I make quick work of scrubbing the last dish, slide it into the rack, pull the drain’s plug, and throw my suds-covered hands up in the air,justas the coffee machine beeps, signaling it’s ready to be poured out.
“Impressive,” Tom says.
I bow my head, turning toward our women, who seem to be discussing wedding details as Prue stands behind her mother, braiding her long, gray hair. “Coffee, anyone?”
“No,” Prue answers decidedly, sliding the hair tie off her wrist. “It’s a wedding! We should have champagne.” She looks toward me and her dad before she says, “The real stuff.”
Julia gasps, reaching over her shoulder to take hold of Prue’s wrist. “Oh! Yes!”
“IthinkI have some locked away in my office. I’ll go—”
“Allow me,” I say, patting Tom’s shoulder. “Four glasses of champagne, coming right up.” I grab Tom’s office keys off the wall by the back door, then make my way down the hall toward his office, which had been transformed into a makeshift bedroom while he was going through treatment and didn’t have the strength to conquer the stairs. I cannot help but smile, as I often do, when I see the rollaway cot folded and tucked into the corner of the room, an unmistakable symbol of Tom’s recovery and the end of the more difficult season we’ve just weathered.
After fetching the bottle of alcohol-free champagne from the top shelf, I fish out theClosed for a Weddingsign from Tom’s closet. Our neighbor across the street, Clyde, returned it to us several months ago after finding it had blown into his daughter’s rosebushes on that fateful, windy day I came into town. He insisted that in return he should get an invite to the next wedding, or at least a slice of cake afterward, and I gave him my wordthat I’d try my best. So, before I even get the sign on the shop’s door, I pull up the text thread I have with Lynn, John from the bakery, Cheryl who owns the deli, Prue, Tom, my brother, and Aleks.
Our group chat is called BOOB, aka Business Owners of Baysville. I wanted to call it the Baysville Baddies but Prue said no. She wasn’t thrilled with the acronym either, to be fair, but by the time she noticed it was already too late.
Both my brother and Prue have the group’s notifications turned off most of the time. Nik seemingly turned them off after I announced his vasectomy to the group. And though it was well-intentioned, I’ve since been educated as to why it was not the best idea to share that information on his behalf. Prue turned them off after her dad, Aleks, and I began Trivia Tuesdays to combat the boredom on the slowest business day of the week.
She always reappears in the chat whenever there’s town drama, however, of which there always seems to be plenty to share. And, I can’t say I blame her. Ilivefor it too.
Milo: Morning folks! Today is a big day at Welch’s…Julia and Tom are tying the knot once again! The shop will be closed up, but if you need anything just give Prue or me a shout and we can hook you up
By the time I’ve got the sign attached to the front door and am back inside, the group chat is blowing up.
John: Brilliant! I’ll get a cake ready!
Lynn: If the couple wants a honeymoon suite, they’re more than welcome here for the night, free of charge. I’ll let my dad know there willbe cake later, but if he gets in your way just give me a call and I’ll come wrangle him.
Nik: It’s cold out, do they want to use the bar for the ceremony?
Aleks: Nadia and I are doing inventory today. We can go set up something if they want to come here?
Cheryl: I’ll bring a snack plate over to the inn, if they end up going! No stinky cheeses for our honeymooners, of course.
Nik: Sef’s picking up flowers and dropping them off. She’s insisting. Don’t fight her on it.
I type out a quick reply, smiling at my phone before sliding it back into my pocket.
Milo: I’ll chat with Prue and keep you all posted! Thank you everyone!
Passing back through the store I notice the half-open box of books we’ve yet to put on our newly built display shelf sitting behind the cash register. I bend down to pick one up, admiring the front and back cover of the thin book as Prue opens the office door.
“I’ve heard it’s pretty good…” she says, her body leaned against the doorframe.
“It looks great to me,” I say, sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans as I close the distance between us.
“I guess that copy’s yours?” She straightens, pressing her chest into my abdomen as she wraps her arms around my lower back and looks up at me. I love how easily we slot together; how natural andrightit is to hold her.
“I’m good for it,” I tease, brushing a stray curl away from her forehead. “What do I owe you?” I press my thumb to the scar above her brow, the one she got a few months back after slipping on a patch of ice out front. Ilostit, seeing her injured like that. She, on the other hand, laughed it off as I fussed and cursed and ordered a lifetime supply of ice melter that wouldn’t hurt the local wildlife—because Aleks would have killed me otherwise; and I cannot shovel snow or protect Prue from the elements if I am dead.
“It’s onlyhalfmine,” she says, twisting to kiss my wrist. “Co-author discount means you owe me”—she pretends to run the numbers—“seven dollars.”
“How about seven minutes in heaven instead?”
She rolls her eyes, then pulls our book,People Watching,out of my back pocket and admires it tenderly. My heart skips, seeing it in her hand: a collection of her poems alongside my sketches. I can only hope that it will be the first of many, many wonderful things we will make together.
A few weeks after Prue became my girlfriend, we fell into a routine. I’d watch the shop in the mornings, she would care for Julia and Tom, and one of the townies who volunteered to help us would drive Tom to the hospital a few towns over for his treatment every few weeks. In the afternoons, we’d close the shop for an hour to eat lunch and, when possible, I’d paint with Julia as Tom rested and Prue worked up front.
