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“True.”
“I say, you relax, don’t overthink, and let whatever happens happen,” she suggests.
Whatever happens.
It has been a while since I did that. It could be fun.
“There you go,” she says, and I look to her. She grins and gives me a wink.
“Thanks, Alice,” I whisper.
Willa called Norah and asked her to swing by the inn on her way home, so it’s no surprise when she sweeps in and snatches a cookie from the cooling rack.
Once we finish the preparations, Willa, Norah, and I sit at the table in the kitchen, and I lay my idea out for Norah.
“I think you should start offering your gift baskets as part of a pampering package for all brides and bridal parties that book here at the inn. The town doesn’t have a local spa. At least, not yet. I know Willa would love to open one someday. Something quaint that fits perfectly into thesmall resort townvibe, but until that happens, you could instead offer an exclusive package with a basket full of organic, locally grown and sourced handmade balms, oils, and lotions that couldn’t be purchased anywhere else. You could include the robes and slippers and maybe a silk sleep mask.”
“You think people would pay for the products I make in my kitchen?” Norah asks.
“Are you kidding me? My brides would eat this up. And I’ve tested those products, and they’re magnificent. They smell great, and they make your skin and lips feel amazing,” I declare.
“I’ve never considered it before.”
“Well, it’s time you do. It would be mutually beneficial to both of you.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s what I need you to do. Go home and tally your bottom-line cost. Factor in everything from the cost to grow and maintain the plants, the ingredients you use to produce the products, the tins and bottles, labels, the baskets, wraps, and bows. Everything. Then, take that number and mark it up a hundred percent. That will be what you charge Willa. Willa will then mark it up fifty percent for the exclusive package.”
Norah looks back and forth between Willa and me.
“A hundred percent? You’re sure?”
“Honestly, that’s you giving her a sweet deal.”
I leave the two of them to continue discussing the possibilities and excuse myself to head upstairs, take a bath, and get ready for my date.
Uncle Bob installed the new windowpane in my room this morning, and I laugh to myself as I close the blinds and pull the curtain shut before undressing and sinking into the hot water.
I light the candle still perched beside the tub and close my eyes, letting the stress of the day—no, the stress of the entire year—fall away. I soak until the water turns cool and my fingertips are wrinkled. Then, I reluctantly exit the bath and wrap up in one of the soft bath sheets and twist my hair in a towel.
I use the remainder of Norah’s homemade lotion, smoothing it into my damp skin. It’s luxurious.
I have to ask her to make me a batch of this to take home.
Checking the time, I call down to Aunt Trixie and ask her to let me know when Uncle Bob is ready to leave. Then, I quickly dress in a Kensley V-neck sweater dress and add a dark leather belt and slouchy, knee-high, bohemian-style suede boots with a two-inch heel.
A simple gold cross necklace, pearl studs, a couple of cream-and-brown resin bangles, and a topaz ring complete the look.
I release my long brown hair from the towel and run a brush through it. Then, I apply light makeup and spritz myself with Chanel No. 5.
Standing back from the full-length pedestal mirror, I decide to top the look off with a cream-hued wide brim felt fedora.
Perfect.
Aunt Trixie calls when my ride is ready. I toss a lip gloss and my phone into my brown crossbody bag and head downstairs.
Uncle Bob is waiting for me in front of the inn.
