He stops me when I try to launch myself off the counter, and frames my face with his large hands.
“Go change, do whatever you think you need to do to clear your mind and get yourself ready.You can be fashionably late.I’ll take care of the appetizers and if I need help, I’ll ask Lola.You have a crew of people here who can cover for you.”
He presses a hard kiss to my mouth, as I’m about to launch a protest, before he releases me.
“You need to take care of yourself or you won’t even make the wedding this weekend.”
Oh God, the wedding.
My knees almost buckle at the thought of the list of things I still have to do to make sure my best friend’s day is perfect.
His final point hits home; if I don’t take a breath, I’ll burn out before the weekend.
Hopping down from the counter, I start pointing out what appetizers go on what tray, but it seems Hugo’s losing his patience with me.
“They want your food, they don’t care what damn tray it’s served on,” he grumbles.“You’re wasting time.”
He’s right, I am.With one last glance around the disaster zone that is my kitchen, I grab the bag I brought this morning and dart down the hall and up the stairs to use my old bathroom.
In large part the apartment is unchanged, except for a few things that pop out at me.An unfamiliar book upside down on the coffee table, waiting to be picked up again.A sweater hanging off the dining room chair.A footstool I don’t recognize by the couch.But what stands out more than anything else, are the plants.Lush greenery invaded every available sunny spot in the room.
It almost looks like a greenhouse in here.I love it.This is what I always envisioned with these beautiful old windows letting in all that light, but sadly, I do not possess a green thumb.I’ve effectively killed every plant I ever bought.But Lola obviously has a gift.
Standing in the middle of my old apartment, I try to gauge whether I feel any regret, but I don’t.I’ve loved this place, but I wouldn’t want to come back.It’s crystal clear to me Lola belongs here now.
As Hugo suggested, I’m fashionably late when I walk into the coffee shop—moderately presentable—fifteen minutes later.I could hear the buzz of voices in the hallway but did not expect the crowd of people I find inside.It looks like every single table is occupied and, in addition, people are walking around, checking out all the artwork on the walls.
It looks like they are as impressed as I was when Phil first showed me her beautiful paintings.They are as colorful and unpredictable as the artist herself, using an eclectic blend of art mediums—watercolor, charcoal, ink, oil, pastels, acrylics—to create amazingly realistic pieces.Buildings, landscapes, people, objects, nature, it seems she finds inspiration everywhere.
“There she is!”
To my shock, Mayor Merrick makes a beeline for me through the crowd.I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to see if someone else entered behind me, because this would be the first time the man’s ever acknowledged my existence.
Phil walks up behind him, making a face I have a hard time not laughing at.I don’t think the mayor is anyone’s favorite person.
“I am delighted to see you’ve decided to elevate the decor with these stunning pieces by our resident celebrity,” he gushes, pumping my hand in his clammy one.I make a mental note to scrub my hands after.“This will surely bring in a higher standard of clientele.”
Higher standard?Should I be insulted?After all, we already had everyone in this small town dropping in on the regular, so I’m not exactly sure who he’s talking about.But before I can question him on the subject, he’s already rambling on.
“Had I known, I would’ve been happy to contribute to this worthy endeavor.I still could.”
Phil claps a casual hand on his shoulder, which seems to startle him.
“You know, Don, as I said to you before, I’m pretty sure Bess and I have things covered, but we sure do appreciate the gesture.”
That seems to take the wind out of his sails, and with a mumbled excuse of needing a word with someone, he slinks off, his tail between his legs.
“What was that all about?”I ask Phil.
“Oh, he just doesn’t like the attention on anything other than himself, that’s all,” she explains.“In fact, he suggested changing the name of the coffee shop to give it a bit more cachet.”She makes a face and adds, “His words, not mine.I think he secretly wants his name connected to the community fund, so he can go down in history as the town’s great benefactor.”
That wouldn’t surprise me.
“So other than that, how has the response been so far?”
“Already sold a painting.”
I turn to her with my mouth wide open.“Are you kidding me?”
