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“Something like that,” I answer, then glance over my shoulder and let out a long breath when I see Belinda hasn’t followed me in. I’ll have to buy the first round to thank these ladies for that.
“We have full attendance for your class on Monday, Mr. Blair,” Margaret tells me. “The students can’t wait to learn from a talent such as yourself.”
“Call me Mac. He’s Mr. Blair,” I tell her, gesturing to my father.
My father really plays up his fading Scottish accent when he leans a broad palm across the bar to shake with her. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs…”
“Margaret,” she replies, slipping her hand into his while she pats her hair with the other. “Call me Margaret.”
“We should do shots,” Lottie states with a decisive nod.
“Good idea!” Dorothy cries, while Margaret and Agnes bark out a “No!” in unison.
“First round is on me,” I tell my father, who nods.
“Oh, I like him,” Lottie says, lowering her reading glasses to look me up and down again. “I definitely like him.”
“Have a little shame, woman,” Agnes huffs, but she gives me a long, assessing look just the same.
Grinning, I meet my father’s gaze across the bar and nod toward the door. He gives me a slight dip of the chin while my brother surveys his new patrons with an arch of the eyebrow, and I slink out before the four ladies can crowd around me and tell me more about how “I’ll do.” Whatever that means.
When I get outside, I poke my head out to check for a certain minivan, then slip out when I see the coast is clear.
Then, grinning, I get back on my bike and ride.
CHAPTER 5
Trina
The weekend is spent hosting multiple kitten viewings for half the residents of Heart’s Cove. Toby and Katie are over the moon. Katie does, in fact, empty the litter box. There’s a deep wrinkle in her nose while she does it, but to her credit, my daughter doesn’t complain once.
My car magically appears in front of the Four Cups Café sometime between Saturday night and Sunday morning, to the delight of everyone in town. Candice calls me to let me know she has the keys, and I bite my lip when I see it, knowing—just knowing—it was Mac who left it here. Candice, of course, only gives me a mischievous grin when I ask her who dropped it off, which all but confirms it was Mac. And seriously—how thoughtful can one man be? Now I don’t need to figure out how I’ll pick my car up from the mechanic.
I don’t quite have the courage to call or text him, though. Not right now. Maybe on Monday, once the kids are busy at camp and I have time to take a breath. After the pottery class. Maybe Tuesday, when I have free time. Just…later. I’ll do it later.
But before I know it, I’m dropping the kids off at a nearby summer day camp and getting ready for a pottery class I never signed up for.
What does one wear to a pottery class? Dorothy said old clothes that I don’t mind ruining, but I’m the type of person that has a strict policy on house clothes staying at home. I stand in front of my closet and finally choose a pair of loose khaki-green, drawstring-waisted pants that are somewhere between sweats and cargos, and a tight, white, cap-sleeved tee. My hair, which I curled yesterday and still has good volume, gets swept up in a high pony. I brush on a little makeup, then grab my purse, casual Converse shoes, and my favorite pair of oversized shades to complete the look.
Okay, fine. Maybe I am high maintenance. But is that really a bad thing? I like clothes. I like makeup. I like looking nice. So what?
I used to have to defend myself to Kevin all the time. He didn’t understand why I got manicures, why I spent my time blow-drying my hair, why I wanted to look stylish when I was going to the grocery store. He thought it was frivolous.
Any time I tried to explain to him that it made me feel good to look good, he’d tell me he preferred me in sweats with no makeup on. As if his preferences on my appearance were more important than how I felt. These days, when I think back on my marriage, I wonder how much I settled for someone who didn’t really care about me, my thoughts, or my feelings. Is it any surprise he was unfaithful? I sometimes wonder if he ever saw me as my own person at all, or if I was just an accessory to his perfect life.
Not to mention the person who would finally launch his career was a woman I’d met and befriended at the nail salon—did he acknowledge that maybe my manicures were a good thing?
I’ll let you guess the answer to that one.
Shaking my head, I find my mother humming to herself in the kitchen. “You coming?”
She arches her brows. Her eyes glimmer with hidden delight, but I don’t have the time or the energy to figure out why. With my mother, sometimes it’s better not to ask. “Oh, no, honey, you go ahead. I’ll stay here and do some laundry.” She smiles, the mirth in her gaze softening into something warm. “You look gorgeous, Katrina.”
At least my mother appreciates it. Smiling, I call out a goodbye and head to the Heart’s Cove Hotel.
The art studio is at the back of the building, accessible through a lush, jungle-like courtyard. I find Candice, Simone, Jen, and Fiona in the lobby, and the five of us do the usual greetings and hugs, then head back toward the studio.
I’ve been in town most of the summer, but it still feels weird to be accepted so seamlessly into a group of friends. I haven’t had girlfriends since college.
