Page 8 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Meeting?” Quin scoffed. “All this courting. Why doesn’t he just haul her back by her toenails?”
“The counselor’s too preoccupied with his books and laws,” Cully answered.
“And we’re running out of time,” Dalagorn said, shaking his head. “Let’s go get dinner.” Food was usually his solution to unpleasant situations or conversations he wanted to avoid. “I could eat a whole goat.”
“But not this one,” Glennis replied, slapping him on the back of the head as they headed for the dining veranda.
Tyghan stayed behind, saying he’d be along later, but he still heard Quin’s comment floating on the air when they were far down the hallway. “Two skins says Eris comes back empty-handed. . . .”
Not this time, Tyghan thought. This was Kierus and Maire’s daughter. If she wasn’t useful one way, he’d make sure she was useful in another.
CHAPTER 7
Miriam at the Nail Emporium waved Bristol down like she was hailing a taxi and asked her to wait while she ran back inside to get the lunch order from the manicurists. It was a semiregular thing, especially on festival days. Bristol didn’t mind waiting at the curb. The manicurists tipped well, and Sal appreciated their advance orders. Bristol always threw in extra garlic knots for them.
While she waited for Miriam, she spotted Willow shuffling down the sidewalk, her battered hat pulled over her head, her face in shadows as usual. She wasn’t exactly homeless—but you’d never know it by the way she always prowled the roads and streets, even at night.
“Hey, Willow,” Bristol called as she passed.
Willow nodded shyly in return but kept walking, continuing her low singsong humming.
Bristol often left canceled pizzas on her stoop, just to make sure she had something to eat. Willow was as thin as the light poles that lined Main Street. No one in town really knew much about her other than she regularly left gifts of wildflowers tied with twine hanging from doorknobs and she went to every memorial service at the mortuary and cried in the back pew.
A jarring rattle made Bristol turn. It was Pippa Hawkins at Best Threads wheeling a sales rack out onto the sidewalk to encourage shoppers to come inside. A tacky red sign on either end blared 60 Percent Off. They were long, shimmery dresses. The Founder’s Dance was three months ago, and these were the dresses no one wanted. Almost no one.
Wedged between them all, Bristol spotted the mossy-green gown she’d tried on and imagined wearing to the much-talked-about affair. Bristol had never been to any kind of organized dance, much less a fancy one. She remembered the way the dress made her feel. How smooth and snug it was against her skin. Like it was filling up all her empty spaces. Maybe she only loved it because for those few minutes it made her feel like someone else, someone who wasn’t always eyeing the road and the exits, someone who wasn’t aching inside—someone who was staying. That was a lot of love and hope to pin on one overpriced dress.
But with everyone else constantly talking about the dance, including Miriam and Mayor Topz, and with Mick suddenly swooping into her life, hot, charming, and attentive, she’d toyed with the idea. She’d thought maybe they were athing. Whatever that was. She had never stayed in one place long enough to find out. But Mick had intrigued her. He had a compelling magnetism that had caught her unawares.
His pickup line had beenNice bike.Bristol rolled her eyes at that now, but at the time she was vulnerable to his flirtations. He was a cyclist who gave pricey bike tours along the coast to rich tourists. It was obvious her secondhand bike was on its last legs, but he’d stormed into her life at a weak moment, just a few weeks after her father died, and she was scared witless, unsure how she would keep it all together for Cat and Harper. Mick had asked questions like he cared, and she soaked up his attention and touch like it might heal everything that hurt so badly inside her. Sal’s storage room after closing time became their meeting place. Unfortunately, Mick’s intense interest only lasted two weeks. After several steamy encounters, he disappeared without so much as asee ya later. Maybe he had to leave on a sudden tour, but everyone in her life seemed to leave without saying goodbye.
“Here’s our order,” Miriam called as she hurried out, waving a piece of paper.
“Order?” Pippa said, turning away from the rack of clothes she was primping. “Sal didn’t call you?”
“My phone’s not working,” Bristol answered. “Why would he call?”
“He’s closed for the day. Electricity is out.”
The tiny interior of Sal’s Pizza was dark, and the Closed sign was still displayed in the window. There was no scent of baking crusts or simmering sauces. Outside, Sal was in a heated conversation with three hardhats from the power company. Mayor Topz shifted from foot to foot nearby and, when she spotted Bristol, told her what happened. “Apparently, a strange power surge fried the power to his shop.”
“A strange power surge? What does that even mean? Why aren’t they fixing it? How long—”
“Hold on, Bri,” Georgie said, “I can only answer one question at a time.”
But Bristol wanted them all answered at once. All she saw was the prime lunch hour evaporating, her tips disappearing, and the next power outage happening at her house. Between a water line leak and a blown tire on their old van two weeks ago, their small budget was decimated. “But how can—”
“They’re working on it, dear. They said maybe in a few hours—”
Bristol looked up at the sky.Shit.
Sal approached, curbing his cursing when the mayor cleared her throat. Bristol knew the mayor could swear the paint off a wall—but not when the streets were crowded with tourists, especially not on festival days. “Sorry, Bri,” Sal said, his round cheeks slick with perspiration. “Shop’s closed for now. They guessed they might have it fixed by tonight if we’re lucky.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t need luck. I need fucking power.”
The mayor cleared her throat again.
“What caused the surge?” Bristol asked.
“They don’t know yet. They think the transformer’s fine. It’s still powering ten other shops. Only mine was fried. Even they said it makes no sense.” He huffed out a resigned grumble. “You can go home. I’ll call if they get it working before the dinner crowd hits, but it’s not likely.”
