“Which one?” Somewhere in Grandpop’s rambling, charming house behind the bookstore lived at least five missing iPhones.
Winnie was once again starting her own business—Scarlet Woman Home and Office Organization. After an evening spent with her sisters, mom and Rosie brainstorming names, she decided that Winnie Smith was just not punchy enough for a business name. This one, they all agreed, would get people’s attention. After helping Lorenzo, then his neighbor Joyce in Boston, Winnie felt like she’d finally found the career she was born to do. She was already enrolled in an online class for professional organizers and had joined the national association. Her parents had also lined her up for the new year, since they were selling the family home and downsizing.
Blakelee Johnson, mother of Nycholiss, Kaedeigh and elynne, had also hired her, about an hour after Winnie had posted her new business venture on the Wellfleet Facebook page. Blakelee was getting a divorce, finally, and Winnie gave her a 25% discount. She thought she’d make it a policy—if your partner’s infidelity was the cause of your need for professional organizing, you deserved a break.
At the reception, drinks were had, food was eaten, and the band welcomed everyone. Grandpop’s speech, which Winnie had punctuated with a slideshow of Robbie and Rosie as children, then as a couple, was a roaring success.
Now that the dancing was in full swing, Winnie watched in her role as both sister and event planner. Honestly, the hotel staff was more than competent. It was nice to just step back and observe, a faint smile on her face, a bigger one in her heart, sipping a glass of excellent wine, waving to a sibling or guest (God, Jeff Bridges looked good!). The inn was stunning, the wild wind and weather making it feel as if they were in a particularly beautiful snow globe. Most people were staying at the inn, so driving home was not a consideration.
“I heard you don’t have a date for this event,” said a voice just behind her.
The voice caused her to freeze for a second. She turned. “Satan. How are you?”
TWENTY-FOUR
LORENZO
Lorenzo hated big, happy events. Too many people, too loud, too much sensory input. Theoretically, he was glad that other people were having fun, laughing, talking, dancing, all those alien activities that weren’t part of his regular life. Coming here had been a move made in haste and desperation…but he had known she’d be here, courtesy of a text from Robbie, and the inn was ten minutes from his house.
“I’m fine,” he said, aware that it was his turn to speak. He looked at her dress. “You look very…appropriate.” Beautiful. He should’ve said beautiful, but wouldn’t that have sounded strange, coming from his mouth?
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought she almost smiled. “I didn’t see your name on the guest list,” she said. “This is a surprise.”
“I was invited, which wasn’t necessary, but I RSVP’ed no. I…I just wanted to see you, that’s all.” His molars ached. Ah. He was clenching his jaw.
“And so you have.” She gave a twirl, and the sight of her skin, the swish of her dress, felt like an oddly welcome punch in the chest. “Anything else?”
“I owe you an apology. I said things that were…wrong.”
“Underachieving, condescending and tone-deaf. Those things?”
“Yes. Sorry.” A cardinal flitted past the window, and Lorenzo immediately thought that the bird was like Winnie—a flash of dazzling color in his gray life.
“Apology accepted.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She smiled faintly, and his chest ached with feeling. With fear…and hope.
His turn for words again. May as well get it over with. “I’m fairly sure I’m in love with you. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and I’m not sure how to handle it.”
“That’s so romantic, Lorenzo. Wow.”
“Romantic is not really in my wheelhouse.”
“No.”
They looked at each other for a minute, then Robbie skidded up, literally sliding into her. “Hey, man! Glad you came! Are you here to beg my sister to marry you? That would be fine with me, just saying.”
Lorenzo looked at him. “No,” he said. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks! I’m a lucky man. Sorry, Winnipeg. I tried.” He grinned and darted off again.
“I might be here to beg you to date me, though,” Lorenzo said. “I…well. As I said, I miss you. My life seems very…gray these days. Without you in it, that is.”
Her face didn’t move, but her lovely eyes softened, and it occurred to Lorenzo that she was the most beautiful woman in this room, and if he couldn’t ever touch her hair or feel her skin or kiss her or hear her laugh, his life would be very long and bleak.
“Okay,” she said.
