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Before I can do anything, though, the three women enter the condo and chorus withoohsandaahs.
Georgia wraps her long, slender arms around me in a tight hug. “We heard about the plumbing issues. How are you holding up?”
“Des to the rescue,” Simone notes, opening the fridge to peek inside. “This place is great!”
“I’m fine,” I answer Georgia, accepting a coffee from Fiona with a smile. My own mug is on the kitchen table, but the coffee from Four Cups is far, far superior, so I dump the tar I made and opt for the new stuff.
“Sit,” Fiona commands, pulling a chair at the kitchen table. “Eat.” She takes one of the brown paper bags while Simone finds a plate from the kitchen, and a beautiful croissant stuffed with almond filling slides toward me. Powdered sugar falls like snow over the plate when I pick it up.
“Margaret said you called last night,” Georgia says. “She came by the gallery this morning while I was taking the delivery of some paintings and told me all about it. She said Des had put you up here, so I called Maude for the address.”
“There are no secrets in Heart’s Cove,” I answer with an arched brow. All those years of keeping mostly to myself, and now I’m finding myself drawn into this community of women who have taken our small town on the Northern California coast by storm.
As they bustle around me with their own plates, pastries, and coffees, filling the empty room with laughter and chatter, I can’t bring myself to be angry about it. Maybe I’ve beentooisolated. I’ve carried shame over not being able to provide for Bailey, and I’ve been so scared of being abandoned by the people that should care about me…but this feels good. Having these women here to talk about what happened last night feels comforting in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.
“So,” Fiona prompts. “Tell us what happened!”
I do just that, and the ladies prove to be an amazingly receptive audience. They gasp and laugh at all the right places, and for the first time since the leak first started last night, my shoulders start to relax. Things aren’t as bad as I thought they were. I have a place to stay, and my landlord will fix the leak. Bailey and I are safe…and everything is all right.
“Okay, back up,” Simone says, setting her coffee cup down. “You said the water sprayed everywhere. Did it spray Des?”
I nod.
“So you had Desmond Thomas in your kitchen, soaked… What was he wearing?”
For some inexplicable reason, my face turns hot. “A T-shirt.” I clear my throat. “A white T-shirt.”
Cackles echo in the space. Simone bangs the table and points at me. “You were holding out on us! Come on, details. I want a full mental image of what that looked like. Did you take a picture?”
“What? No! Why would I take a picture?”
“Why would you—” Simone stares at me, then at Georgia and at Fiona, who both laugh. Simone just shakes her head. “Girl.”
“You’re all ridiculous,” I grumble, picking up a few croissant crumbs with the tip of my finger. I put them in my mouth to hide my smile.
“Margaret told me he wasveryinsistent that Mia come stay here,” Georgia informs the group. Her eyes glimmer. “Margaret offered a room at the hotel, but he patently refused.” She leans in. “And apparently, Des lives in this building too.”
Right across the hall, in fact. But I’m not going to mention that right now.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Just a few short weeks ago, you were complaining to me about the gossip around here,” I accuse. “Now look at you.”
“Yes, but it’s so much more fun to be on this side of it,” Georgia says with a laugh. “Besides, it worked out for me, didn’t it?” She wiggles her left hand, where her new—or should I say old?—diamond ring glitters.
“Enough about Des,” Fiona says. “What about the Blind Date app? Didn’t you tell us there was someone interesting on there?”
I blow a breath out through my lips, then get up to grab my phone from the kitchen counter. “He messaged me last night,” I admit, “but I haven’t answered.”
“Why not?” Georgia swirls her coffee mug to check how much is left, then tips it to her mouth.
I slide back into my chair and open the app. “He asked me for my middle name. I think he might be getting impatient with how slow we’re going.”
“You haven’t even exchanged names?” Simone frowns. She leans back in her chair and lets out a sigh. “Man, I’m glad I don’t have to date anymore. I donothave that kind of patience.”
“Not helping,” I singsong.
Simone laughs. “Well, come on. Show us the messages.”
Three heads crowd around my phone to read through the history of messages between me and TallDarkandHandy. When they’re done, they all lean back with pensive expressions on their faces.
