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“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Just being efficient.”
She lit the starter, and caught herself rubbing a chill from her arms as she stepped back.
“Adjusting. I’m just adjusting to a lot of everything. And why shouldn’t I talk to myself? Who the hell cares?”
She went back to the desk, printed out the templates for the projected brochure, business card, a design for a potential ad.
Once she’d retrieved them, added them to her board, she sat again. She brought up the inactive website on her computer screen, on her tablet, on her phone.
“Really want those photos, from clay to finished piece. A time-lapse video. Oh yeah, wouldn’t that be cool?”
It wouldn’t hurt to have some visuals of the village on the About tab, she considered. She’d take some with her phone when she got there, upload them, see how they worked.
The bare bones of it looked good on a mobile, she thought as she scrolled through on her phone. The typography, the color, the shapes. Of course, there would be photos to load, the shopping cart to build, but yeah, good bones.
Satisfied, she wrote the email to Anna and sent the links.
If she didn’t like it, well, she’d be wrong, but she was entitled.
She turned her tablet off, left it charging. Taking her phone with her, she crossed to the bedroom.
Where the fire simmered.
She didn’t remember turning it on. She sure as hell didn’t remember making the bed.
Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she did her best to breathe through the sudden crash of nerves.
She just needed to get out, get some fresh air. Walk outside.
She felt steadier after a shower, and decided on a dark green sweater, a grey wool vest, and pants. She took her time with makeup because she planned to meet shopkeepers, locals, and first impressions mattered.
Better, definitely better, she thought. She looked friendly, professional. And sane.
Deliberately—making a mental note of it—she turned off the fire.
Downstairs, she got her coat, a cap, fussed a bit with the arrangement of her scarf. Not just for warmth, she thought, but style.
As she reached for her gloves, she heard a door creak open—or closed. Ignoring it, she grabbed the house keys and left.
The air hit fresh—and cold—with a brisk wind blowing in from the water. It filled her, she realized, that endless view, the wonderfully fierce sound of water surging against the rocky shore.
She needed to get out like this—even just for a walk. She crossed the pavers to her car, and sent a thanks to John Dee for clearing them and her car after the snowstorm.
The road wasn’t bad either, she noted as she carefully navigated the curves. At some point, she needed to check out the garage and the truck in it. But her car held its own just fine.
She had a solid ninety minutes before her appointment, so she’d make good use of it.
She liked the hints of the bay, the village as she drove down, and noted the white, red-capped lighthouse on the far point beyond it.
Something worth another visit—maybe in warmer weather. Today, she’d find a place to park, pop into a few of the stores. Meet some people, buy a little something, as supporting local shops mattered.
Maybe grab some lunch. She wondered if the pizzeria served it by the slice. She’d like a slice of pizza.
She’d drive down to the bay, take some photos. Potentially for Anna’s website—hell, maybe her own. But also to send to her mother, to Cleo.
As she drove into the village, she let out a happy sigh. Just what she needed. People, places, movement. After only a couple days in the manor, she’d begun to understand how easily it would be to become a recluse—as her uncle had.
With everything right there—the space, the views, winter roaring outside—why not stay in the warm and the quiet?
