Chapter 21
Nick
Odd, thought Nick, checking his phone. It wasn’t like Zoey to be late. In fact, it wasn’t like Zoey to be on time. The anxious streak in her meant she always arrived well ahead of him.
His sisters were staying at a stunning Victorian B&B just off Broadway, so only about a twenty-minute walk from Zoey’s. She’d said that she was going to bike down after work – no need for him to come pick her up.
‘Is Alice allowed in?’ he asked, heading up the stairs to where Cleo and Larissa waited on a porch swing on the vast wraparound porch, each sipping on a cocktail that deserved its own Pantone colour.
‘She might have to hang out here on the porch, but if that’s the case, we’ll hang out with her.
’ Cleo set down her drink to give Alice a hug.
Cleo was the sister with a soul, but with a terrible inability to commit to anything.
In her wake trailed a series of abandoned domain names and broken hearts.
‘Who’s a good girl? Are you a good girl, Alice? ’
Alice panted happily, demonstrating that she was, in fact, the very best girl.
Larissa gave Nick an up-and-down look. ‘You don’t look like you own a mushroom farm.’
‘I’m honestly not sure if that’s a compliment,’ said Nick.
He was wearing his usual jeans-and-plaid-shirt combination, only ironed.
And his Blundstones were buffed and polished.
He’d even taken a little extra time with his hair, using the pomade he’d spent $30 on at the fancy barber near Zoey’s shop.
A barber called Opal had made it sound absolutely mandatory.
(He’d also tried to sell Nick some truly awful bourbon from under the counter.)
‘Everything is open to interpretation,’ said Larissa, whose line of work had taught her that ambiguity meant money. She’d gone as a contract loophole for Halloween last year. No one had guessed her costume, and she’d threatened to sue a few people as a result.
‘Quick, sibling selfie for the text chain.’ Cleo’s phone flashed as she snapped a quick picture and sent it to their parents. It joined the fifty or so blurry images of the Venetian frescoes and snacks (mostly snacks) that Dad had sent them over the past couple of days.
Larissa gave Alice a cursory pat and sanitised her hands with a bottle produced from her stern black Prada bag. ‘So, where’s this new girl of yours?’
‘She’s just wrapping up at the shop,’ said Nick.
‘We tried to go,’ said Cleo, with a pout, ‘but the line was practically down to the waterfront. And all thanks to your mushrooms! Well, and Honour Nivola. Talk about an endorsement.’
‘Cleo had the video blasting on repeat on the way down,’ said Larissa. ‘I was this close to having to defend myself in a homicide case. Then she made us pull over to buy flowers from an off-ramp floral vendor.’
Cleo produced a small bouquet of gerberas wrapped in bright green paper. ‘They had a rainbow umbrella. How could I say no? Do you think Zoey will like them?’
Nick grinned. ‘She will absolutely love them. And you’re going to love her, too. She’s brilliantly smart, and so funny. And absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Larissa, with the sniffy intonation that indicated she was about to say something that Nick was going to have to write an apology letter for.
She angled her head towards the street. ‘Someone’s trying to climb the steps.
Should we say something to the B&B owners?
You know that this place was in that show about the shapeshifters.
They showed us the video when we checked in.
I’m certain they have a policy for dealing with … issues.’
Well, at least she hadn’t said undesirables.
Alice growled, and Nick turned to see what had upset her.
Alice rarely growled. There were very few things that set her off.
The air dancers outside car dealerships, and the salespeople inside said car dealerships.
Also particularly large seagulls. And Darina when she’d tried to accost Nick at the house a few weeks back.
And now … Zoey?
For Zoey was the somewhat unkempt urchin climbing the steps to the bed and breakfast. Was she hurt?
Ordinarily she’d breeze up the stairs two at a time, refusing anything to do with the handrail.
But this evening she was moving with a shagginess to her gait.
Not to mention a shagginess to her hair.
Her shift dress and jaunty scarf showed she’d made some sort of effort to dress up, but the end result hadn’t quite landed.
But then, women’s fashion was sometimes a bit beyond Nick. Especially here, where it wasn’t uncommon to show up to a fine-dining restaurant dressed as a harlequin, or to run a 5K in a unicorn onesie.
‘Hey, babe,’ he exclaimed, trying to keep the confusion from his voice. Zoey had the right to dress however she pleased. He wasn’t going to police her bedhead or her smeared lipstick or the fact that her shift dress was possibly inside out.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you!’ Cleo wrapped Zoey up in a hug and rocked her from side to side – which was dangerous business, since Zoey had only tied one of her mismatching boots.
‘Charmed,’ said Larissa, who was anything but. Larissa did not abide unstructured fashions. Since the age of twelve, her Christmas wish list had comprised Ann Taylor clothing and a productivity planner.
Zoey gave a wavering smile.
‘Nice to …’ she started, before trailing off. She blinked slowly, as though trying to figure out where on earth she was.
Nick swallowed. The poor thing. She was clearly stressed from work.
What’s more, now she had to deal with meeting Nick’s sisters, which was a big step for anyone, and especially for Zoey, who hadn’t grown up in the most supportive family.
She’d said she was ready for this, but was she really?
Sometimes you didn’t truly know how you felt about something until you were in the moment.
Maybe he’d asked too much of her.
Yes, that’s all it was. Definitely nothing more than that. Because it couldn’t be more than that, could it?
‘She’s … dealing with a bit of hay fever.’ Nick hoped this excuse would fly with Larissa, who was pretty fearsome when it came to cross-examining a witness. ‘We’ve got her dosed up on Benadryl,’ he added, for good measure.
He shot Zoey a quick glance, crossing his fingers that she didn’t mind the fabrication.
‘Want me to DoorDash some soup?’ asked Cleo.
Zoey groaned.
‘I get it,’ said Cleo agreeably. ‘I’m not a soup girl, either. Unless it’s pho. Soup of the gods.’
‘Let’s get you inside, babe,’ said Nick hurriedly. ‘Away from the pollen.’
He held the door for Zoey and his sisters, who followed at a safe distance.
Cleo was smiling gamely, but Larissa was wearing her usual bloody-hell-Nick-get-some-standards expression.
All right, so Jessica had demonstrated some shortcomings.
But Zoey was different. She had so much going for her. She was just having an … off night.
They squeezed into the B&B’s lavishly decorated sunroom, which was a riot of patterned wallpaper and art glass.
Dried flowers filled vases of all sizes, and a massive grandfather clock ticked a stately rhythm across the glossy hardwoods.
Alice took a seat just inside the door, like the good girl she was.
Samson and Charles, the B&B owners, whom Nick had met at the farmers’ market a couple of times, greeted them effusively.
‘Welcome back inside!’ they chorused, in a way that suggested they spent several hours a week working on the line.
No, Samson! With feeling!
Must you do that finger waggle, Charles?
‘Nick, wonderful to see you!’ Samson stepped forward to give Nick a kiss on each cheek.
‘And this must be Zoey?’ Charles leaned in to do the same. ‘I’m loving the green eye shadow. Really brings out your … cheekbones.’
Zoey blinked slowly. Perhaps to show off the eye shadow, thought Nick. Or perhaps she was just overwhelmed by the B&B’s very strong floral aroma. Apparently this was where potpourri migrated for the winter.
He found himself hovering close to her, just in case.
Just in case what, Nick?
No, he wasn’t going to speak it into existence. Because it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.
‘We’ve put together a grazing table for your group.
Just some nibbles and some vino. Nothing fancy.
’ Samson pointed at a small side table, which teetered under a cheese platter that was the opposite of nothing fancy.
‘And Zoey, if you haven’t seen our little B&B’s cameo on Monsterio, you simply must. The YouTube clip is queued up on the monitor right over there. ’
‘We’ve already seen it twice,’ whispered Cleo. ‘But humour them. We won this trip, after all – we’re not paying a cent to be here.’
‘I’m going to watch it on repeat,’ promised Nick.
If his farm ended up on a show, he’d be telling everyone about it, wouldn’t he?
Especially if he got paid for the pleasure.
Looping his arm around Zoey’s waist, Nick hit play on the clip, marvelling at the practical effects on display – there was a brilliantly Eighties werewolf transformation taking place in a facsimile of the parlour where he was presently standing.
‘Oh hey, that’s the exact same couch. And bookshelf. And is that you, Samson?’
Samson nodded proudly. ‘I had a speaking line, so I get residuals. Residuals!’
‘Brr …’ whispered Zoey.
‘Are you cold, babe?’ Swallowing, Nick took off his plaid shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was definitely coming down with something. He hoped it wasn’t the flu. Although the flu was better than … the alternative.
‘Pretty exciting, isn’t it?’ said Samson, poking at the monitor.
‘They changed the layout of the garden and took out a wall, which they rebuilt in a day – incredible what a set designer can do – but other than that, they didn’t change anything.
I told you the ceramic music box lady with the umbrella wasn’t kitschy,’ he added in an aside to Charles. ‘If it’s good enough for Hollywood …’