.
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