Page 18 of Christmas On Anchor Island

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Henri asked, jerking Mia out of her earth-shattering discovery.

“Me?” she said.

“Yes. I’m toying with ideas for the covers for the new series and would love to get an artist’s take on them.”

“Oh, Mia is the perfect person to help you,” Nota said. “You have to go, hon.”

The turn of events was almost too much for Mia to process. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Good. Meet me at Hava Java around eleven then?”

A slew of emotions flooded Mia’s system, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or pinch herself. Not that she’d be revealing the truth to Grandma because of one conversation about a fictional love story, but at least she could spend some time with Henri and not feel as if they had to hide or sneak around. Even this minor freedom felt like a joyful liberation.

“I’ll be there,” she said, trying to contain her excitement.

Conversation again turned to mundane topics while Mia floated several inches above her seat for the rest of the meal. Maybe their coffee date was just to talk about covers and artwork, but it was a date nonetheless and she would take what she could get.

* * *

For the firsttime in longer than she could remember, Henri was nervous. Though the claim about getting Mia’s opinion on new covers had been true, that wasn’t why she’d asked to meet her. Moving the needle a bit on Nota’s ideas on homosexuality in no way meant Mia would suddenly tell her grandmother the truth about who she was. But Henri still wanted Mia in her life. She’d realized that during her months away, which was the real reason for this coffee date.

“Hey there,” Mia said, joining her at a corner table. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up by some geese crossing the road.”

Henri held up a hand as she reached for her phone, and Mia took a seat while she typed the note. Once finished, she set the cell back on the table and said, “I have to put that line in a book. Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course,” Mia replied, removing her scarf and hanging her purse on the back of the chair. Unbuttoning her coat, she said, “Anytime. I’m anxious to see these covers. I’ve never designed one before, but I’m happy to offer whatever feedback I can.”

Time to confess.

“That isn’t really why I asked you here. I mean, I do have covers I want your opinion on, but what I really want is to apologize. Again.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “Apologize for what?”

“For being a jerk right after I apologized for being a jerk.” Leaning forward, Henri braced her elbows on the table and slid her clasped hands forward until they were almost touching Mia’s.

“I’m just going to say this,” she continued. “I like you, and I want to be with you. I want to take you out to eat and learn all your favorite foods. I want to hate-watch movies on the couch together, making snarky comments, and walk along the beach holding your hand. And because I have a tendency to be selfish, wanting all of that turns me into an idiot about you and your grandmother. Not my best trait, for obvious reasons. So I’m sorry. I’ll take having you in my life however that has to happen. If it means we stop at being friends, then that’s better than not having you in my life at all.” Sliding an envelope across the table, she added, “This is my peace offering. Merry Christmas, Mia.”

The woman across the table sat in silence, her eyes darting between the envelope and Henri’s face. “I’m not sure what to say.”

Not the response she’d been hoping for. Ignoring the pain in her chest, Henri pushed the envelope closer. “You don’t have to say anything. Just open it.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “I can’t not reply to that. And I don’t have a present for you.”

“You didn’t even know I would be here. I’m not looking for anything in return.”

Like a child, Mia held the envelope up to the sunlight, trying to see inside. “What is it?”

“You’ll know once you open it.”

Ripping through the paper, she said, “All right, all right, I’m getting there.” She finally pulled the ticket from inside, and Henri waited for the question she knew was coming. “What is this?”

“A ticket to the Gibbes Museum of Art in Charleston. There’s a French Impressionism exhibit running through next summer. I thought you might want to come see it.”

“In Charleston?” Mia looked down at the ticket. “I’m not sure. I mean…”

“Before you say anything else, I want to tell you some news.”

She froze as if afraid of what would come next. “Okay.”

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