Page 52 of Resting Beach Face
I ducked as I reached for the door, having walked straight into them enough times to have learned my lesson. As if the wind chimes weren’t enough, more bells jangled to announce my entry.
“Be right there,” Mimsy called from the vicinity of the greenhouse. I recognized her voice because she was the sweet one.
“Oh. It’s you again.”
And that would be the other owner, Mimsy’s twin, Pipsy. She scowled at me, her crinkled face scrunching up. “Weren’t you just here the other day? What do you take us for, some sort of enabler?”
I bit down on a smile. Pipsy was obviously my favorite, but I couldn’t let her know that.
“I’ve got a legitimate reason today.”
“What’s the reason now? You’ve already practically bought me out of fertilizer this year.”
I chuckled. “So sorry to keep your store running on a profit.”
She scoffed. “As if we do this for money. We’d have closed ages ago.”
I didn’t doubt she was right. This was the kind of passion business that folks ran as a side gig when they retired. Something they enjoyed that made them feel useful after their hard-working years were behind them.
I wanted to be like Mimsy and Pipsy when I grew up. For now, I was stuck running a B&B.
But soon you’ll be running numbers instead…
The idea wasn’t exciting, but it was comforting. I knew how to deal with data much better than guests who demanded my interest and attention whenever they wanted it.
I was a little like Pipsy that way.
“Well?” she said, sounding impatient. “What is it you’re shopping for today? I’ve got my show on in the back, and I was busy doing actual work before you showed your grumpy face.”
“Ha, you’re one to talk.”
“My face is lovely and cheerful,” she deadpanned, her lips upturned in a saccharine-sweet smile.
Mimsy swept in then, all genuine warmth and grace, completely her twin’s opposite—aside from the fact they shared identical DNA. “Declan, dearie! So good to see you again.”
Her short silvery braids sported bright pink ribbons to match her lipstick, and she wore a bright floral muumuu in place of Pipsy’s country-style overalls. But just like her sister, her fingers were gritty with potting soil. The sign of any good gardener.
“What can we help you with?” Mimsy asked. “You don’t need more mulch, surely?”
Okay, maybe I’d overdone it with the gardening supply runs this year, but I had a very large property to maintain.
And maybe I’d expanded my vegetable garden just a smidge and moved some hydrangea bushes to an area where they got more shade, plus I’d planted some new azaleas to better frame the entryway…
And maybe you really are addicted to gardening.
It had started as a way to get out of the house more and—yes—avoid my B&B guests when I needed a breather. The landscaping had been a mess when I first inherited the place, left to grow unchecked for several years while Millie wasn’t in the best of health.
But what started out as a chore had blossomed into love. There was just something about working outdoors, smelling the fresh scent of soil and new growth, that made me feel more alive, too.
“I’m clearing an overgrown walkway,” I told Mimsy. “I need a weed barrier, maybe some landscape fabric to put down along the edges and cover with decorative rocks?”
“Oh, I’ve got just the thing,” Mimsy said. “Follow me.”
I could have found what I needed on my own, but Mimsy loved to be helpful. I let her explain the types of weed barriers, along with half a dozen suggestions about how to shore up my path if it was going to have regular use.
She made a good point about putting down gravel or pavers to stand up to regular use. I’d add it to the list of improvements I was making with Cash. Mimsy was so excited about the path, Idecided not to mention the greenhouse plans. She might expire on the spot, and then Pipsyreallywouldn’t like me.
Twenty minutes later, I escaped Mimsy’s clutches with my purchases and made a quick stop by the grocery store.
