Page 9 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Erika

“ A re you sure this isn’t too slutty?”

When I get no reply, I turn from the mirror to find Hazel Spencer studying me.

Crossing her legs, she leans back in my desk chair.

“You’re wearing my clothes, and I haven’t had sex since I last cut my hair.

” Cool as can be, she shifts her waist-length dark waterfall over one shoulder.

“I’m going with no. Nothing about what you’re wearing screams ‘promiscuous woman’ to me. ”

“All right.”

Count on Hazel Spencer to give it to me straight. And to give me free access to her abundant collection of designer clothing.

“I was mostly talking about the tube top thingy.” I turn back to the mirror and tug at the triangle of cream-colored crochet covering my breasts. It’s fixed at my back with a suede belt contraption, which Hazel helped hook for me. “There’s no way I’ll be able to get this off by myself.”

“That’s why you’ve got Mason, right?” Hazel’s lips twitch.

“Right.” I feel bad fibbing, but no way can I tell her this thing isn’t real. Hazel Spencer might be my friend, but she’s Mason’s cousin first. Family trumps friendship; everyone knows that.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating him.” She picks up her tall glass of ice water, looking like a freakin’ movie star in fitted black pants and a filmy gold top. I complimented it when she got here, and Hazel murmured, “Versace,” like I’d know what that meant.

But back to the dilemma at hand. “I hope it’s okay I didn’t tell you Mason and I had been seeing each other.”

“I get it.” She sets down her glass on a coaster. “I’m not really upset. I get why you might keep it secret.”

“You do?”

“Of course. It’s one thing you and I have in common.”

I blink in surprise. It’s tough to imagine two women with less in common than the stunningly beautiful daughter of a white-collar criminal and a grownup tomboy who still lives in her childhood home.

I’m the latter, in case there’s a question.

But we’re friends, so I ask, “What do we have in common besides the fact that we’re both fabulous?”

Hazel laughs, which she doesn’t do often. “We both play our cards close to the vest. We don’t let on when we like someone until it becomes utterly, painfully, embarrassingly obvious.”

“That sounds…” Awful? Miserable? Embarrassing? “Accurate.”

“Exactly. So I get why you wouldn’t want anyone to know about you and Mason.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Not at all.”

“This is why I love you.” I turn to the mirror, admiring my fancy borrowed outfit. “And I really like this top.” I turn to the side and admire how the creamy crochet flows into a triangle that points at my crotch. “Aren’t tube tops kinda hoochie?”

“It’s not a tube top.” Hazel sighs. “It’s a cotton and suede luxury bandana top from Miu Miu, which is made by Prada.”

“I recognized ‘cotton’ and ‘suede.’ The rest of that went over my head.”

With the patience of Job, Hazel gets up and comes over to floof up my outfit. The skirt skims my knees like a slinky-soft dream, and it looks like a dark blue bandana. We’re going for a scarf theme, I guess.

I already asked what it’s made of, and Hazel said, “silk.” After she dressed me, I ran to the bathroom to pee. While I was there, I Googled the label and nearly dropped my phone in the toilet. The skirt’s made by ETRO and cost four-thousand dollars.

“I can’t wear this.” I tried to take it off when I got back to my room, but Hazel wouldn’t hear of it.

“Why on earth not?” She wrapped a snappy jean jacket over my shoulders. “It’s perfect for a barn wedding.”

“If you’re the freakin’ Queen of England, maybe.” Christ, I’ve owned cars that cost less than this.

“The Queen of England wouldn’t be caught dead attending a wedding at a wildlife sanctuary. Quit fussing and put on the boots.”

I obeyed and politely refrained from asking if those cost more than my house. The jacket seems like something I might have found at a thrift store, but I knew enough to guess it probably came from Paris and was sewn with the gossamer hair of a dozen denim-clad angels.

Have I mentioned Hazel has lots of nice clothes?

“Thanks again for looking in on my dad while I’m gone,” I say as I survey myself in the mirror.

“I’m happy to.”

“I wish you were going to the wedding.”

“Same.” She looks a little wistful. “Leave it to the board of trustees to schedule a meeting on a wedding weekend.”

“To be fair, we’ve got so many weddings lately that it would be tough to find a weekend without one.”

“True.” She still looks bummed. It’s gotta be tough running her father’s zillion-dollar business alone.

“I’ll sneak you an extra-big piece of wedding cake.”

“Deal.” Hazel smiles. “I’ll split it with your dad.”

She’s so damn kind. It was her idea to check on my father a few times this weekend. He’s perfectly independent, considering he’s spent more than two decades in a wheelchair.

But thanks to his previous life as a construction contractor, my father has trouble resisting the urge to tinker with the house.

He’s got a cool, all-terrain track wheelchair he uses to get around job sites and navigate our wooded acre at the south end of the lake.

The oldest section of our house was built in 1963, so there’s plenty to fix, and even more ways to wind up in trouble.

“I told him we can play chess and eat Cheetos,” Hazel says. “He seemed to like that.”

“Is that why he had me grab three different flavors at the grocery store?”

“I don’t even like Cheetos.”

“I figured.” My friend is more of a gourmet girl.

“Please tell your father I don’t plan to go easy on him.”

“Oh, he knows. Believe me.” I think that’s why he loves playing chess with Hazel. “He likes the fact that you’re a ruthless bitch.”

“Thank you.” She looks genuinely pleased. “He’s a delight to play with.”

“I love that you hang out together.” And I love that my father gives Hazel a paternal figure in her life who didn’t scam his family and wind up in prison. “How’s your dad doing, anyway?”

“Fine.” Her lips press together in a line. “I drove over to see him last weekend.”

I let that thread drop, not wanting to upset her. Hazel’s the one who turned over the evidence that landed her dad behind bars. Suffice it to say, it’s a touchy subject.

A knock at my door sends me spinning to answer. Tugging it open, I hike up the hem of my skirt.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, cupcake.” He wheels through the doorway and pivots his chair to face Hazel. “Hello, Hazel. Ready to get crushed this weekend?”

She gives him a slow, feline smile. “I look forward to destroying you.”

Laughing, my dad spins to survey my outfit. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.” I turn to the mirror and frown. “I’m still not sure about this.”

My dad doesn’t look at the clothing. He stares at the ceiling and frowns. “Is that spot getting bigger?”

“Maybe a little.” I peek in the bucket I that keep under the leak when it rains, which, okay, is most of the time. It’s winter on the Oregon Coast. “Did you find someone to give us a roof repair bid?”

“Luke Lovelin said he’d swing by this weekend.” Something falls off the desk, and we turn to see Hazel scooping up the contents of her spilled purse. “Need a hand?”

“I’m okay.” She’s shoveling things into her bag without looking at us. “Just clumsy.”

My father swings back to me. “Anyway, Luke might fix the roof as a trade.”

“What are you trading?”

“I said I’d consult on a project he’s doing. Gotta see how the bids shake out.”

“That sounds fair.” When my dad lost the use of his legs, we had a few years of struggle.

Dad had a hard time letting go of his career in construction, but eventually trained as an ADA consultant.

If anyone needs help making sure their new building is wheelchair-accessible, my dad is your go-to guy.

“Hazel,” he says, spinning to face her. “You staying for dinner tonight? I’m making my famous shrimp tacos.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” She checks her watch and winces. “Sorry, I need to get going.” She stoops down to kiss my dad’s cheek. “Good seeing you, Greg.”

“You too, kiddo.”

“Wait,” I call as she strides for the door. “Are you sure you don’t mind loaning me your clothes?”

“Please.” Hazel gives me a hug draped in fancy perfume. “Most of that stuff was going in the donation bin anyway. It’s from last season and?—”

“Oooh, last season?” I pretend to shudder. “Get these rags off me.”

Hazel rolls her eyes. “I’ll leave you some backup options. Text me a pic of what you decide on. And if I don’t see you before the wedding, have a safe trip.”

“Bye, Haze,” I shout after her. “Thanks again.”

As soon as she’s gone, I turn to my dad. “Be honest—do I look okay, or more like a high-class barnyard hooker?”

Spinning his wheelchair around, my father studies me. “You look like an angel.”

Of course he’d say that. “I wish I knew more about clothes.”

“And most people wish they knew more about auto repair.” He winks. “Which one would you say comes in handier?”

“Depends on who you are, I guess.” My dad has a point, though. I wouldn’t trade my mechanical knowledge for all the clothes in the world.

It’s what helps me make sure other families won’t end up like mine.

The accident that claimed Mom’s life and left Dad in a chair could have been prevented.

It should have been prevented, if the lazy mechanic who rotated their tires had managed to tighten the lug nuts.

Driving sixty on a curved, rainy highway is not the best time to have your tire fly off.

I shake off the memory and remove Hazel’s boots. “Did you really make shrimp tacos?”

“Yep! And I already set the table, so come out when you’re ready.”

“You’re the best.”

“See you in a sec.” He wheels toward the doorway, then pauses. “And you really do look like a million bucks. Your mom would be proud.”