“Macy has a very specific teaching style.”
“I noticed. Her philosophy ofif you can’t crack it, you don’t deserve to eat itis a mantra I can get behind.” Sloane’s laugh is genuine. “She’s got zero patience for incompetence, doesn’t she?”
“None whatsoever. And she has opinions about everything. Ask me how I know.”
“The stain remover emergency kit was a nice touch. She’s very prepared. Very ‘I told you this would be a disaster.’”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s Macy in a nutshell. She’ll tell you exactly what’s going to go wrong, show up with supplies to fix it, and then remind you that she was right.”
“And somehow you still love her for it.”
“Somehow I always do.” I frown out at the water. “Macy’s got a memory like a steel trap and zero filter when she’s annoyed.”
“I noticed.” Sloane grins. “She reminds me of someone I used to know. Same energy. Same refusal to back down, even when she probably should.”
There’s affection in her voice, something warm and genuine, and I realize I might have been wrong about Sloane being ice all the way through. Maybe she’s just careful. Maybe she’s just good at protecting herself in a group that doesn’t seem to protect anyone.
“Macy’s protective of people she cares about,” I say. “Which is a short list, but if you’re on it, she’ll go to war for you.”
“I can respect that.” Sloane looks back at the table where Macy is now showing Kennedy the proper way to extract meat from a lobster tail like she’s a surgeon. “She’s built something real with that shop. That takes guts.”
“It does.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just listening to the waves, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. Not the tense standoff I was expecting. Just two women taking a breather from a chaotic evening.
“This whole week has been exhausting,” Sloane says finally. “Mackenzie means well—I think she genuinely does—but grief isn’t a group activity. You can’t schedule it between booze cruises and lobster boils.”
“Agree,” I say, kicking up a little sand because I’m about to do just that verbally, too. “Were you and Brittany close?”
Her expression shifts, something complicated crossing her face. “We were. For a while. We had similar goals, understood each other’s ambitions. But...” She trails off like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Friendships change. People grow apart. Priorities shift.”
“Oh? What shifted?”
“Everything, really.” She turns to face me fully now. “Brittany was brilliant at what she did—real estate, social media, networking. But she was also exhausting. Everything was content. Everything was an opportunity. After a while, it felt less like friendship and more like a transaction.”
There’s genuine sadness there, and I believe her. Whatever happened between them, it left a mark.
She looks out at the water and nods.At least that problem solved itself. One down.
The thought is there and gone, so quick I almost miss it, but it leaves a cold spot between my ribs.
One down.
One down from what?
“That must have been hard,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Losing someone, even when the relationship sounds complicated.”
“It is.” She’s quiet for a beat. “I think half the people here are relieved she’s gone, and the other half are pretending not to be. And I’m somewhere in the middle, trying to figure out which half I’m supposed to be in.”
The honesty surprises me. It’s the most real thing anyone in Mackenzie’s friend group has said all week.
“For what it’s worth,” I offer, “I don’t think there’s a right way to grieve someone who made your life difficult.”
“Thank you for that.” She smiles as she sniffs back tears. “You’re easier to talk to than I expected.”
“Should I be insulted?”
“Probably not. I just meant—” She laughs. “Mackenzie’s been singing your praises all week. The brilliant innkeeper, the amateur detective, the woman who cando it all. It’s a lot to live up to.”
