for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.
Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1005-6 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1005-6 (ebook)
First Print Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1006-3
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1006-4
Printed in the United States of America
“All the world’s a stage.”
—William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Flowers were not her forte. For that matter, neither was wielding a camera. Today was a day of breaking out of comfort zones. Molly Owens adjusted the setting on the Britton Bay Bulletin camera and moved closer to the fat, yellow and blue blooms. There was something satisfying about the click when she captured the shot. She wouldn’t look until later so she could hang onto the idea that maybe it was both artistic and functional.
Some of the tension from this morning had eased out of her shoulders just by taking a walk and getting out of the newspaper office, where she was editor in chief. But there was plenty left, hovering in the back of her mind and the base of her neck. Zooming out, Molly took a wide shot of the barrel and the flowers inside just as Calliope James opened the door to the Come N’ Get It Café.
Her happy smile was just one of Britton Bay’s treasures. “Hey, Miss Molly. What are you up to out here?”
Molly lowered the camera and turned to greet her friend. “Hey. Honing my photography skills using the Spring Flower Barrel challenge.” Another Britton Bay tradition she was witnessing for the first time.
Calli pulled the key from the door, flipped her sign so it read open and then leaned on the doorjamb. “I heard you had some commotion over at the Bulletin. Doesn’t sound like a pleasant morning, but sometimes these things are inevitable.” She drew out the last word by enunciating each of the five syllables.
Molly couldn’t hold back the smile even when the unpleasant memories from the morning filtered back in. “How on earth do you know that already? First, it only happened about a half hour ago and second, you just opened and haven’t even seen a customer.”
The owner, waitress, and town-knower-of-all-things pulled an elastic band from her wrist and began tugging her long red hair into a bun. “I have my ways, but this time it’s because Elizabeth called in to place a lunch order for later today. She mentioned it, saying you all could use some comfort food.”
The internet and social media combined were no match for small town gossip networks. If Calliope knew, the entire town would soon be updated on the status of their former social media coordinator and photographer. That status being: fired. Alan, who owned the paper, had agreed with Molly’s opinions that Clay wasn’t pulling his weight, brought the team as a whole down, and couldn’t be trusted to follow through on assignments.
Molly had been the one to inform Clay, when he’d shown up forty minutes late for their morning staff meeting, that his services—or lack thereof—would no longer be needed. Though she’d expected him to be mad, she was shocked by his surprise.
“He had it coming. Get that look off your face,” Calli said, stepping closer.
Molly shrugged. There were dozens of reasons to fire Clay. Molly had even written them down so she could see them on paper as backup. She wondered if finding Clay’s father dead so many months ago would always weigh on her like an anchor of guilt. It wasn’t her fault Vernon had died. Wasn’t her fault she’d been the one to find him. As Calli would say: “These things happened.” But Molly felt bad anyway.
“I expected mad. I didn’t expect him to be shocked. I mean, we’ve been telling him for months that he needed to do more. Or just do his actual job. But he couldn’t believe I was ‘doing this to him.’” The camera moved against Molly’s stomach when she let go of it to make air quotes.
“Honey, there are all types of people. But mostly, there’s just two. Those who take responsibility for their actions and those who blame others.”
Calli put an arm around Molly’s shoulders and she leaned into her friend’s warm half embrace. Calli was only a few years older than her, but she was exactly what Molly’s mom would call an “old soul.” She had a mother-hen-slash-best-friend vibe that drew everyone in. Just one of the many reasons the Come N’ Get It was the most popular food spot in town.
“I know. That’s a good way to look at it. What are these flowers called?” Molly pulled out her phone so she could take a couple of notes.
Calliope wandered over to the barrel and plucked a rather droopy looking petal off.
“These here are called cinquefoils. They’re from the rose family.”
Molly looked again, smiling at the heart-shaped blossoms on each flower. She’d planted them in the shape of a heart that took up most of the barrel.
“I’m pretty sure Katherine has something like this growing at the bed and breakfast,” Molly said, referring to her landlord and boyfriend’s mom. She’d need to pay more attention to her surroundings, something she was usually very good at.
Calli nodded. “She does. That woman has an emerald green thumb. How’s things going with Sam?”
Molly couldn’t hide her smile at the mention of her now-live-in-boyfriend who happened to be Katherine’s son. “Wonderful. Speaking of, are you still good with the plan for her birthday?”
Sam’s mom was turning sixty, and since she was one of Molly’s favorite people and a beloved citizen of Britton Bay, they were planning a surprise party.
“Absolutely. I can’t wait. You and Sam get her out of the bed and breakfast and we’ll all take care of the rest,” Calli said, yanking a couple of weeds from the barrel.
Molly leaned in to see if the flowers had a scent. “These really are gorgeous. I love the heart shape,” Molly said. No one needed to be an expert to have an opinion on what was pretty.
“That’s what I love, too. I enter to be part of the community. I never win because I keep my design simple,” Calli said.
Calli’s husband, Dean, came to the door of the restaurant. “You gonna talk all day or come in and get ready for the breakfast rush? Hey, Molly. How you doing?”
Molly smiled up at the tall, dark haired man. He was sporting a few days’ growth. He wore a shirt that said: No, really, Come N’ Get It.
“I’m good, Dean. I was just asking Calli about the flowers and taking some pictures.”
Calli swatted his stomach even as she
