Page 52 of Famous for a Living

Ah. A perfect day for swimming.

“Listen, I gotta go.” I swipe over to check the latest stats on my social media pages before powering down. “I’ll let you know if I survive.”

“I’ll be thinking of you,” Serena says, then adds with a hushed, “Yes. Gables . . . Oh? When did she get here?”

“What are you doing?” My thumb presses the alarm button and the car beeps in the most feminine way possible. Beside us, the horn of Jax’s beat-up Ford blasts out one eardrum.

“I’m getting brunch with Gabby. The poor thing is on the verge of an emotional and mental collapse, so I’m sitting her down for a little life counseling.”

I nearly choke on my own spit. “You?”

“Hey. The girl put up a video of herself prancing around her kitchen to share her recipe for strawberry cream.”

“So?”

“That’s all she was wearing. Strawberry cream.”

I wince.

“I may not be a professional or anything, but you of all people know she’ll be grateful down the road that somebody stepped in and slapped her.”

This is such a signature Serena move.

Leave it to her to be the only one willing to notice someone spiraling and be the only one willing to do something about it. To state the brutal facts while refilling her wineglass, yes, but also hold her hand and help guide her out.

I could’ve used a friend like that in my early years.

I wish her luck, then end the call and take a breath. Look around.

Because I am going to jump.

In a lake.

Of frozen water.

I take in the cars and trucks filling the lot around me. Everybody is dropping clothes like flies. Stripping down to bathing suits and boots, heavy, excited breaths as they hop toward the lake, hugging their bodies with giddy smiles.

“We’d better hurry.” Even Mina is stripping down, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she whips her hat off her double braids. She puts her coat and shoes and hat inside the car, leaving her standing there in the trash can T-shirt over her bare legs.

Insane, I think, pulling off one leather glove.

Everyone here is insane.

I drop my gloves onto the seat. Gradually slip off my white coat, inhaling sharply as the heat abandons me to the fate of the elements. I don’t know which is worse, wearing this hideous T-shirt or being in a T-shirt in twelve degrees.

I pull an elastic band off my wrist and begin pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

“C’mon, girls! Stop primping and get over here!” Jax calls, waving to us from his huddle at the edge of the lake. Unlike the rest of the group, he’s shirtless. Zaiah, the only one who seems to pull the shirt off, crosses his surprisingly muscular arms and gives him a look.

“Let’s go, chickies!” Peggy cries, shaking her cane at us. “The fishes don’t care what you look like!”

More than a couple people passing by raise their Cozy Cups at Mina in salute.

The fact that Mina’s Cozy Cups have sold so rapidly is amazing.

We spent several evenings building up an online storefront, along with social accounts directing people to it. I was reluctant to even post it on my own accounts, convinced I would do her more damage than good. But after Mina repeatedly told me there was nothing to lose and batted her eyes about a hundred times, I gave in and we gave it a shot.

The results were shocking.