She barely heard the tinkle of bells as her studio door opened. Beckett had made her lose her focus, and she found herself staring off into space, wasting time when she should’ve been working.
“My goodness, that’s quite a frown you’ve got there,” Simone O’Hara said, closing the door behind her. “You’d think a woman being romanced like you are would be smiling like a fool.”
“I’m not being romanced,” Marnie said automatically. Then she shook herself out of her thoughts and took a good look at the woman who’d been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been.
Simone had always been larger than life in Marnie’s mind. She was an elegant woman with silver-streaked black hair worn in a sophisticated twist, her features a striking mix of Native American and European heritage. She’d aged gracefully—the kind of woman who grew more beautiful with time rather than less. Her eyes were warm and dark, and they missed nothing.
It was amazing to think that accomplished people like Blaze, Ryder, Levi, Jax, and Sloane had come from this woman—not to mention the grandchildren she doted on. But she wasn’t to be underestimated. Simone had a spine of steel and had ruled her branch of the O’Hara clan with equal parts love, affection, and discipline. No one got away with anything when Simone O’Hara was watching. And when they did get away with it, it was because she’d let them.
Beyond raising her family, Simone had built The Lampstand into one of the finest restaurants in the region—the kind of place that drew visitors from Sun Valley and beyond. She was as accomplished in the kitchen as she was at mothering, and both required the same fierce dedication.
If Marnie had a camera in her hand at that moment, she would’ve taken Simone’s picture. There was strength in that face. But behind the strength was a worry that couldn’t lie to the camera.
She went around the newly assembled reception desk and enfolded Simone in a hug. Simone clung a little longer than normal, and Marnie let her. She wouldn’t intrude and look to see what was wrong, but she’d listen if Simone wanted to tell her.
“I was wondering when you’d stop by,” Marnie said.
“I’ve been meaning to,” Simone said, pulling away and straightening her shoulders. No one else would know by looking at her that something was weighing on her mind. Only those who knew her well. “But I wanted to give you time to get things settled. I know you like your space.”
“I only like space from people I don’t like. You don’t count.”
Simone laughed at that and pulled off her scarf and light jacket. The autumn air had turned crisp, her cheeks rosy from the walk over. Fall had settled into the valley with its usual splendor—the aspens blazing gold against the dark green pines, the mountains already dusted with white at their peaks.
“It’s bitter out today,” Simone said. “Winter will be here before we know it.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a real winter. In the South, if there are even a few flurries, the whole city shuts down and people buy all the toilet paper and water like it’s the end times.”
Simone laughed and the tightness in her face relaxed a little. “It’ll take some getting used to, I imagine. Every year Tommy and I end up spending more time in warmer climates once the snow starts. The cold is harder on the bones the older you get. He’s already making noise about Arizona after the New Year.”
The only good thing about the snow was it made a gorgeous backdrop for the family photos she’d started shooting. And curse Lila or bless her, Marnie’s calendar was full of appointments and she’d already started bringing in steady income.
She’d insisted that the reception area of the studio be completed first. So many people walked by daily, looking in the windows and stopping to stare at the portrait displays she’d hung. They especially enjoyed the little display she called The People of Laurel Valley. She’d gotten permission from the subjects, of course, but it thrilled people to walk by and see their own faces—or faces of someone they knew—displayed in the window.
She wanted to make sure she gave a professional presentation from the start. She’d learned how important perception was. The people of Laurel Valley might not remember her as a child; they might only know the rumors surrounding her gift. But they’d be intrigued enough to stop by and see for themselves. And she had no qualms about capitalizing on that curiosity.
The walls were painted a soft blue and the crown molding and trim stained dark. Photographs were framed and hung throughout—some from her personal collection of favorites and others of standard wedding and family portraits she’d done over the years. A dainty love seat with a pattern in the same blue as the walls sat on one side, and a small tea table with two chairs sat on the opposite side. The reception desk sat right in the middle, facing the front, blocking the new door that led back into the studio. The scratches from the vandalism had been sanded and restained, visible only if you looked closely.
Marnie grabbed the basket of cookies Beckett had sent that morning and set it on the tea table.
“I’ve got hot tea if you’d like some,” she said.
“That sounds perfect.”
She brought two cups of tea and set them on the table, then took the seat across from Simone.
“Nice basket of cookies you’ve got here,” Simone said, arching a brow. “Not being romanced, you said?”
“He says he’s being neighborly.”
“Uh-huh.” She bit into a cookie. “I’ve been hearing how neighborly he’s been from every shop in town he’s visited. I also heard he fixed your dishwasher. Which,” Simone said, pointing a finger at her, “is our responsibility as your landlords, so let us know if anything else goes wrong.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Marnie said, resisting the urge to salute.
Simone smiled and then grew thoughtful. “I was married before. Did you know that?”
Marnie raised her brows in surprise. “No, I didn’t.”
“The folks around here have long memories, and they gossip about what happened fifty years ago as much as what happened last week, so you’ll eventually hear it from someone.”
