Page 11 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Miles
The late afternoon light poured into the kitchen like honey, warm and slow, cascading through the oversized windows and pooling onto the Calacatta quartz countertops. I stood at the center island—the heart of this culinary kingdom—arranging glassware with the reverence of a priest preparing a sacred ritual. Everything was in its place: tall, slender flutes chilled to perfection, their crystal-clear sides sweating slightly in anticipation of what was to come.
The drink I had envisioned was a masterpiece. A summer cocktail that balanced elegance and refreshment, with just enough whimsy to make it feel like a celebration. Into a silver shaker, I added freshly muddled white peaches, the juice glistening like liquid gold. I followed with a splash of elderflower liqueur—sweet, floral, the fragrance like a hidden garden in full bloom. A squeeze of lemon juice for brightness and a whisper of rosemary syrup for that unexpected herbal twist. I added ice and shook it gently, just enough to marry the flavors without bruising the fruit.
Then came the showstopper:Bisol Prosecco. Cold, dry, and effervescent, I poured it slowly into each flute after straining the mixture in, watching the bubbles rise like tiny celebrations trapped in crystal. To finish, I slid a thin slice of white peach along the rim and floated a single rosemary sprig inside each glass.Perfection. Absolute, sparkling perfection.
“Voilà,” I said aloud, placing one glass before my mother, who was seated on a high-backed linen barstool at the island. She was already dressed in something delightfully theatrical—a cream linen jumpsuit cinched with a vintage gold belt and a floppy matching hat tilted at an angle that could only be described as fabulous.
Cecilia lifted the glass with a dainty flourish. “Darling, if the rest of the world drank like this, there’d be no need for therapy.”
I smiled, clinking my glass gently against hers. “To relaxation.”
“To escape,” she added with a wink, taking a sip. “Oh, that’s divine. Is that rosemary?”
“Yup. You nailed it. Rosemary syrup. And white peach. And prosecco, of course.”
“You’re wasted on this world, my love.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at my mother’s typical histrionics before I took a slow sip, letting the delicate layers of flavor wash over me. “I have a reservation at Blue Moon for six-thirty. Thought I’d treat myself beforehand.”
“Ah, Blue Moon,” she mused, swirling her drink. “Where the lighting is flattering, the service is seductive, and the filet mignon makes you believe in God.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I made the reservation weeks ago when I was actually on schedule to be down here. Owen was supposed to go with me, but…”
She reached over and patted my hand. “His loss. You go, look stunning, eat something sinful, and maybe lock eyes with a charming stranger across the dining room.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for charming strangers,” I admitted
“Well then, lock eyes with the wine list instead,” my mother quipped.
We laughed, the sound echoing warmly off the marble and brass.
“What about you? What are your glamorous plans for the evening?” I asked.
She took another long sip. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I’m meeting a few friends at the Lewes Yacht Club. Aperitifs, dinner, a few cocktails. Possibly a scandal or two if the mood strikes.”
“Should I be concerned?” I questioned, honestly a little bit worried, knowing my mother and her debauchery.
“Only if you find me in the Cape Gazette society pages tomorrow.” She grinned. “I thought I’d take Topper for a walk tonight around Gordon’s Pond when I return. The breeze is lovely out there, and he’s earned some fresh air after all this lounging. It gives you an excuse to actually socialize in town until the later hours.”
“He is a bit of a beach bum… but I appreciate it.”
“He gets it from you,” she replied.
I laughed and leaned in to hug her. She smelled faintly of lilacs and expensive perfume. “Thank you for being here,” I genuinely said.
“Where else would I be?”
“Well, no matter where, I’m truly glad you are here with me,” I confessed.
“I’d rather be nowhere else, darling.”
After taking another delicate sip from our drinks, I grabbed mine and stepped outside to the back deck. The wind lifted the hem of my linen shirt as I descended the steps onto the private path lined with seagrass, the wooden planks leading me toward the beach. The sand, still warm from the sun, sifted between my toes with every step.
I walked until the dune line opened into a vista of rolling waves and sky. The sea was a deep, endless blue, the kind of hue that steals your breath. Wisps of clouds streaked the horizon like brushstrokes, and the setting sun threw ribbons of gold and rose over the water. The air was alive with salt and promise.
I sank into a lounge chair stationed at the edge of the deck, cradling my cocktail in one hand. The bubbles tickled my nose as I breathed in the moment. It was quiet except for the rhythmic hush of waves collapsing onto the shore. I let my mind wander.
