“Again?”
“She thinks we should take over the whole parking lot behind the community center. Set up twice as many booths.”
“Where would people park?”
“Exactly what I said. She told me we could arrange a shuttle from the church lot.” Sally rolled her eyes. “A shuttle. For Springtide. Like we’re running some kind of major operation.”
“She does like her big ideas.”
“She likes the idea of big ideas. The actual logistics, she leaves to everyone else.” Sally shook her head. “I told her we’d discuss it at the next planning meeting. Which means I have a week to figure out how to talk her out of it without making her dig in.”
Winnie smiled. Sally had been managing difficult people on the festival committee for fifteen years. She’d figure it out. She always did.
Sally set her cup down with a small clink against the saucer. “I saw Grant and Emily in town the other day.”
“Did you?”
“They looked comfortable together.”
“Did they?”
Sally gave her a look. “Winnie. I’ve heard from at least four people this week about the two of them. You’re going to pretend you don’t know anything?”
Winnie added a spoonful of honey to her tea and stirred it slowly, watching the honey dissolve in amber spirals. “I know Grant asked her to show her work at the festival.”
“And?”
“She said no.” Winnie sighed. “He’s asked twice. She keeps finding reasons to refuse.”
Sally frowned, reaching for another cream puff. “That’s a shame. I know you said the painting she did of your grandfather’s study was wonderful. Full of emotion.”
“Emily’s talented. More talented than she knows or admits.” Winnie set her cup down. “But that awful situation in Chicago did a number on her confidence.”
“That Julian fellow, right? Franklin’s son?”
“Yes.” Winnie’s jaw tightened. “And he’s still at it, apparently. Emily mentioned he sent her another message last week.”
“That’s horrible.” Sally shook her head, genuine anger flashing across her face. “Emily’s been cleared of any wrongdoing. The courts said so. What more does this Julian person want?”
“I don’t think it’s about the truth for him. It’s about blame. About grief, maybe.” Winnie picked up her tea again. “But whatever his reasons, it’s working. Emily’s terrified to put her work out there.”
They sat with that for a moment. The clock on the wall ticked. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed.
Sally leaned back in her chair, studying Winnie’s face. “Grant must really believe in her if he keeps asking.”
“He does.” Winnie couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips, and Sally caught it immediately.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That. That little—” Sally gestured vaguely at Winnie’s face. “You know something.”
“I don’t know anything.” She tried for innocence, focusing intently on her tea.
Sally laughed. “Winnie Lockhart, I’ve known you your whole life. Don’t even try.”
Winnie sighed. There was no point trying to hide things from Sally. Never had been, not since they were seven years old and Sally had figured out that Winnie was the one who’d accidentally broken the window in the Wilsons’ shed. “Fine. I think there might be something between them. Or starting to be.”
