Miranda smiled. “Perfect. I’ll rustle up a charcuterie board. I have some local cheeses, sugar-cured ham slices, along with homemade peach marmalade and some crackers. Come on down when you’re settled in. We’ll snug up on the living room couch in front of the fire.”
* * *
Rowena came downstairs. “This is a beautiful farmhouse. So cozy with real country touches.” She pointed to a runner in the dining room and a matching circular rug in the living room. “They’re gorgeous. They match everything perfectly. Your grandmother again?”
“Yep. She’s a real dynamo. I just gave her the remaining fabric from my new curtains, and she braided these up in only a couple of weeks.” Miranda smiled. “It’s nice to have her so near. She loves her life at the Campton Rehabilitation Center.”
“What? You mean a nursing home? She’s happy there?”
“Yes, very happy, but this one is different. All the residents are from this area, and they all have known each other from childhood. Every time I visit, I drag her away from some kind of activity. I’ve learned to check the website before I visit.”
After a couple of hours, most of the bottle was gone and they had polished off all the meat, cheese, and crackers. They caught up with each other’s families, covered Rowena’s training as a secretary, and Miranda’s art education in Savannah. Then Miranda outlined her unsuccessful stint in New York City trying to make it big as a landscape artist.
Rowena frowned. “I’ve had my relationship trials. I broke off a five-year engagement last year, so I ran from that. Unfortunately, I also had to leave a good job in marketing. I was lucky to find work at the BigSky Corporation. Stupidly, I’ve fallen into a bad relationship again. At work again, of course. I’m such an idiot.”
“You mean with someone you work with at BigSky?”
“I’m hoping not to repeat that experience anytime soon. Not the getting-engaged part anyway. I still like the going-out dancing. Never mind me. I don’t want to talk about it. What about you?” Rowena raised her eyebrows at Miranda.
“Well, I’m not married, but I must say, there’s a forest ranger next door who is not only a pleasure to look at, but he’s kind. That and, of course, he makes me laugh.”
“Is it serious?”
Miranda looked at her former classmate and scrunched her brow. “I think there’s some sign of it, but I’m so focused in getting this business up and running, I’m not really thinking about that. That might be a mistake.”
“It feels as though we graduated from high school last week. How nice to reconnect.” Rowena looked down into her empty wineglass. “Let’s not lose each other again.”
Miranda collected their glasses, plates, knives, and napkins and piled them on the empty charcuterie board. “I feel the same and I don’t intend to lose track of you either.” She looked at the empty wine bottle. “Would you like to have a sample of my moonshine? It makes for a great nightcap.”
“You make ’shine?”
“Yep. That’s a condition of my uncle’s will. In order to keep the farm, I need to have a distillery up and running within the first six months.”
“What happens if you don’t make the deadline?”
Miranda stood stone-still with her green eyes open wide. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I don’t know.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’ve been so focused on getting things running, I haven’t considered that possibility.” She headed into the kitchen and looked over her shoulder. “Come on back. We’ll drink in the kitchen.”
Miranda put the charcuterie board on the counter. She motioned for Rowena to sit in one of the oak chairs at the little enamel kitchen table. After Miranda dealt with the dishes, she got out down two small mason jars and put two ice cubes in each. She got a lime from the refrigerator and sliced it into wedges. Then she filled the jars with equal measures of Seagram’s ginger ale and her latest batch of moonshine. She swiped each rim with a lime wedge and dunked it in as a garnish.
Sitting down at the table, Miranda raised her jar. “A toast to a rediscovered friendship. May we not get lost again.” They clinked their jars and each sipped the cocktail.
Rowena’s eyes widened. “This is wonderful! It’s smooth, fresh, and not a bit harsh going down.”
“Thanks, that’s exactly what I was going for. I’ve finally replicated my uncle’s famous recipe, and I’ve gotten the making of it down to a manageable job.”
Rowena took another sizable sip. Then leaned back in her chair. “It’s just lovely and I’m not a real fan of hard liquor. I prefer my red wines. What are your overall plans for the property?”
“Nothing simple, of course. I’m struggling to finish getting the distillery in the barn approved. There are still some licensing issues, but I’m making do with my uncle’s original still until the construction stage is complete. Big projects out in the country are a complete nightmare.”
“Better you than me. I’m happy to work for my bread in the corporate world. It’s safe and predictable.” Rowena downed the last of her cocktail. “I’d better try to get a little sleep. I’m happy for the overtime, but the workshop will be stressful. Everything is always stressful with this company.”
“Really? I had hoped for a nice group of outdoorsy types eager to learn something about art as well as cookery.”
“Not this time.... Hey, is that your boot?”
Sandy was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a hiking boot hanging by its tongue from his mouth. He tilted his head sideways and the boot clomped to the floor.
“Oh, Sandy!” Miranda lurched out of her chair and grabbed up the boot. “Oh, no. This is one of my new boots.”
Sandy looked up with adoring puppy eyes.
Photo courtesy of Frank Duffy
Cheryl Hollon now writes full-time after she left an engineering career of designing and building military flight simulators in amazing countries such as England, Wales, Australia, Singapore, Taiwan, and India. Fulfilling the dream of a lifetime, she combines her love of writing with a passion for creating glass art. In the small glass studio behind her house in St. Petersburg, Florida, Cheryl and her husband design, create, and produce fused glass, stained glass, and painted glass artworks. Visit her online at cherylhollon.com or on Twitter@CherylHollon.
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