Once she was walking away, he slid her a questioning look.
"She hasn't really come to like me yet. She's the night manager at the inn."
He nodded. She shrugged. "I guess I would be wary of someone with no experience being given such a big job." She laughed softly, her eyes cast down as she added, "She's not wrong, either. I have no experience."
"Do you enjoy it?"
She looked up at him, surprised by the question. "Running the inn?"
He nodded.
"I," she stopped and thought about the bathroom toilet overflowing and fixing it. She thought about the improvements she had made in stripping wallpaper and adding updated patterns that made the place come to life. Another mysterious slip of paper had been unearthed from a loose floorboard upstairs.
There is a freedom from the prison of others' opinions of you when you're disliked by them.
She had sat there with iced tea, sweat sliding between her breasts, and wondering if that was true.
She thought about how the pastries that Eloise sent over every morning had become something both she and guests looked forward to.
Just this week, she'd started baking fresh loaves of bread for small plates of smoky olive oil and assortments of cheeses. She started to smile when she thought of the beaded trim she had carefully added around the crown molding of the foyer.
She was making larger batches of honey wine, fermenting and adding notes of berries that would be ready in a few months.She could picture selling bottles of white peach, apple crisp, or cranberry, depending on the season.
That smile grabbed one corner of her mouth. "Yeah, I do. It's hard work and there's a lot more to do." Her smile grew, and she felt it in her chest. "But I have loved all of it." And she had. She stood there in the booth under the twinkle lights of the tent, a smile just for herself. She wasn't sure she had ever felt this way about a job before.
He watched her intently, taking in the way that her eyes lit up, the way that she pushed a strand of her green hair out of her excited face. He took in the inflection of her voice, capturing it and holding it against him. It was striking the way that she glowed when she let go and spoke of something she loved.
He took all of that in. It was a gift. And maybe she didn't intend to give it to him, but it was a gift all the same.
She felt something loosen. Like hair worn in a tight bun for a full day, finally released. It was uncommon to her, this relief, and it took her off guard.
"Anyways," she said, her hand fluttering through the air, caught in the spiderweb of her happiness.
"Your sister seems terrible."
His blunt assessment of her sister took her back.
"She's not that bad," she said, but as the words were coming out of her mouth, words she had said so many times in defense of her sister that they felt like they took up residence inside of her, just ready to come out. That bun-tightening feeling crept up again, and she stopped it with a firm shake of her head. "Actually, no. She is terrible."
When she looked at the Chief, he was quiet but encouraging.
The smile shut off, and her eyes became sharp. "Frustrating. And unkind. She has treated me like I'm a side character in our family my entire life." She was straightening the sparklers, her hands hard and jerky. "The other night, she called me after I hadalready left for the day and asked me to come back and bring her food. Specifically roasted chicken and a leafy green salad with a freshly made avocado and beet dressing."
"That's very specific," he said.
What she didn't say was more important, sharper. Her sister was cruel. She had lent Tilly too many moments of uncertainty about her worth to hold under a microscope of anxiety and find herself wanting.
Just then, someone stopped in front of their booth, and before she even lifted her eyes, she felt a darkness, like sadness and anger with a hint of threat roll through her body. It was so sudden that she took a step back. When she did look up, she saw dark glossy hair, calculating eyes, and two shadows on either side of her.
"Landry," Astra said. She had a deep voice. Up close, Tilly could see she had dark eyes, austere eyebrows, and high cheekbones.
"Astra," he replied. His voice wasn't warm. Though his tone tended more toward the intense side, it was never this chilly. "Still in town." It was an observation. Tilly had seen him hand her a folder the other night, but what was their connection exactly?
She smiled, though it looked threatening. "We have important business here in Salem. People to protect," she cut her sharp gaze to Tilly, and the look pierced her. "Secrets to keep."
Tilly frowned at the words, at the way that the woman's eyes held hers, knowing that after their uninvited dinner party appearance, she had meant them for her.
She held out her right hand, and Tilly looked at it before she tentatively took it.
