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“How long are you here?”
“I—ah, I’m not sure, actually.”
Her friend frowned. “Why haven’t you written me in the last year?”
“I’ve been busy travelling, you know what my schedule is like.”
“You always found time to write, Bays. Why did you stop, and don’t lie, I’ll know.”
Bailey found a smile. Seeing Maggs was lifting her spirits already, even if she was asking questions Bailey didn’t want to answer.
“Let’s leave the in-depth probing into each other’s lives for now, Maggs. I want you to show me around your gallery, and then I need to find some accommodation.”
“All right, but I will have the in-depth story before you leave, Bailey.”
“Sure,” Bailey lied. No way was she discussing the train wreck that her life was, or that now it had derailed, she wasn’t sure how to get it back on track.
“And you can stay with me while you’re here. I have a spare room.”
“I can’t do that, Maggs. It wouldn’t be right, with you having a boyfriend.”
Her friend waved her words away. “If we want to have at each other, we can go to his place.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.” Bailey felt color fill her cheeks.
“Don’t tell me you’re still a prude, Bailey Jones. You’ve been travelling the world playing piano in exotic places, meeting any number of hot, sexy, rich men. I’m sure you’ve seen and heard things that would make my hair stand on end.”
Bailey made herself laugh, when the truth was she’d been sheltered and protected her entire life. The usual life lessons hadn’t come to Bailey until she’d escaped from the viselike grip her grandfather had on her. He’d protected her, he’d said, in case she hurt herself, or worse yet, her hands. And yet no amount of protection had saved them in the end.
Chapter 3
“Do we have to do the blindfold thing, Miss Marla?”
“That’s the deal, Joe, because otherwise you’ll cheat.”
“How?” Joe sat at the table as Miss Marla moved in behind and tied the scarf around his eyes.
“You can see the tea.”
“You know that makes no sense, and you’re just sore because you can’t fool me.”
“Don’t fight it, Joe.”
He snorted at Mandy’s words. She was Miss Marla and Miss Sarah’s niece, a quiet woman who rarely spoke, and usually stayed out the back of the teashop. Joe had known her for years, but had to say he knew her no better now than he had when first they’d met.
“Bring out those scones when you come back, Mandy.”
“Yes, Aunt Sarah.”
He listened to the door opening and closing, then the click of one of the Robbins sisters’ heels.
“How come you don’t have sore feet?”
“Practice. Plus, they do good things to our legs,” Miss Marla said.
“Sure, you’re both hot, no disputing that, but don’t you ever wear flats?”
“When we exercise.”
