by KD Fisher
As I stepped into the harsh bathroom light, I winced at the sight of my own reflection in the tiny mirror mounted above the sink. My hair was in desperate need of a trim, and even worse, I looked like a dang ghost. Although the last few weeks had been brilliantly sunny, I’d barely spent an hour outdoors during daylight hours. My face was fish belly white and dark circles deepened my eye sockets. Maybe Jay and Vanessa and just about everyone I came across were right. Maybe I did need a little rest.
Unfortunately for me, I highly doubted an evening spent in the presence of Beth Summers would be calming in the slightest.
Chapter Six
Beth
Sweeping my curls into a loose knot on the top of my head, I inhaled deeply. Tonight was going to be good. I could feel it in my bones. As much as I loved the wedding receptions and family reunions and business dinners people rented out The Yellow House for, I missed nights like this. People, my people, coming together, eating simple food, dancing under strands of fairy lights and a wide-open sky full of stars.
Nina sashayed into the kitchen, dressed to the nines in a black lace crop top and tiny cutoff shorts that emphasized her curves. I’d opted for a loose linen tank and a pair of well-worn jeans. It was nice to be able to wear my jewelry for once though, to hear the clatter of my bracelets and necklaces announcing my every movement. Besides, I wasn’t here to impress anyone tonight. All I wanted was to make my guests happy, facilitate community, and rack up as many donations for the Melinda Coulter LGBTQ Center as possible.
“Ugh I hate you.” Nina hip checked me out of the way to inspect her flawless makeup in the reflection of a particularly shiny pot. “You look like a fucking goddess. Meanwhile I watched three YouTube videos to figure out these new lash extensions.”
I blew my friend a kiss. “You look amazing. Like the Instagram queen you are.” Nina ran a body positivity fashion Instagram in addition to working magic on The Yellow House’s social media.
“Okay so, we should probably pull the farro salad and the olive tapenade now to let them come to temperature. What do you think, slice the bread now or will it get too dry?” Nina yanked open our ancient refrigerator, yet another thing I’d been meaning to get around to replacing, and peered inside.
“I’ll slice it in a few minutes and put cloths over it. Knives plus booze isn’t a great combo.”
We’d opted for a menu of fresh, simple dishes we could prepare ahead and arrange buffet style for folks to graze on throughout the night. I’d made an assortment of focaccias, rustic pizzas, and pastries, while Nina had put together platters of roasted seasonal vegetables, grain salads, and local cheeses. Then Eitan had surprised us all this morning with an announcement that he was going to grill chicken thighs and steam clams over the outdoor woodstove for anyone who wanted something a little heartier. We had good wine, cold beer, and three different kinds of infused water. Hopefully something for everyone. And if someone wasn’t happy, we would make it right.
I glanced outside where my brother Andrew and our newish pastry assistant Grace appeared to be arguing over a floral arrangement. Nina followed my gaze. “Holy god have those two fucked yet? I walked in on the two of them bickering with Eitan about, like, saffron or something yesterday and I could have cut the tension with a knife. I really hoped Grace might be queer because that girl is cute as hell.”
I shot Nina a reproachful look. “Be professional. She’s our colleague. We don’t need to start speculating about her identity or her sex life.”
Nina stuck her tongue out at me but returned to arranging grilled peaches on a slate board. She was silent for all of fifty seconds before bringing up the one topic I was not interested in broaching. My sex life. Or complete and utter lack thereof.
“So speaking of...” She beamed at me. “I invited Kevin.”
I turned to her, mouth agape, hoping she didn’t mean what I thought she meant. “You what? Why?” Kevin Walsh was my fucking high school boyfriend. The guy I’d dated and thought I’d dutifully marry until I woke up to the reality that I liked girls a little more than guys and wanted a hell of a lot more than the life of a fisherman’s wife. More than the life my mother had. More than this town.
The morning of graduation I’d swiftly ended things with Kevin and launched myself into a world of food, travel, and pleasure. A failed stint in culinary school and a failed fling with a high-powered corporate attorney who wanted me to tie her up in bed. A few months working on a vineyard in California and sun-drenched trysts with the vineyard owner’s son. Almost three years spent working at the best bakery in New Orleans and falling into my only other real relationship to date. I tried not to think of Maya, the beautiful pianist I’d so easily left behind. Now I was back here. In Maine. Putting down roots I never knew I wanted. Roots I still wasn’t so sure about letting grow down deep.
“Oh come on, Beth. It’s not a big deal. I happened into him at Brew and Bean over in Fullerton...which he owns by the way. I figured you guys could catch up and talk about being business owners and shit. He looked good. Maybe I’ll fuck him if you don’t want to.”
I didn’t really spend a lot of time worrying about my sexuality the way I had in my twenties. A solid decade of experimenting with the way I looked and who I wanted to sleep with left me with the solid understanding that someone’s energy did a lot more to attract me than their gender. Still, the idea of hooking up with Kevin held no appeal. I needed to focus on the future, not get bogged down in the past.
Nina pinned me with a knowing look and I rolled my eyes. “You’re still hung up on that fancy chef chick, aren’t you?”
My cheeks heated and I knew I was blushing. Stupid fair skin. “No.” The word was as hollow as an unfilled pastry shell. “I don’t have time for that stuff. Is everything ready? What are we doing for music?”
“Ugh yes. Ahmed made a playlist. Just chill, okay. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”
I drew in another deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping out into the early evening sun. The breeze carried the sound of the little girl down the street haltingly practicing her violin and the distant brine of the ocean. The gardens were in full bloom now, big pink peonies and a riot of orange marigolds giving way to neat rows of vegetables and herbs. Even after nearly three years of running The Yellow House, sometimes it still took my breath away. All that we’d accomplished.
When I was growing up, The Yellow House had been Summers’s Corner Café. My mom baked quickbreads and an assortment of whoopie pies that drew a sprinkling of tourists and a steady stream of people from town. The café was simple: open early for the fishermen and hunters, serving hot coffee and hearty breakfasts, always the place to sit and gossip or play a game of cribbage. It had been a cozy, if a little run-down, space. I’d spent most of my grade school afternoons at the counter daydreaming when I was supposed to be doing my homework.
Throughout high school my brother and I both helped out here and there, bussing tables and doing dishes as needed. As we got older, though, Andrew was usually too busy with sports. Then, because I come by my tendency to bounce around honestly, my mom’s interests shifted from cooking to gardening and I slowly began to take on more and more of the work at the café. But once I’d set my sights on bigger and brighter things, I was out of Maine like a shot and hadn’t looked back. At least for a long while.
It was only after I’d been living in New Orleans for a few years, panicking over the prospect of signing a lease with Maya, that my mom’s announcement that she was thinking of selling Summers’s Corner to a guy from Los Angeles drew me home as suddenly as I’d left. Just as impulsively as I’d ended things with Kevin and decided to leave home, I told Maya I couldn’t stay and decided to go back. Three days of driving up back roads and singing along to Joni Mitchell to distract myself later, I was in Port Catherine again, preparing to take over the family business.
I tried not to dwell in the past. Tried not to fee
l guilty for abandoning Maya, a woman so joyful and bright I was almost blinded by her. Tried not to picture the easy life full of music and free of responsibility that could have so easily been mine. The life I’d run away from.
Instead, here and now in the present, I looked around and steeped myself in gratitude for what I had. Andrew, arms crossed over his chest, arguing with Eitan over how to arrange the makeshift outdoor bar. Ahmed sweeping from table to table, tweaking the vases full of wildflowers and herbs, eyeing the glassware he’d polished till it shone. Nina bustling back and forth from the kitchen to the buffet, platters of food in hand, shouting along with the music drifting from the speakers. They were all my family. We’d built this place together. It was our home.
* * *
The first guests arrived a few minutes before seven, a group of nervous-looking kids in their early twenties. After giving them a quick tour and checking their IDs, I situated them at one of the big farmhouse tables with a nice fruity rosé and an assortment of snacks. As always, Ahmed’s music choice was perfect, a blend of lo-fi hip hop, ’90s electronica, and mellow jazz. I knew as the night went on, the playlist would pick up and draw people onto the dance floor. I said a silent prayer to the universe that my perfect general manager never left me.
I was in the middle of an enthusiastic conversation with a sweet lesbian couple who’d moved to one of the islands along the coast when Nina poked me hard in the ribs.
“Hey!” I wheeled on her, only to find her shadowed by a towering, bearded man in a Red Sox T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. Remove the beard and some laugh lines and there stood the boy I’d left behind. One of exactly two people I’d ever seriously dated. Although I wasn’t even sure if a high school romance counted as serious. “Oh wow.” My voice was probably only audible to Hamlet, who was begging for scraps next to the grill. “Kevin! Hi! Wow. It’s been a while. How are you? Thanks for coming!”
Without warning he engulfed me in a coffee-scented bear hug. A laugh erupted from my lips as he nearly knocked the wind out of me. He hadn’t changed a bit. This situation should have been awkward. After all, I had unceremoniously dumped the poor guy with a breezy it’s over and left town without so much as a goodbye. But Kevin didn’t have an awkward bone in his giant body.
“Little Beth Summers. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” I’d forgotten how heavy his accent was. “I kept meaning to stop by and check the place out since you took over. Looks great. You did a hell of a job.” He nodded, glancing around at the small clusters of people chatting and sipping drinks.
He kept an easy arm draped around my shoulders. I felt my face heat. Whether from embarrassment or some kind of weird touch-starved automatic response I couldn’t quite tell. Maybe Nina was right and I really did need to get laid. But not by this dude. Unbidden, Adah’s lithe frame appeared in my mind’s eye. I shook my head. “Um, what can I get you to drink?” I asked, shifting a few inches away. Kevin didn’t take the hint.
Behind me I heard a familiar voice and then my body really did flush hot. That soft country accent, a little irritated, a little amused. Then it stopped short. I wheeled around to meet the placid green gaze of Adah Campbell.
Chapter Seven
Adah
Beth’s grin crumpled the moment our eyes met and she shrugged off the arm of the giant of a man next to her. As much as I wanted to turn on my heel and storm back to Jay’s car, I couldn’t help but admire how dang pretty she looked. As always, I worked to keep my expression as neutral as possible. I’d spent a ridiculously long time picking out what to wear only to settle for my customary uniform of Levi’s and a plain white T-shirt. When Jay had shown up at my apartment in full dapper mode—gray slacks, crisp button-down, and freshly shined oxfords—I felt like a total wreck. So seeing Beth in a loose purple top and slightly tattered jeans set me at ease. Or it would have if she wasn’t practically attached at the hip to some...guy.
Her eyes darted between me and Jay and an unreadable expression passed over her face. Then she snapped into what I immediately recognized as hospitality mode: a gracious smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, broad gestures, voice slightly higher than usual. “Thanks so much for coming. It’s nice to see you again.” Her silver beaded bracelets clattered together as she patted her hair. “Um, this is Nina Bernstein, our chef.” She gestured to a perky blonde woman who looked like a modern-day version of a pin-up girl. “And this is my friend Kevin. We went to high school together.” She stepped another few inches away from the man.
“Yup, this girl right here broke my heart. Ancient history though.” The guy chuckled. He looked so at ease I wanted to throw him off kilter.
I lifted my hand in greeting. “Adah.”
Thankfully, Jay, unlike me, had actual social skills and saved the situation from collapsing into stilted silence. “I’m Jay. I work at Bella Vista with Adah. Pastry chef extraordinaire. They/them pronouns, if you please.” Jay flashed a charming smile, their gaze lingering on Nina for a long moment.
Quickly we all exchanged pronouns, with bearded Kevin looking distinctly confused by the process. I glanced around the outdoor dining area, purposefully keeping my attention anywhere but on Beth’s flushed, dewy face. We’d arrived only a few minutes after the event start time, but already the tables and bar area were crowded. Strings of café lights stretched over a makeshift dance floor where a few brave souls bobbed along with the mellow music. A rustic wooden table groaned under the weight of beautifully plated salads, pizzas, and artful arrangements of roasted vegetables.
“This place is awesome,” Jay enthused next to me. “It’s sweet that you have so much garden space. I’ve been loving all the produce we’ve been getting. I’ve never really lived in a rural area before. I thought the whole ‘Maine blueberries’ thing was a gimmick or whatever, but those things are fucking delicious.”
Jay and Nina lapsed quickly into an enthusiastic conversation about fruit, and stupid beard guy wandered off to get a beer. Leaving me and Beth. And silence. I shoved my hands in my pockets and fixed my gaze on my boots, way too aware of the sound of my own breathing.
After what was probably a minute but felt like an eternity, Beth started laughing. Her laugh was beautiful—bright and high and almost musical. I lifted my eyes to meet hers and felt the corners of my mouth quirk up. “What?” I asked, trying and failing to keep my voice even and low.
“You really don’t like me, do you?” She didn’t look offended, just mildly curious.
I shook my head, thrown off by her question. Her eyebrows arched and I had to resist the urge to step closer to her to brush my fingers over them. What was it about her skin that looked so soft? So impossibly smooth? Why did the golden evening light have to catch in the loose strands of her hair, making her look like she was glowing? “That’s not true,” I said belatedly, “I don’t even know you.”
“Fair enough.” She grinned, then extended her hand to me. “Let’s start over. I’m Elizabeth Anne Summers. Most people call me Beth. I’m a Taurus and I like long walks on the beach, strawberry ice cream, and my favorite color is...” She gestured to the yellow cottage behind us.
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Hard. The kind of big full belly laugh I hadn’t allowed myself in a while. “You’re ridiculous.” I raked a hand through my hair.
“You know it.” Beth winked. She could, as my mamma liked to say, charm the pants off a snake. The expression didn’t make much sense, but it was forever stuck in my brain right alongside hundreds of Bible verses. “Your turn.” She made a go ahead motion with her hand. “Or do I need to ply you with liquid courage to get you to talk?”
“I talk,” I muttered, sounding just as darn stubborn as I felt. “But yeah, a beer would be nice. What do you have?”
Beth slid her hand into mine and tugged me in the direction of the bar. I stared down at our fingers laced together for a bright moment, my heart flipping in my chest
. Her hands were strong, a little rough. Baker’s hands. Biting the inside of my cheek hard I focused on our destination. The outdoor bar. It was a heavy, antique-looking butcher block table covered in metal tubs of cold beer, wine, and a few big glass water jugs. Behind it a small guy with shoulder-length dreads seemed to be doing about fifteen jobs at once. Two seconds in his presence I could tell he was front of house and I could tell he was seriously good at his job.
“Ahmed, this is Adah.” Beth made a gesture like she was presenting me to a crowd at the county fair. “Adah, this is Ahmed, our manager and my personal lord and savior.”
“Nice to meet you.” Ahmed grinned and shook my hand.
“Likewise.” I returned his smile, my shoulders unclenching a little as I did so. Maybe I really did need to relax.
Ice clattered against cans as Beth dug around in the beer tub. “Okay, I bet you like lagers, right? You’re one of those people that think IPAs overwhelm the palate and all that?” Beth arched an eyebrow at me and once again I had to laugh. She was right.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll take a pilsner if you have that. I’m not too picky.” She probably wouldn’t take too kindly to my shameful admission that my favorite beer was usually just whatever was cheapest.
Beth pushed a tall, brightly colored can into my hands. “Nope, I’m going to ask you to at least try this. It’s Billings Brothers’ Puffin Pale Ale. Super clean and light and perfectly balanced.” She cracked open another can. “And I want you to give this one a chance, too. Where are you from?”
The question threw me for a loop and I answered without thinking. “Missouri—” I took a long sip of beer. “Well, grew up in Missouri. Moved here from Chicago though.”