9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Wednesday, June 26th
The scent of coffee teased her awake. She yawned and rolled toward the other side of the bed—still warm, but empty. On the pillow, a note:
Danielle,
I don’t have words beautiful enough to thank you for last night. Here goes, anyway. Meeting you has been the most wonderful surprise. I must’ve done something really good in a past life to deserve this.
I have to take Sal into Westport for an appointment, then pick up stuff for the wedding arch. We close the gelato shop at seven. Stop by my workshop after? Blue house, right behind Saint Sebastian’s. Text me if you can come. Or if you can’t. I’ll miss you till then.
Yours, M
She pressed the letter over her heart and then, because no one was there to see what a total lovesick sap she’d become, kissed his swooping cursive M.
Mine—for now . She counted on her fingers. Eleven more days to enjoy this scary-strong connection. A week from Saturday, she’d be out of this house and on her way back to Tacoma, to her kids and her real life. The thought settled over her like a damp, moldy blanket.
After moping for another fifteen minutes, she rolled to her feet and gave herself a head-to-toe, wet-dog shake. “Enough feeling sorry for myself,” she told her nude reflection. “I’ve got a whole, glorious day at the beach, and I’m probably gonna get lucky tonight.”
Even with a sheet-creased face and bed-rumpled hair, she did look pretty good for a middle-aged mom. Glowing, pink, well-rested and well-fucked. Better by far than any spa.
She pulled on yoga pants and an ancient concert T-shirt, then padded barefoot to the kitchen. Sudden tears prickled her eyes when she saw what Matteo had left on the table. A breadbasket held sliced peasant bread, and a bowl of cut melon and strawberries sat beside a plate of cheese, salami, and ham. He’d even set out the butter to soften. A crystal bud vase held a fat ruby geranium from the window box.
What a sweet, thoughtful guy. She removed her phone from the charger, pulled up a playlist of meditation music, and sat down to feast. Afterward, she carried the music into the bathroom and treated herself to a rose-scented bath to soothe her slightly bruised lady parts, lazily reading a paperback mystery until the water cooled. Just for fun, she snapped a selfie of her open book and her wet, bubbly toes beyond, then sent it to her book club group chat.
Me time
Proof to Cari, Laurie, and Marie that she was honoring her promise to enjoy her solo vacation. The best part would remain her secret for now.
With a naughty grin, she toweled off, dressed, and arranged her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. Normally, she wore it in a ponytail—but this was a time for trying new styles, new hobbies, even a new persona.
“Why, hello there,” she purred into the mirror as she dressed. “I’m Danielle, singer-songwriter and international woman of mystery.” With a flip of her full skirt, she stepped out into the glorious sunshine.
All day, she sent her friends and kids a steady stream of photos: the dunes, the beach, Main Street, her new glitter-dusted pedicure, her giant Greek salad with grilled shrimp. She already had hundreds of shots of Trappers Cove, but they centered on her kids doing kid things: collecting seashells, slurping slushies, playing Skee ball in the arcade, driving bumper cars. Though she missed Olivia and Noah fiercely, it was fun examining this well-loved place through a different lens.
On a tip from one of the art gallery owners, she stopped in the town’s library to admire its ocean-themed mosaics. Behind the desk, a familiar face smiled. “Hello there. Matteo’s friend, right?”
She returned the librarian’s smile. “That’s me.” She extended her hand. “Danielle.”
“Right, the speech therapist.”
“Um, how—”
The woman patted her hand. “It’s a small town, honey. Seems you’ve made quite an impression on our Italian stallion.”
Danielle attempted a carefree laugh, but it came out brittle. “He’s a special guy. I’m sure he has lots of women friends.”
The librarian shrugged. “Not that I’ve seen. So, you been to my wife’s place yet?”
“I’m not sure. Which shop is hers?”
She tilted her chin. “End of the block. Crystals, fairies, tarot cards. Check it out—she spent all spring sprucing the place up for summer visitors.”
“I will, thanks.”
Back on the sidewalk, Danielle fanned herself. She’d wanted a glimpse at the real town, but she hadn’t counted on being their entertainment.
The tourist crowds were thinner here at the far end of Main Street, where real estate offices mingled with shabby antique shops. The sea breeze lifted Danielle’s hair and wafted the scent of sandalwood incense. She followed her nose to a brick-fronted shop, its window filled with tie-dyed T-shirts, crystal skulls, tribal-style jewelry, and a dozen creepy-looking daggers. A carved wooden sign hung above the door: Madame Zelda’s Psychic Emporium . The curtain of glass beads covering the doorway clicked like chattering teeth as she pushed through.
A few visitors browsed shelves of figurines and racks of jewelry and books. Behind the counter, a plump, petite woman beamed. “Ah, Matteo’s sweetheart. I had a hunch you’d stop by. Come, have some tea.” She bustled over to a tall wooden cabinet, a wonder of carved embellishments, nooks, shelves, and drawers. Its marble counter held a samovar and chipped China cups. She patted the wood. “Recognize your boyfriend’s work?”
Did the whole town know they were together? She accepted a steaming cup of tea that smelled of cardamom and cloves. “Are you Madame Zora?”
The little woman patted her poufy cloud of salt-and-pepper hair. “In the flesh. How about a reading, dear?”
“Oh, I, uh—” No one had read her tarot cards since her woo-woo college roommate.
“On the house, of course.” Zora added. “Besides, I’m dying to know about this mystery woman who captured our Matteo’s heart.”
Embarrassment prickled like sand in her undies. What had Matteo told his neighbors?
“Don’t worry, hon. Matteo’s not a gossip.” The fortuneteller nudged her with a sharp little elbow. “But Mo, the kebab guy, is. We play poker on Tuesdays. Seems our Italian stallion bought a kebab feast for a romantic rendezvous.”
She sat at a low table and patted the armchair beside her. “Let’s see what the cards say.” From a drawer beneath the table, she pulled a deck of tarot cards swathed in red silk, unwrapped them, and handed the deck to Danielle. “While you shuffle, focus on a general area—relationships, health, money, or spiritual growth.”
The memory of Matteo’s sexy grin tugged her lips into a smile. “Let’s do relationships.”
While Danielle shuffled the slippery cards, Zora closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
She handed the cards over, and Zora divided them into three piles face down. “Just a simple past, present, future spread.” She turned over the top card on the first pile—a prone figure with swords bristling from his back.
Zora winced. “Ten of Swords. Betrayal. End of a relationship. Does this look like your past, hon?”
Danielle gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, there’s definitely a backstabber in my past.” Who could blame her for imagining her ex face-down and stuck with swords?
The second card was upside down, a hand holding a five-pointed star encased in a circle. Zora pursed her lips. “Very interesting. Ace of pentacles. A good sign, and a warning.”
Danielle’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Warning about what?”
“Well, in relationships, it means you risk missing out on love.” She tapped the previous card. “Most likely, this experience left you feeling vulnerable, out of balance. Don’t rush getting to know this new person. True connection needs time and attention to grow.”
Danielle bit her lip. Zora must be in league with the matchmaking nonnas.
“Ready for the last card? Your future?”
Still nibbling her lip, she nodded. The third card featured a robed angel pouring water from one chalice to another.
Zora beamed. “Ah, this is a good one. Temperance. Sign of healing, of combining different elements to make something better.”
Danielle gulped and stared into the fortuneteller’s eyes—kind eyes, crinkled at the corners, sharp and knowing. A funny, fizzy sensation filled her chest. Must be all the onions on that Greek salad.
Chuckling, Zora wrapped her Tarot deck and placed it back in the drawer. “A skeptic would say that’s generic advice, right?” She leaned forward. “Doesn’t make it any less effective, though.”
Danielle nodded, squirming in her chair. Despite the mellow music floating from the speakers and the soft murmurs of customers, something about the dark little shop made her itchy to escape. Perhaps it was the figurines staring at her from the shelves: Buddhas, Ganeshas, Mexican sugar skulls, mischievous fairies, brooding wizards, snarling dragons…
She gave her head a little shake and drained her cup. “Well, thanks for the tea. And the wisdom.”
“My pleasure, dear. Come back if you have any questions. Or just to browse our crystals.” Zora swept a hand toward the glass counter where colorful stones rested in velvet-lined trays. “Chrysocolla is good for feminine wisdom and balance. Also good for musicians like you.”
Danielle spluttered. “How did you—?”
“Your nails are shorter on your left hand.” The older woman grinned. “Besides, I do yoga with Annie from the antiques shop.”
Danielle backed toward the door. “Guess I can’t expect to keep secrets in a small town.”
The soothsayer lifted a single brow. “No indeed. But in exchange for your privacy, you could gain a lot of love.”