But all I get is a riot of flavors on my tongue and the feeling that it’s my turn to contribute to the conversation.
“Do you have family in Pine Falls?” I ask.
“No. I would not want to be anywhere near my family.” She says that with a tone indicating no one else would want to be either.
Cryptic much?
But maybe Hester’s relatives are like Cory. Maybe this beautiful woman had a partner at some point who treated her the same way my ex treated me.
If so, then I’m glad her family is far away.
“This town though,” she continues, “it takes care of you if you take care of it.”
Hester sips her tea, and I ponder over her words.
“Most everyone I’ve met has been nice.” Strike the grumpy werewolf from that category. Although he did fix my electrical issues, so I guess I have to give him points for that.
“Niceties are often a mask,” is her only reply.
I open my mouth to deny that harsh observation, but then find myself closing my lips.
Hester offers a shallow nod. “You know that, don’t you? Nice people will smile as they slide a knife between your ribs for an offense you never knew you committed. Do not get comfortable around the nice people in the world. Get comfortable around the honest ones.”
“You’re saying I should only befriend the mean people I meet?” The question comes out bitter as more thoughts of Roderick itch against my brain.
The woman barks a sharp chuckle. “What a simple view of the world you have. Nice and mean. Next, you’ll declare the only colors that exist are black and white.”
That’s not how I see the world, I want to argue. But I came here to make friends with my neighbor, not bicker with her.
To keep from saying something I’ll regret, I pick up a shortbread off the silver tray between us and pop the cookie into my mouth. The buttery, crumbly creation is delicious and makes me glad I didn’t try to bake anything as a neighborly present.
My pastry skills are mediocre at best. Still, I try every so often. The act of baking can be meditative, and everything at least comes out of the oven edible. But never blue-ribbon-at-the-state-fair impressive.
Even after I’m done chewing and swallowing the treat, I’m still stuck on Hester’s dismissal of the wordnice. The polite thing to do would be to let it go.
The nice thing to do.
But that’s not what Hester wants, is it?
“How should I categorize you?” I ask. “You invited me over for tea. That seems like a nice gesture.”
There’s a slow curl to the edge of her lips. “Was that nice? Are you having a nice time?” Her questions bore past the surface of my skin as I meet her sharp, assessing gaze.
“This chair is uncomfortable,” I reluctantly mutter, as if the truth is pulled out of my throat.
That earns another laugh from her. “You are sitting on cold metal. Of course it is uncomfortable.”
Hester rises from her own seat and disappears inside her house. I’m just starting to debate about whether I should follow her and apologize when the woman reappears. She extends her hand toward me, clutching a round cushion. The fabric is a muted green velvet and acts as a beautiful background to her ruby-colored nails.
“When you want something, ask for it,” she chides in her dangerously smooth voice. “Better yet, demand it.”
Accepting the seat cushion, I slide it under my butt. The chair transforms with the addition, and my body relaxes into the seat.
But her words set off a spike of annoyance in me. This woman must have lived a privileged life because not everything can be gained by just using a more commanding tone.
“In theory, that might sound like it’ll work. But I’ve spent the last few years of my life with people who would take a demand from me as incentive to break my arm.” My teacup rattles in its saucer as I set it down with more force than I should have.
Quiet falls between us.
