Page 56 of Karma's Kiss

“And I swore I’d never go back. How am I supposed to help Queenie with that wedding next weekend? And all the other weddings thereafter?”

Crawford hums like this is a real problem. “You could maybe try to talk to him and smooth things over? I think you’re both owed an apology.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Oh ho,no way. Sawyer’s not getting an apology out of me.”

“All right, so then it’s a proper fight you’re after. Good. I thought I saw some fire in you the first day we met.”

I peer over at him curiously. His profile looks so much like Sawyer’s. He has the same deep-set dimples even when he’s not really smiling. But something’s off. “Why are you being nice to me? Aren’t you on Sawyer’s side?”

“Of course.” He nods. “I love my grandson, which is why I’m here right now, driving you home. Smoothing troubled waters.”

“Can’t smooth these waters,” I insist.

He chuckles under his breath like he knows something I don’t.

I don’t bother asking him what it is. Frankly, I don’t care to hear it.

CHAPTER 14

I can’t workat the Wildflower Weddings office today. I mean, I could, it’s just we no longer have internet. Marge accidentally spilled her coffee on our modem this morning.

“How was I supposed to know that thing was hidden under all my magazines?”

Queenie reassured her it was “all good,” but when the internet guy showed up an hour later with a replacement modem, he took one look at our system and shook his head. “This won’t work. This whole setup must be pre-2005. We’ve got to get you going on a wireless router.”

“Wire-who-now?” Marge asked.

Not wanting to linger in the chaos, I promptly grabbed my laptop and sneaked away to the coffee shop next door. Golden Harvest is adorable and trendy; there are baristas with beanies and acoustic jams filtering through the speakers. We had nothing like this in Oak Hill while I was growing up. If my parents wanted to-go coffee, they’d have to swing by the Presbyterian church and hope there was a pot brewing in the front lobby.Andif the minister happened to see them come in, game over. My brother and I would be stuck out in the carfor fifteen, twenty minutes, bemoaning our circumstances and boredom. That man loves to yap.

I’m reveling in my plentiful megabits per second and my perfectly brewed chai latte when the bell over the door chimes and I spot brunette shining curls.

No!

Charlotte drinks coffee?Why?She seems plenty perky enough without it. Coffee is for people like me, morning trolls who need caffeine to give them something to live for between the hours of seven and nine AM.

She strolls in to take her place in line, and I do the only sensible thing: duck down so my face is squashed against my laptop’s keyboard and pray she doesn’t look over here. I’m still cowering a few minutes later—holding my breath as well—when I sense a presence looming over me. I suddenly feel like an innocent victim in a horror movie. Except when I peer up, it’s not a blood-thirsty murderer looming over me. It’s worse.

Charlotte beams like she’s overjoyed to have found me sitting here. Her hair is styled to perfection and she’s wearing a matching lavender workout set. She’s come to this coffee shop with her own reusable Stanley thermos in tow. Her name is etched onto the side along with a cascade of hearts. She doesn’t have the lid on it; it wouldn’t fit what with all the whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and pink-striped straw.

“Oh hi, Charlotte.”

“Hi, Madison! Are you busy?” She’s eyeing me like she’s not quite sure what I’m doing. After all, I’m still hunched over my computer at an awkward angle.

I think fast and keep my ear pressed against my keyboard, narrowing my eyes and acting like I’m listening for something. “Could have sworn it was making a funny noise…” Then I shrug. “Oh well, stupid technology. What do you need?”

She steps closer and pulls out the chair at my table. If she sees my eyes widen in panic before I rein in my reaction, she doesn’t let on. She tilts her head to the right and looks at me sadly. Her face is the watery-eyes emoji. “I just wanted to apologize for getting in the middle of you and Sawyer. I feelsobad.”

Sawyer told her about our fight?!Are they really that close?

Then she continues, “I could sense the tension at Cruz’s party, and I justhatethat I might have caused any problems.”

Oh. So maybe Sawyer didn’t tell her…she’s just thoughtful enough to pick up on the awkwardness. A bit of my annoyance with her slips away. Up until this moment, I had a bone to pick with this woman, but now I realize maybe she’s not the enemy I thought she was. She seems nice enough, pink and bubbly. Could a person who orders eight parts whipped cream to one part coffee really be that conniving? I’ve never seen an adult consume so many sprinkles in one sitting.

She shrugs apologetically, continuing on, “It’s just that I thought Sawyer deserved to know all the horrible things you were doing behind his back.”

WHOA. Somehow while delivering this bomb she keeps her expression sympathetic. It’s like she wants me to know she’s on my side, really, I just need to understand her point of view.

“It wasn’t like that,” I insist with a defensive laugh. “I know you were listening to my conversation in the bathroom at the restaurant and it was inappropriate of me to carry on in a public place like that, but I really wish you had come to me first before taking the tale to Sawyer. It’s actually really silly that it’s blown up into such a big thing.”

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