Page 64 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
She couldn’t stop talking. “Funnily enough, there’s actually a group ready to retire her. They want to build a sea pen and she could rejoin her family right here near the islands –”
Russell interrupted her. “How do you know that?” A line had formed across his forehead. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was a thin line.
It felt like a brick sank in her chest. “I saw it online.”
“No, you didn’t.” He took a step back. “What is this, Sheila?”
“It’s…” Her voice faltered. “Financial advice.”
He stared at her. “Was this all part of your plan? Befriending me, making you think you cared about me and the wolves all to –”
“I didn’t plan anything,” she said firmly, because that was entirely the truth.
Russell ran a hand through his hair. “Who sent that email, Sheila?”
Oh no.This wasn’t how she wanted it to go at all. “You have to believe me, Russell. I had no idea you owned Lottie.”
He put his hands up and backed away. “I don’t know what to believe. It feels a lot like I’m the mark here.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not that much of a mastermind. Believe me.”
Russell shook his head. “This is my fault, really. I should know better.”
“Please.” She sucked in a breath. “It’s not what you think.”
“You know what’s interesting? Holly said that same thing to me once.” Her throat was dry and when she tried to respond, she only coughed. “Right before she left me for Hank. It’s funny how it’s not what I think, except it always is.”
He turned and disappeared through the door.
Sheila stood, staring. It was as though she’d dropped whatever they had and it had shattered into a million pieces around her feet.
Her vision blurred. There was no way to put it back together again.
Twenty-eight
It was a rule of nature that the highest of highs preceded the lowest of lows, the mountains and the valleys, the yin and the yang.
Eliza had felt something coming. Her life had started to change for the better: work excited her, every day flexing skills she didn’t know she had, and she saw the rewards of her labor with her own eyes.
For the first time in her adult life, she was able to help someone –reallyhelp them – so it shouldn’t have surprised her that everything would come crashing down.
What was surprising was how quickly it happened.
The cracks started to form less than twenty-four hours after re-opening at the tea shop. She’d stayed up late that night cleaning the shop and marveling at the reviews pouring in. People loved the food, the tea, and the sassy grandma serving it, and they loved the entertainment. It was, by all accounts, a raging success.
The next morning, she was awakened by a phone call from her grandma – her other grandma, her mom’s mom.
“Is everything okay, Eliza?” she asked, putting extra emphasis on the word “okay.”
Eliza sat up in bed, bleary-eyed, and pulled on her glasses. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even talked to Grandma. Was it three years ago, when she’d crashed Christmas Eve wearing a robe and insisting they hold a masquerade-themed Christmas? Or was it someone’s birthday, maybe Emma’s, when she’d rode in on the back of a motorcycle, hanging onto her new tattooed boyfriend and complaining about the lack of cupcakes?
“We’re fine, Grandma. How are you?”
“I’m at the house and no one is here! I thought I’d stop by for your mom’s birthday.”
She was several weeks too late, but there was no need to point that out. “We’re staying up with Granny on San Juan Island. Thanks for thinking of us, though!”
There were voices downstairs, and the smell of something delicious from the oven. She’d overslept. Was that cinnamon?
