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She does, unfortunately, have a point.
Considering how early it is, I don’t actually have any pressing scheduling conflicts. That was simply my excuse to get through this quickly, negotiate a deal, an understanding, then extricate myself from this fuckery ASAP.
Perhaps ASAP can involve a muffin.
One.
“Fine,” I agree reluctantly.
Elle Lark immediately lights up with a brilliant, cheerful smile.
“Good.” She turns and tromps away, following where the other girl and the old woman disappeared. “I’ll introduce you to my grandmother and Lena. She’s my best friend.”
I can’t do anything but blink.
Her moods change on a dime.
Another potential land mine.
I’m actually starting to wonder if I might be better off weathering the storm of the tabloid toss-up alone.
Still, I follow her deeper into the house.
The entire place is filled with flowers. Wicker furniture nestles everywhere among the greenery.
Soft golden light gives the illusion of sunlight pouring down through garden bowers, reflecting from polished oak floors.
The kitchen is half kitchen, half dining atrium, the circular space glassed in to look out over the views of the lush city below. Mount Rainier rises in the distance, surrounded by hints of hazy clouds and sunlight above the city skyline.
The other girl is helping the older woman set the table and puts out a large basket of muffins and an enormous skillet of scrambled eggs, along with teacups and a teapot with steam drifting out of its spout.
There are four places.
It’s like they knew Miss Lark wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Damn.
I’ll treat this just like a business meeting.
In front of me, Miss Lark stops where the living room blends into the dining area. She makes an awkward sound.
“Um. Mr. Marshall, this is my grandmother, Jacqueline Lark. And my best friend, Lena Joly. Lena, Gran, this is August Marshall.”
Miss Joly gives us both a strange look, lingering on me with her eyes still wide.
“I know who he is,” she says, and she throws herself down into one of the seats. She’s a coltish woman with what seems like a short fuse. “The question is, How do you guys know each other?”
“Pure happenstance,” I clarify quickly.
“Hmm,” Jacqueline Lark says, easing herself down into the chair next to Miss Joly, handling herself deftly with her cane. “Sometimes it’s chance. Sometimes it’s what needs to happen.”
I wrinkle my brows. “I’m not certain what that means.”
“It’s nothing,” Miss Lark says hastily, moving to take one of the two remaining chairs. I can’t help but note that the other two have arranged it so we are sitting next to each other. Miss Lark smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. The pills didn’t work as well as I’d hoped after the flight yesterday. I passed out in the middle of SeaTac. Mr. Marshall saved me from cracking my head open, then gave me a ride home. That’s all.”
Miss Joly snorts. “Well, that explains the cover story on the Seattle Sauce today.”
Miss Lark blinks, then coughs into her hand. “There’s a cover story? About him? About me? Is that why my notifications went berserk?”
