Page 21 of Unforgiven in Cheshire Bay

Even if Summer would disagree. She had a gift for the whole social media marketing thing, but she also spent all day long on it. There wasn’t a lot of personal interaction with her and customers, it was all digital in her world, whereas I preferred getting my hands dirty and one-to-one customer interactions.

“This would make for a neat photo though. Show your fans where the magic happens.”

I surveyed the space, trying to see it as a customer would. Would they think it was messy? Would they scour to see neat finds, and several works in progress? I tipped my head from side to side.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“And it doesn’t have to be anything time-consuming either. Apparently, the rawer and more real, the more customers like it.” He shrugged. “Or so I’m told by my social media rep.”

“You have a social media rep?” Why was I so surprised?

He blew out a long breath and shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. “Have to, nowadays. A few years back someone, or a group of someones, I’ll never know, slammed my social media sites with hate and vulgarity, and claimed I gave them food poisoning.”

The heat in my cheeks ratcheted up another hundred degrees.

He was referring to me. Years ago, after I’d recovered physically from my incident, I had created dozens of email and social media accounts and blasted his restaurant with negative reviews. I wasn’t kind, but then again, he wasn’t either when I’d called to complain, and asked for a mediocre bit of recuperation.

“Wow.” It wasn’t the best response in my toolbox, but it would have to do.

“Yeah. Health inspectors came out and gave me a solid workout, but they found nothing out of line, and everything was within safe limits. Things settled down for a while, but then it all fired up again so I hired a social media rep to watch my sites so I could take the offense rather than the defense. The hate and lack of response wasn’t a good look for the restaurant, but looking back now, maybe not replying to that group worked. Eventually, the hateful comments slowed down. Although one – EatHere&GetSick – still pops up on occasion.

Well, yeah, I couldn’t let people forget. And it wasn’t that often. My last posting was at least a couple of months ago.

“Did you ever find the person or persons responsible?” I swallowed and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t heard the lump go down my throat, and that his answer was no.

“No.”

I exhaled.

“And I gave up. Every direction led nowhere.”

“That’s too bad.” Did I sound sincere? I hoped so.

“Anyway, I’m sorry, I got off topic. What were we talking about?” He stared into my eyes, holding me in place.

“Social media. The need for a rep. Weird, unstaged pictures of my workspace.” Blinking, I tore my gaze away and over to the carving I had been working on.

“Right.” He stepped a little closer and lowered a shoulder, a teasing grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. “Would it be weird if I—”

A doorbell chime sounded out from my phone while also lighting up the display with the notification. Vera had opened the door of the house; she was outside.

I put my hand up to stop David from talking, both grateful for the interruption and a little sad, as I wanted to know the rest of his question. “Sorry, just a second.”

The doorbell chimed again as the door to the workshop opened, and my little girl sauntered in, instantly halting in her tracks.

“Who’s that?” She vocalized in a high-pitched squeak unrecognizable to most as she signed.

“This is Mr. Dean,” I signed his name and carried on. “I’m designing a custom piece for him.”

“Nice.” Her palms swiped together.

I faced David and stood protectively in front of my child. “This is my daughter, Vera.”

I expected a gentle wave and a forced hello, instead, he hunched down to her level, and repeated the gesture back, addingnice to meet you.

My jaw hit the floor. He knew ASL.

Francesca burst through the door, sending another set of chimes off. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry. I was in the bathroom.”

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