How many had she been to this year? Five? Six? The worst part being that there was no wedding in her immediate future. She bit back a sigh of frustration and hefted the shrink-wrapped basket she’d prepared for the occasion. She should have ridden a bike. Then she wouldn’t have had to park her car at the public dock. Now, after a half-mile walk in heels, Tiffany was hot, tired and ready to go home. Unfortunately she hadn’t even reached the party yet. She shifted her grip on the gift and glanced at her watch. If she didn’t hurry she’d be late. Worse, Joy Worther, the bride-to-be, might drive down the long gravel driveway and spot Tiffany struggling along with the bridal basket. She increased her pace. After what seemed an eternity, she rounded a curve in the driveway and spotted the large colonial that Joy had grown up in. Though Tiffany had visited several times in the past, the size of the house always amazed her. It stood boldly in the middle of acres of green lawn and had been one of the more prestigious addresses in the community for years.
