“Melissa—I mean, Senator Brandt talks about me?” June’s gaze flickered to Melissa.
“Melissa talks about Lila talking about you. Which is basically the same thing.” Rachel was already opening cabinets, looking for plates. “Where do you keep the—ah, found them.”
June moved to help, pulling out silverware and napkins with the ease of someone who knew the kitchen intimately. Within minutes, the three of them were seated at the island, containers open between them, and Rachel was asking June about culinary school.
Melissa watched them interact: Rachel’s easy warmth and June’s initial hesitation giving way to something more relaxed. They liked each other. Of course they did. Rachel liked everyone who wasn’t actively terrible, and June was… June. Looking for the best in people and pretty much impossible not to be charmed by, with those bright eyes and easy smile.
“They made otter-shaped pasta last week,” Melissa found herself saying. “June and Lila. The otters didn’t survive the boiling water, but Lila was so proud of them.”
“That sounds adorable,” Rachel said.
“It was.” Melissa’s voice softened without her permission. “Lila adores her.”
June’s cheeks flushed. “Lila’s easy to adore back.”
Rachel caught Melissa’s eye across the island, something knowing in her expression. Melissa looked away.
“I should let you two catch up,” June said, standing. She smiled at Rachel. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“You too. I hope I see you again.”
“I hope so too.”
June disappeared down the hall, and Rachel waited until they heard the guest room door close before turning to Melissa with raised eyebrows.
“She’s lovely.”
“She’s good with Lila.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rachel’s expression was far too perceptive. “And you can’t stop looking at her.”
“I don’t—”
“Drink your wine, Mel.” Rachel pushed a glass toward her. “And then tell me about the article. The real version, not the press-ready one.”
Melissa took the wine and drank deeply, grateful for the change of subject.
She wasn’t ready to examine Rachel’s observations too closely.
Not yet, probably not ever.
Chapter 8
Cakepops and Fireflies
June
Saturday, June 27th
The morning was already warm when June pulled into the small parking lot behind Bean There, Done That, the local coffee shop that had become her and Lila’s regular stop on their errands around town. The shop occupied a converted Victorian on Maple Street, all weathered brick and cheerful blue trim, with mismatched chairs around round tables and a chalkboard sign advertising the day’s specials.
“Can I get a cake pop?” Lila asked as they climbed out of the car.
“After we order drinks. And only if you eat lunch later without complaining.”
“I never complain about lunch.”
“You complained about the cucumber slices yesterday.”
