“Something crawled up her ass today,” my coworker muttered.
“She didn’t eat her Wheaties,” Franky said, coming from the pantry with a tray of dried meats to be made into artful charcuterie boards.
They chuckled, and I tried to join in the joke on the outside. But internally, I was sweating bullets. It was too close a call for comfort.
New rule: No sneaking around during the day.
Nico was going to have to listen to my fear. While he would argue it was unfounded, I knew he would respect my wishes and agree. That thought had me relaxing.
But not enough to be gentle getting the butter out of the mold.
The porcelain cracked, chipping at the corner.
I stared in horror at the sight. My heart stopped beating. This was the end. I was finished!
Franky’s laughter grated on my already stressed soul. I shot him a glare.
“Don’t tease her,” Cathy scolded. “Can’t you see how scared she is?”
Franky wiped his eye. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room.”
Cathy came around the island and squeezed my shoulder. “Not even your uncle knows.”
I drew in a ragged breath. “What?” I croaked.
“Those are forgeries,” Cathy whispered. “We broke most of her honeymoon dishes years ago.”
“They’re too fucking brittle,” Franky added. “We keep them locked in a spare closet.”
Cathy nodded and left the kitchen.
“Give me the broken one, and start plating the butter,” he said gently.
Confused, disgusted, and annoyed, I managed to extricate one pat of butter by the time Cathy returned with an identical-looking white plate with blue edging.
“Sit down and have something to drink,” she commanded, plucking the butter molds from my fingers. “I won’t shoot you for breaking the plate, but if you ruin the hours I wasted on the stupid butter, I’ll cut that bun off the top of your head, Rae.”
Chapter 38 – Rae
Mondays were sacred to me. During the week, I always said I was going to lie around and veg, only to wake up ready with a plan for fun. This morning, I’d slept in until eight-thirty, waking up feeling perfectly rested and deliciously sore thanks to the midnight visit from the prince of darkness himself. But I hadn’t sat around. After a quick oil change on my baby girl, I was out and driving Cherry Pie around Downtown Boston. I found a cute bistro, where I had an early lunch, and then I walked up and down the historic roads, gazing at the buildings in a mixture of excitement and awe.
The plan for today was simple: soak up as much history of this place as I could.
Near the Boston Commons, by the Hermes store, a guy with wild eyes caught me staring in the subway. I was fascinated with the underground train system. This was just like in the movies, and I was about to venture down to peek when he started shouting at me for no apparent reason.
“Go across the street!”
He looked downright mean.
I smiled at him, thinking in my head that he wouldn’t dare try that in a small town. We took care of our own. Not having any way to protect myself, I did move away from the subway entrance, hating that I felt the necessity to retreat instead of stand my ground. But I wasn’t about to be assaulted by some random guy who didn’t want me on his street corner.
The Commons were…boring.
The grass was covered in fallen leaves, and groups of people sat around soaking up what sunlight filtered through the clouds. It was sad to think that these patches of goose poop lawn were the only outdoors these city slickers had access to on a regular basis. Georgia might not have the status and power that an old city like Boston held, but we had fields. Pastures. Trees, and a whole lot of clean grass to sitin. I’d run from the cops at two in the morning through peach orchards and spent many afternoons picking pecans for cash.
Suddenly, I was homesick.
I took the next exit out of the park and wandered down a street full of shops that didn’t have anything interesting to buy with the money I didn’t have. Even the historic churches with their gorgeous architecture couldn’t enthrall me.
