"Wow. But I was asking for details on the kissing," Eloise smirked.
Tilly smirked back. "I know."
Lady Macbeth jumped into Eloise's lap as Sulphur sauntered over to curl her feline body into the curve of Casper's wolfhound body, where he lay at the edge of the patio. Stars dipped and shimmered over them as they talked.
Tonight they didn't speak of the trouble that had befallen Salem or their coven. They didn't speak of the small groups of people gathering in town and at houses to talk about the coven as though they were a troublesome problem to fix.
They didn't talk about Cora's seat being challenged and how Jen was losing business and nerves as she tried to be there for her friend. Eloise didn't speak of the extreme drop-off in sales at The Black Cat and Ursula didn't mention that she had lost five standing orders from nurseries and stores in town.
They talked about the new espresso blend that Eloise described as the perfect warm caramel that made flavors like vanilla and dried violet sing.
They talked about the crisping air that felt like fall yet still like summer, creating a new season of nostalgic fireworks, sunscreen outlined in crisp edges, apples and cool welcome.
Tilly recounted kissing the chief first, the thought whispering through her mind before she pulled him to her lips,what if I kiss you first?
Eloise smiled into her wine glass, not saying it out loud but reliving in her mind just that morning Taylor reaching over to brush off latte foam over her top lip and his smile turning into something honest and serious just before he told her he loved her.
And Ursula offered an unspoken hope, that Jenson was the one, something she felt it in the most safe way a woman could.
So they left alone the dark things out there and spread out in the good pieces, languidly allowing the goodness to baptize them.
And they sat there needing to breathe together, knowing in the back of their minds that a fight was coming.
But for now, wine by the firelight and laughter was filling their souls.
21. An Ambiguous Meeting
Two days slid by easily at the Crescent Inn, filled with prepping for the blueberry picking festival and finishing adding a new coat of paint to the wraparound porch.
The menu for the Blueberry Festival was complete. She and Eloise had chosen blueberry mint mimosas for those who could imbibe and a blueberry mint punch for those who could or would rather not. For lunch, there was a grilled cheese with balsamic blueberry, a summer salad with a raspberry vinaigrette and fresh blueberries, and a blueberry, feta, and honey flatbread with burrata and mozzarella.
The dessert table would have miniature blueberry pies, blueberry lemon cream tarts, blueberry and cinnamon crumbles, and bags of dried blueberry granola mix to take home.
Fae was kind enough to offer her opinion that there were too many blueberries. It had been two days of trying to be kind to a sister who was, without a doubt, going through a difficult time. But also, without a doubt, making Tilly's life difficult.
Currently, she was sitting on the porch reading while Tilly took care of any spots needing a last touch-up of paint.
Earlier, as she'd been scraping old, dingy paint from this very railing, with a particularly thick chip of paint also came a small piece of paper. She was getting used to this now, and had started thinking of these buried notes as the house's way of sending her little love notes. This one read:
It is easy to feel inadequate. It is much more difficult to know that you're not.
It sat in her back pocket, heavy and honest.
"I don't know how women read these books." Fae's voice interrupted her blessed silence.
"Then why did you get it?"
A sigh followed with, "Because I'm trying not to spend money and the Inn's library only has romance and mystery."
Tilly held back the retort that her sister was somehow on her third romance that she was so critical of.
"Can you make me a salad?"
Tilly closed her eyes and prayed that she didn't do anything rash. Like throw the small can of Westhighland White over her sister. But she could imagine the perfectly cream, not too white paint dripping down her black hair and over the borrowed sweater that Tilly had given her to fight off the unseasonable chill.
It was a sacrifice she was thinking about making.
"Hey, want to come over tonight for dinner?"
