Page 55 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
A staircase on the left side of the gallery led up to a loft space. Along the wall concealing the staircase was a long stretch of flat file cases, all in glossy black melamine, where I assumed (and now I know) art prints were stored. At the very back of the main floor was the sales counter. It was long and sleek and looked like a bar. There were even bar stools—chrome and bright-hued pleather—lined up before it.
I was the only person in that room for about ninety seconds. Then the door behind the sales counter burst open, and Jessie charged forward.
“There’s my girl!” she cried as she bounded toward me. I set my shopping bags down so I could accept her full-body hug.
“Hey!” I called, laughing as we embraced. There is something truly magical about a friendship that can thrive despite nearly twenty years of neglect. “How was your trip?”
She leaned back and grinned up at me. “It was great, and I’ll tell you all about it, but I want you to gird your loins before we eat.”
“I have to gird my loins for lunch? What did you make?” I tried to cock an eyebrow at her, but I’ve never been able to do that, so I think I just wadded up my face.
Jessie laughed at my attempt and patted my cheek with affected sympathy. “Still trying to do that, I see. And still failing.” Then she did an excellent eyebrow-cock herself.
“I’m so jealous,” I sighed. “Why do I need to gird?”
Her expression became sheepish. “I might have conspired. Possibly meddled. But with only the best of intentions.”
Oh boy. I already knew what she’d answer when I asked, “What did you do, Jessica?”
“Um ...” She grinned. “I invited Erin to lunch, too.”
Yep. As I suspected. Erin had been avoiding me. Of course, I suppose I’d been avoiding her as well. I hadn’t made another attempt to see her since that first visit to the tavern. I’d been trying to reconcile myself to not being able to reconcile with her.
I sighed. “Did she know I was coming?”
“Not until about ten minutes ago, no. And yes, she’s pissed—but! I convinced her to stay! That means we can work things out. Get it out in the open and deal with it so we can be the Fates again!”
“Or she stayed so she can tell me how much I suck again.”
“Which would be venting—and venting gets the bad stuff out. That’s progress.”
“Maybe. If you squint.”
“So let’s squint!” Jessie picked up my shopping bags with one hand and hooked the other arm around mine. She dragged me toward the back.
This was going to be an interesting meal. I suspected I would be the entrée.
THE BACK OF THE GALLERYwas both work space and break space, and clearly not only for Jessie. Everything was covered in paint or smeared with dried clay. A front corner was fashioned into a potting studio. Toward the back, surrounded by black pads on the walls and floor that I assumed were fireproofing, was a metal sculpture in progress. Three large work tables were scattered in the middle.
One of those tables was covered by a vintage floral tablecloth, and the beginnings of a lunch spread were laid out on it—plates and flatware, a couple bottles of wine, three wine glasses, a charcuterie board laden with meats I was sure came from Roman, and a couple of bowls of salads.
Sitting on a metal stool at the back of the table, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, was Erin O’Grady, the third of the Fates.
“Hey,” I said with a smile. “I’m happy to see you.”
“Don’t think this means we’re friends again,” she said and then turned to Jessie. “And you’re on fucking probation. I can’t believe youdidthis.”
Jessie gave me a little shove and sent me toward the table. “We have been a team of three since before kindergarten. I’m not giving that up.” She set my shopping bags on the table
“Wewerea team of three since before kindergarten,” Erin countered. “She’s the one that gave it up. Ran out in the middle of the night without a word. Like a rat.”
“I’m sorry, Erin. I don’t have a great excuse, but I want to explain, if you want to hear it.” I sat on a metal stool at the opposite side of the table and started emptying my bags from the Granary: a small brie and fruit arrangement, a box of fresh fry bread, strawberries in balsamic glaze, and six cheesecake tarts.
“I don’t,” she answered flatly.
Jessie sighed. “Er-Bear, comeon! I know you’re glad Lennie’s back. Iknowyou are. How many times did we—”
“Shut up, Jess. Don’t say it.”
