Page 10 of Since the Day We Left

She needed something big. Something to make people believe this place was worth saving.

The bell over the door jingled—a sound far more cheerful than Wendi felt—as Emma breezed in with a brown paper bag. A golden retriever trotted in beside her, tail wagging in a wide arc.

“Riley, careful,” Emma said, guiding him away from the shelves. Riley immediately spotted Max and bounded over.

Max jumped off his cushion and circled the much larger dog with excited little yips. Riley gave a gentle woof and rubbed noses with his tiny friend.

“Special delivery for His Royal Highness, Sir Max-a-lot,” Emma announced, swinging the bag. “Our new sweet potato and peanut butter treats—Riley-approved, four paws up.”

Max momentarily abandoned his playdate and scampered to Emma’s feet.

“You’re turning him into a treat snob,” Wendi said with a chuckle.

“We both know he deserves them for being the sweetest boy.” Emma hopped onto the stool behind the counter. “Alright, out with it. What’s the face about?”

“What face?”

“The ‘I’m fine, except I’m definitely not’ face.” Emma’s red hair flared like a struck match in the light as she leaned in. “Come on, we’ve been friends since we put worms in Joey Miller’s lunch box. You can’t hide from me.”

Wendi tugged at a loose thread on her shirt. “Laurel called. Made me an offer.”

Emma’s smile faltered. “And?”

“And ... it’s tempting. Better hours. More money. Three days in the city, one weekend a month, four days here. I could keep the cottage.”

“But that means going back to corporate. Remember what that did to you? The panic attacks? That night you called me in tears after—”

“I remember. I also remember paying bills without checking my account balance first.”

“Fair. Though I’ve noticed a suspicious lack of ramen in your pantry. Pantries don’t lie.”

“Still a ramen girl—for now. But last week, I put real vegetables in it. That’s growth.”

“Progress.” Emma smirked, then squeezed her arm. “Whatever you decide, I’m in your corner. But that store?” She nodded toward Barking Orders across the street. “Took me ten years to make it real. First two years? Nothing but pasta. My paycheck? Might as well have been Monopoly money.”

“Technically, ramen is pasta.”

“You know what I mean. Good things take time.” Emma glanced at her watch. “Oh shoot, I gotta go. Promised Luke and Jeremiah I’d grab lunch.”

“Yeah, I should probably eat something too. Good seeing you.” Wendi stepped closer to hug her friend.

Emma whistled for Riley, then held up a hand. “Wait—before I go, wemustuphold the sacred handshake. As decreed in theOfficiallyOfficial Redhead Rulebook, section three, paragraph two.”

“Ah yes, the code must be honored. The code is law, after all,” Wendi said, standing.

They launched into their ritual—three quick slaps, pinky hook, hip bump, and jazz hands finale—moving in perfect unison.

“Still flawless,” Emma said.

“Truly, our finest middle school accomplishment.”

Emma hugged her again. “Never forget—there’s two kinds of people in this world: Team Ginger and the unfortunate rest. We, my friend, are the chosen ones.”

Emma’s words stuck with her through the workshop. The two students, Mrs. Winters and Old Pete, seemed to enjoy creating seascapes. Wendi demonstrated how to layer paint to capture the transparency of waves while her thoughts ping-ponged between her life in Hadley Cove and Laurel’s offer.

“Oh dear, I’ve made a mess of it.” Mrs. Winters sighed, dabbing at a blob of white bleeding into her shoreline.

“That’s not a mistake—it’s an opportunity,” Wendi said. “Some of the best art comes from accidents.” She helped Mrs. Winters incorporate the “mistake” into a deeper wave shadow.

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