Page 102 of Brewbies
TWENTY-ONE
Pulping
PROCESS OF REMOVING THE OUTERMOST SKIN OF THE COFFEE CHERRY OR FRUIT
“Areyou sure there isn’t anything we can do to convince you to stay?”
Cady’s big blue eyes bored into Darby’s, and the pleading expression on her face was powerful enough to produce a quasi-maternal twinge in Darby’s middle.
Hopefully her last.
She and Gemma stood opposite Darby in the entryway of Nevermore Bookstore negotiating their way through the third round of goodbye hugs.
“I’m positive,” Darby said.
As positive as her pregnancy test had been negative, thank whomever. She’d been in such an awful funk for the last two weeks that she’d damn near convinced herself ithadto be the hormonal warmup act of her having conceived a love child.
A child she had one hundred percent never imagined having large icy-blue eyes and a tiny cleft in its tiny chin.
Just like she had never imagined dressing it in a crisp flannel onesie and itty-bitty khaki overalls. That was the thing about onesies—they kind of always had to be tucked in.
And here she’d thought the whole biological clock thing had been a crock of shit.
Ethan Townsendhadto have altered her brain chemistry in some unimaginable way. A fact she intended to move about a thousand Mai-Tais as soon as her camper was safely parked in the long-term storage facility in Seattle, where she would catch her flight to Hawaii.
Sunshine, cocoa butter rub-downs, and perfectly roasted Kona coffee beans, here I come,she promised herself.
If only she could figure out how to be excited about that promise.
“But who’s gonna keep me in ill-advised iced evening coffees while I finish up the wedding planning?” Cady’s rosebud mouth turned downward at the corners.
Gemma cleared her throat conspicuously.
“I mean, I totally love your version of the Dirty Earl,” Cady quickly added, resting a hand on Gemma’s forearm. “It’s just that Darby has that homemade Madagascar vanilla-bergamot syrup that I love.”
This subtle ribbing between the bookstore proprietress and her best friend was only one more tick mark in the column labeled Reasons to Get the Fuck Out of Townsend Harbor.
Darby couldn’t bear the thought of unintentionally driving a wedge between two of the four women who had welcomed her with arms thrown unapologetically wide.
“We tried,” Gemma said, squeezing Cady’s shoulder.
“Well, if you’re really going, then I guess you better take this with you.” Stiffly bending at the knees, Cady reached behind the beautiful old credenza register and came back with a purple gift bag tufted with black and lavender tissue paper.
“What’s this?” Darby asked.
“Nothing much.” Gemma shrugged. “Just a little something to remember us by.”
An ache woke in Darby’s throat. “As if there’s a single chance in hell I’d forget you two,” she said, eyeing the bag. “Should I open it now?”
“Yes!” Gemma and Cady said in unison with cheerleader-like zeal.
“All right, then.” Darby set the bag on the credenza and began pulling out the tissue.
One by one, she unwrapped smaller tissue-wrapped packets bearing a surprising assortment of items for the bag’s small size. She had only reached the fifth of approximately thirty packets when she covertly glanced at her cell phone and felt a jolt of alarm.
She had a forty-five-minute drive to Kingston to catch the 4:15 p.m. ferry, and it was already 3:20 p.m. Darby didn’t want to seem rude by tearing through the remainder of what Cady and Gemma had so thoughtfully assembled, so she relied on an old Dunwell standby.
“Actually, would you mind if I use your restroom right quick? I already have all the water drained from the camper’s sanitation tank.”
