Chapter Eighteen
Lissa
Fuck me sideways with a sandpaper dildo.
There should be a law against bitches causing problems first thing in the morning. And that’s exactly what Marge was—a USDA-certified Grade A Bitch. Which was nicer than the other word Lissa often used for the owner of Blown Bubbles—something along the lines of “C U next Tuesday.”
Seriously, she left a gorgeous woman sleeping on her couch for this bullshit?
“You did this,” Marge screeched, sounding like a constipated possum.
“I know you did. You’re trying to ruin my expansion plans like you ruined everything else.
” She stamped her foot, giving off massive temper tantrum vibes, and it took everything in Lissa not to slap the woman across her pinched face.
Lissa had no idea how Marge managed to permanently look like she just smelled a fart, but somehow, she pulled it off effortlessly.
Combined with her bleach blonde A-line haircut, leathery, spray-tanned skin, and early 2000s, pink, velour tracksuit, she looked like she should be lecturing other moms about gluten at a PTA function, not running a glassblowing shop.
Maybe that was why they never got along.
Or maybe it had to do with Marge blaming Smooth Expressions for stealing away two of her best artists by allowing them to—pause for dramatic effect—create whatever pieces they wanted. Gasp! Shocking, really.
Possibly it had to do with Marge’s ridiculous notion that Lissa was somehow to blame for her husband leaving her, despite Lissa’s repeated declarations that she was a lesbian and had nothing to do with Gary’s Great Escape.
Being polite to him one time when they ran into each other at the boba place did not mean she “ensnared him with her sexual charisma.”
More than likely, they were doomed to rivalry from the moment Lissa convinced Briggs to open an actual storefront and suggested the name Smooth Expressions.
Less than an hour after the sign went up, Marge had stormed into their lobby, demanding they change it.
Her logic? Clearly Smooth Expressions was a dig at Blown Bubbles, and we were trying to say her bubble-filled art was less impressive than our bubble-free work.
Not even close to the reasoning behind the name, and honestly both types of glassblowing were equally valid.
They’d only gone with Smooth Expressions because they wanted something neutral that would allow them to include pottery as well, but if Marge wanted to bitch and moan, then so be it.
Thus, the rivalry was born.
Although the rivalry usually maintained more socially acceptable hours.
“Marge, what are you even doing here? Our lobby doesn’t open to customers for another thirty minutes.”
“Oh, please,” she spat at Lissa. “I’m not a customer, and you know it. Like I would ever buy any of your pathetic pieces of ‘art.’”
The air quotes Marge put around the word “art” were the last straw. Lissa was sleep deprived, caffeine deprived, and sex deprived. The well of diplomacy she reserved for dealing with Marge was emptier than Lissa’s fridge after one of Daria’s morning pop-bys.
“Well if you’re not here to buy something, then get the hell out of our studio,” Lissa snapped, pointing at the door.
“You mean my studio,” Marge shot back. “The paperwork is merely a formality, and no amount of flirting with the Art, Inc. guys is going to let you hold onto it.”
Lissa rolled her eyes. Did Marge not know what a lesbian was, or did she just have a standard catch-all excuse whenever things didn’t go her way?
“You may have gotten a few extra days out of them,” the bitter woman continued, “but they are selling to me. And the first thing I’m going to do is dump every bit of this garbage in the trash.
” She swung her arm out, gesturing to the lobby full of mostly glasswork and a little pottery.
Her hand narrowly missed one of Lissa’s most prized pieces—an arc of red, orange, and yellow behind a strip of blue to mimic the sun setting.
“Marge,” Lissa began, her frustration reaching a tipping point.
“You may think this studio is yours, and you can put a bunch of talented artists out of work for your petty gains, but we are not going down without a fight. And if there’s a single thing I can do to keep your grubby hands off this place, you better believe I’ll do it.
Now get the hell out of my studio before I call the cops. ”
Marge stared down her nose at Lissa for a second before giving a haughty little sniff and spinning on her heels to stomp out the door.
Lissa’s shoulders dropped at least six inches.
Relief the confrontation was over flooded her tense muscles, yet at the same time, it was a hollow victory.
Marge was right. The paperwork was basically a formality at this point, because shy of a miracle, Smooth Expressions would become the new Blown Bubbles satellite campus.
Lissa wasn’t even sure if she could stay in Seacliff if that happened.
Finding another job that was even remotely as fulfilling would be impossible, and there was no way she wouldn’t lose a piece of her soul every time she saw Marge’s stupid logo of a crab blowing bubbles.
What did crabs even have to do with glass art?
“Thanks for dealing with her,” Penny said, emerging from where she’d been all but cowering behind the front desk. “She scares me more than a colony of angry bees fighting for their queen.”
“Sorry about her. You shouldn’t have to deal with that, especially not before we even open.”
“Oh, it’s not your fault she’s crabbier than the critter on her sign,” Penny said, her high, blonde ponytail bobbing as she went over and locked the door. “You know she’s not getting any. Bound to make even the nicest person a bit of a prickly pear after a while.”
Lissa chuckled, trying not to think too hard about how long it had been since the last time she got laid. Not that she’d been tempted by anyone. Not since Ria, anyway.
Her phone dinged and she glanced down to see a new text from Daria.
Brazilian Goddess: Just dropped your girl off at home. Want to meet me at Mixie’s? The java from Cafe de Lissa didn’t quite satisfy my craving for a yummy latte.
Lissa snickered, then texted back that she was on her way.
Mixie’s wasn’t far, and she could use the fresh ocean breeze to clear her thoughts.
Everything was so noisy in her head lately, a hundred voices all shouting at her with suggestions for how to handle her life, and none of them were proving to be useful.
“I’m going for coffee, Penny. Need anything?”
“No ma’am,” the perky young receptionist replied. “My bees provided me with enough honey for a delicious cup of tea this morning. You know, if you had your own hive you could—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Pen,” Lissa interrupted, backing toward the door and fumbling to unlock it. “I told my friend I’d be there right away. But later you can tell me all about your bees.”
Penny brightened and gave Lissa a huge smile. “Sounds great, boss lady.”
Trying not to shudder at the uncomfortable moniker, Lissa dashed out the door and hurried down the sidewalk toward Mixie’s.
Boss lady. Talk about a load of crap. She was turning out to be the worst boss ever.
Lissa slouched into a chair on the back patio of Mixie’s, setting down the two lattes she’d waited in line twenty minutes for and sending off a quick “where the hell are you” text to Daria, who should have been there by now. Seacliff wasn’t big enough for it to take twenty minutes to get anywhere.
Dropping her phone on the table, she took a big gulp of the creamy concoction and stared out at the waves in the distance.
She really did love Seacliff. She loved the ocean, the smell, the people—most of them anyway—and the last thing she wanted to do was leave.
Especially now that she’d met Ria, someone she could actually see herself building a life with.
Although she was likely going to lose her when she revealed the truth.
“Those look like some pretty deep thoughts,” came a pleasant voice from behind Lissa.
She looked over her shoulder to see a cute young barista standing behind her with a plate of scones. Lissa recognized her as the one who usually made the amazing vanilla oat milk lattes and always had a massive smile on her face as if she were permanently high on sunshine and rainbows.
“Scone?” the barista offered with her signature megawatt smile.
A pink-and-white polka-dot halter dress swished around her thighs as she walked forward, and her hair was fluffed up under a headband with the flipped out ends just tickling her shoulders.
She looked like she stepped right off the pages of a 1960s pinup calendar.
“Absolutely,” Lissa replied as the girl set the plate down. She took a bite and groaned as the explosion of honey and gentle caress of lavender washed over her taste buds. “These are incredible. Are they new?”
“I’m so pleased you like them,” the girl replied, clapping her hands. “It’s a new flavor Mixie was thinking of adding to the menu. We’re about to hit peak harvest season for those ingredients, and she wanted to honor them.”
Lissa eyed the pile of scones, wondering if it would be in bad taste to grab one more. Or maybe five more. She normally despised lavender and its typical soapy profile, but the things Mixie could do with pastry were causing her to rethink some of her flavor favorites.
“Please help yourself,” the girl offered, either reading Lissa’s mind or accurately interpreting the look of desperate longing on her face.
“Thanks,” Lissa said before tearing into another one. “Dang, what is Mixie’s secret ingredient?”
“Happiness,” the girl replied with a wink.
“Well, it’s clearly working. These are definitely improving my mood.”
The girl took a seat beside Lissa. “That’s wonderful to hear.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, a small smile on her face.