Page 3 of Shadowed Fate

Chapter 2

Brigid

The last customer shuffles out, the bell above the door tinkling as they leave, and I exhale, my shoulders dropping as I reach for the broom. Before I can start sweeping, the bell chimes again.

"Brigid, my girl! Still working?"

My heart lifts at the familiar voice. Fiona bustles in, her tote bag swinging dangerously from her arm, threatening to spill its contents across the floor.

"Hey Fiona," I say. "Just have to stay a bit later today."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You're coming with me for coffee. Lord knows you need it after dealing with these crusty old tools all day." She winks, and I stifle a laugh.

"I don't know if I can—" I start, but Fiona's already tugging at my sleeve.

"John!" she calls out, her voice carrying through the store. "I'm stealing your niece. Hope you don't mind!"

John emerges from the back room, his face pinched. "Actually, Brigid needs to stay late tonight."

Fiona's eyes narrow behind her glasses. "Oh, I'm sure you don’t plan on keeping the poor girl later than she’s supposed to be here, John?" Her tone is light, but there's steel beneath it.

"It's okay, Fiona," I murmur. "I can stay."

But Fiona's not backing down. She fixes John with a look that could strip paint.

I watch John's face closely, seeing the conflict play out. He doesn’t want to lose face, but a battle of wills with Fiona wasn’t part of his plan for the day.

John's shoulders slump. "Fine," he mutters. "Go on, then. But be here early tomorrow, Brigid."

"Of course," I nod, then grab my bag and cardigan from the back. As Fiona shepherds me towards the door, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have grown up with someone always in my corner like this.

As we step out onto Main Street, I smile at Fiona's presence beside me. Her purple corduroy jacket and her rainbow colored feathered scarf fluttering in the breeze guarantee she's going to stand out here. We're not known for being especially adventurous when it comes to style in this town. I've always admired how bold she is, like she expects people to stare at her and enjoys it.

"You know, Fiona, you’ve got giant balls being seen in public with me." I say it jokingly, but there’s the sharp sting of truth, and we both know it.

She snorts. "Oh, be quiet. You're the only interesting person in this shitty little town. Besides, who else would appreciate my dirty jokes?"

I laugh, feeling some of the day's stress melt away. As we walk, I see the streetlights flickering to life, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The sky turns deep pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.

The bell above the door rings as we enter the coffee shop, and I'm immediately enveloped by the warmth and aroma of freshly ground beans. The place is buzzing with the after-work crowd, a cacophony of voices and the hiss of espresso machines filling the air.

Fiona saunters up to the counter, her oversized tote bag stuffed with books and papers nearly knocking several people over. “Well, hello there, handsome," she croons at the young barista, who can't be more than nineteen. His cheeks flush as red as the cherries on the cakes in the display case.

"What can I get for you today, ma'am?" He stammers.

Fiona leans in conspiratorially. "How about a little extra cream in my latte, darling? I won't tell if you don't." She winks and slides a five-dollar bill across the counter.

I can't help but smirk as I watch the poor kid's internal struggle play out on his face. "I'll have a black coffee," I interject, saving him from his dilemma.

"Oh, and two slices of Georgie's cherry cake," Fiona adds. "That woman's baking is better than... well, never mind." She cackles at the barista's widening eyes.

As we settle into a table by the window, I cradle my steaming mug, grateful for its warmth against my perpetually cold hands. Fiona's eyes lock onto mine, her expression softening. "How are you doing, girl? Really?"

I shrug, my go-to response. "Surviving."

Fiona's brow furrows, but before she can press further, she grins mischievously. "Well, speaking of doing, did you hear about the nun who went to her gynecologist?"

I groan, knowing what's coming. "Fiona, please—"

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