Chapter 19
~~ Lorelai ~~
I”m sunk amid the worn velvet pillows in a high back chair in the lobby of The Bearberry Bliss Bed Breakfast with my tablet because even though the room I rented for this week is cute and cozy, the lobby has an actual fireplace. In my week at the cabin, I’d become enchanted and watched the fire endlessly while James told me stories.
Stella slides another latte onto the coffee table for me and perches on the rolled arm of the Victorian style sofa across from my chair. She smooths the sides of her up-do, tucking a stray silver hair behind her ear.
I’ve camped out here the last few mornings after breakfast. I’ve gotten to know her a little, and she at least knows how I like my lattes.
I grin at her, reaching for the cup. “Stella, you know you don’t need to fetch me drinks.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But if I look busy, Mari won’t ask me to do more chores.” She snickers. It seems her goal in life is to avoid any instructions from her older sister. They run the BB together, but I haven’t quite figured out the dynamic yet.
Stella shakes a fold from her dress and crosses one high heel over the other. “Can I bring you another apricot scone? They’re from Cloud Nine.”
The baked goods delivered every morning are heavenly. I know I’ve probably gained five pounds in the last few days. I swallow my sip, earning a scalded tongue, but I need to stop her. “Stella, no!” She won’t bring just one. She’ll stack at least three on a gold-rimmed saucer and expect me to eat every one.
She sniffs and tips her nose up. “I’ll just go polish the silver, then.” She slides off the sofa arm and tiptoes away.
I scoff. There is no way she’s going to polish anything.
I hear the taps of Mari’s practical wide-heeled Mary Jane’s coming from the back office now, and I wonder how Stella knew she was on her way. She seems to have some sixth sense that tells her just when to disappear.
My phone rings. Even my grandmother’s attorney, whom I speak to the most, will send me an email asking me to call. I answer it softly with just a hello.
“Is this Lorelai Mills?” The fake almost-British accent gives her away.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This is Mrs. Corbyn of Maritime Montessori.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I would appreciate you being able to start shadowing Mr. Turner’s class next Monday morning at 7:00 a.m. The salary as we discussed is acceptable.” She makes it sound like a command and not a request.
It’s a Director position, but it includes teaching a morning class three days a week. Mrs. Corbyn also seems very tight on the reins. It’s a step in the direction I want to go. And an income, which feels better to me than using more of Grandmother’s money.
“Yes, ma’am. That sounds great. I’ll see you then.” I disconnect the call, already rolling my eyes.
I need to shop, I decide. I’d only bought the one outfit I’d interviewed in. Mrs. Corbyn would probably have me escorted off property if I showed up in jeans and motorcycle boots. I saw a boutique across the square I wanted to check out even though it looks a little fancier than what I need. Okay, maybe a lot fancier, but I”m super curious.
I finish the latte in a rush before it cools, get up, and cross to the grand stairs. For some reason, I prefer their shabby elegance over taking the elevator to the upper floor. Also, I need to work off those pastries some way.
Upstairs, I leave my tablet tucked in my pack, thrown up on the closet shelf. I haven’t unpacked at all, not that I have much. There is just the one lovely pantsuit hanging in the closet. I rub the silky fabric between my fingers as I head out. It’s nicer than anything I’ve ever owned, apart from the few dresses I’d left in my room at my grandmother’s estate. I’d accepted them, worn them, in the spirit they were given, but they weren’t me. Now I have the freedom and the finances to dress the way I want.