Her mom had been right. She’d barely done any of the things she once wanted to do in her life, and half of the things on the list were so boring.Normal.Like getting a car. Going to a concert. Going toprom?
These weren’t big dreams or achievements. They were basic rites of passage.
The only ones crossed off were things most people did regularly.
Finding her way to the old-fashioned wingback chair with the tear in the upholstery she’d been meaning to fix for six months, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Shehadbeen happy with her life, right? So why was the idea of never doing these things so distressing? Why was the thought of not getting a tattoo or going to the island fromFemme de Forceso upsetting?
That made her laugh so suddenly that it sounded more like a hiccup. She hadn’t thought about that movie in years. It had been her and her mom’s favorite film for the longest time; they watched it almost every weekend when she was in school. In fact, as she leaned back in her chair, she remembered exactly how it ended up on the Sweet Somedays.
Her dad had teased them about watching it every single weekend for the entire school year, and her mom had corrected him—they’d been watching it the previous year as well. Her mom figured they must have watched it at least a hundred times by then, and when the idea of visiting the island where it was filmed came into Sylvie’s mind and out of her mouth, her mom had said,“Maybe someday.”
That’s how it made it onto the list.
Closing the notebook, she moved over to the shelf of DVDs she hardly watched anymore. With little time to watch TV and a streaming service for the guest rooms, it had been gathering dust. But she was aware it was there. They first watchedFemme de Forceon TV when Sylvie was just a kid. The first copy they owned was a VHS tape.
There it was. She pulled it from the shelf—a relic from Hollywood’s golden era. It wasn’t a famous movie—no Clark Gable or Katharine Hepburn names in the credits, though she always thought itshouldhave been.
Scouting around for the right switch on the wall, Sylvie smiled as the television screen—the one that’d been removed from room five last year because it flickered—lit up. The attached DVD player, also a room reject, hummed as it started to play. She didn’t mind, though. Her tea was cool enough to drink by now, and she settled into the chair, letting herself get lost in the familiar title music.
Chapter 7
Deep down, she had always known that she would need to plan her mother’s funeral. It was just something you eventually had to do. But she had never really dwelled on it—why would she?
What she hadn’t expected, though, was her mom taking so much of that planning onto herself to “get it out of the way”—as she had put it in the letter she left behind. Maybe that was why Sylvie felt so disconnected from the whole thing.
She had woken up that morning in the wingback chair in the storage room, for the third day in a row.Femme de Forcehad replaced the reading part of her tea-and-reading ritual to help her fall asleep. Was it good for her to sleep sitting up? Probably not. But sleeping less than two hours a night was definitely worse, so if it helped her get four or five, she figured it was a net positive.
Despite the dread she’d felt the night before, anticipating the funeral, she woke up surprisingly calm. She dressed in the neat black outfit Juliette had helped her pick out, drove to the church, read her eulogy, and stood at the door for what felt like hours, receiving condolences. They estimated that a hundred people might attend, but they weren’t prepared for the actual turnout.
Her mom had touched a lot of lives, apparently.
The church seated two hundred and fifty people. The later arrivals found no room to stand in the side aisles or at the back and ended up outside in the garden. Sylvie was very grateful thatFather Patrick quickly adjusted the sound system to broadcast the service to everyone outside. Beyond this small sense of gratitude—both to Father Patrick and to everyone who took the time to come—Sylvie felt almost numb.
She knew she should be feeling something. Anything. But mostly, she felt like she was running an event at the inn. Her mind kept insisting she stay calm—for the guests—even though she knew she didn’t have to.
The one benefit to that was being able to focus on comforting Lilly.
The funeral went smoothly. Fiona, of course, took credit for that, but Sylvie didn’t have the energy to argue. She had spent the past three days arguing with Fiona, mostly about the music. Fiona insisted on a sad orchestral piece to accompany Annette out of the service. But as soon as Sylvie found thatFemme de ForceDVD, she knew it had to be the title music. She might have been sleep-deprived, but she stayed firm on that.
Now, somehow, she had ended up at the diner counter, still dressed in her full funeral attire. There was a gap between the end of the ceremony and her next meeting with the funeral director. Why had she agreed to meet today? And why did she think the diner was a good place to wait?
The diner was unexpectedly empty. No one approached her. Maybe they were all at the funeral, she thought, chuckling to herself as she looked at the counter, hoping no one would notice her.
A cup of coffee appeared in her line of sight, handed over by a large hand decorated with silver rings and a tattoo. Sylvie looked up cautiously—she managed to hold back a gasp, instead frozen and blinking.
The man behind the counter was…
Well. He must have been the one Juliette had told her about.
She had said he was gorgeous and not wearing a wedding band, and she wasn’t wrong. A quick glance at his left hand confirmed both. Sylvie wasn’t usually so adolescent around good-looking guys, but…wow.
“I didn’t order this,” she said flatly.
“No, but you look like you need it.”
“Gee, thanks,” she replied, quirking an eyebrow.
