Tequila Rose by Willow Winters (pdf e book reader TXT) 📕

got in from New York.  It’s abstract circles painted with watercolors on a four-by-seven canvas. The edges have a hint of silver and, in the right light, they look like the phases of the moon.

“She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” I ask Renee in return, ignoring the question about it being dead in here.

After squinting at the name on the info card next to the canvas, she tells me, “Yeah, Samantha has serious talent.”  She whispers when I make my way to her, sans coffee, “This would look even more brilliant in my bedroom.”

The laugh is genuine, leaving me with a grin.  “You wish,” I say. With my arms crossed, I admire the painting again.

“I’m doing the video for it today, want to sit in?”

Renee walks to the bench at the front, leaning against it she makes a face that forces my grin to grow wider. “I’d really rather not.”

Renee isn’t exactly into art.  I don’t hold it against her because most people like to look at it, but are bored by the details.  I get it; I know it’s my nerd side. She doesn’t hold that against me, which is why we work so well together.

“I was on my lunch break and thought you may be lonely in here.  Since, you know, there’s never anyone in here.”

“I told you,” I say, repeating what I’ve told her a million times, “the sales are mostly online, but we need the space for displaying the art and hosting events.”

“So you say,” she says and slips out her phone.  “I’ve got forty minutes, want to go to Charlie’s?”

I take a peek at my own phone, checking the time and then snatching my newly acquired coffee.  Martin won’t be here for another two hours. He does the packing and shipping and although I don’t physically do anything, he likes to have me around if he has questions about which pieces are which.  He’s an older man in his seventies and technically retired from the postal service. Boredom led him to apply for the job. I’m glad Mandy hired him; he’s got stories that pass the time. So many stories about this small town.

“Charlie’s it is,” I say.  I make sure to lock up, the bells above the door chiming for good measure.  As I’m pulling on the handles to double-check it’s all secured, Renee asks me about Bridge’s first week of preschool.

She’s the fun aunt I wish I’d had when I was growing up.  It makes me happy Bridget has her.  Sharon and Autumn too. The three of them taught me a valuable lesson: friends can be your family.

From the gallery it’s only a five-minute walk to Charlie’s Bar and Grill.  Naturally I brag about Bridge the entire way and it only makes Renee smile.

“That’s my girl.”

It’s a little past noon on a Thursday, so Charlie’s is bustling with people.  The side patio is only half-full, though, maybe because the spring weather is bit hotter today than it should be.

Gesturing to the square iron table complete with a blue and white umbrella, I ask Renee, “Want to sit here?”

Nodding, she sits before I do.  The matching iron chair doesn’t look comfortable, but I’ve been here for hours some nights and I know looks can be deceiving.

“I don’t know how you do it all alone.”  Her downtrodden tone is unlike her and I don’t care for it.

I shrug, smiling as I see the side door crack open and Mary Sue steps out, propping the door open with her foot as she digs around in her apron tied at her waist, searching for something.  Probably a pen.

“I’m not alone,” I tell her and give her a gentle nudge.  There were plenty of moments over the past four years where I felt alone, although I’d never tell her that.  I think everyone has those moments, though, no matter how many people are around you. Every mother definitely has those moments.  It’s just a part of raising a child.  I don’t want pity. Not when it comes to Bridget. She’s the best part of my life, my world. I don’t need pity because of that. Save it for my bills and family history.

Renee is a freaking mind reader, so I avoid her gaze the moment those thoughts hit me.  I stare across the street, noting all the windows that are open at the bakery and making a mental promise to myself to walk that way when I go back to work.  I love the smell of freshly baked bread.

Mary Sue Rodding, a sweet redhead with a fresh face and bright green eyes, takes our order.  She’s waited on me the last three times and she remembered right away that I wanted both a sweet tea and a water, neither one with lemon.  Her cousin is the football coach at Fieldview High, where she’s on the cheerleading squad.

Her family knows my family.  Or knew them, I guess that’s more correct to say.  I’m the last of the Williamsons and when I get married, poof, that tainted name will be gone.  I’ll have an extra glass of champagne just to celebrate that victory.

It took me a long time to look anyone in the eye.  Mary Sue always gives me a broad smile when she sees me, though. I think part of it is because she likes me, and part of it is because she likes the big tips I leave her.  She’s also younger and it’s typically the older crowd that has an … issue with me from time to time.

“So the case is settled, Bridgey is in preschool, you have an exhibition coming up … anything else new?” Renee asks the second Mary Sue turns to head to the table behind us.  I don’t recognize the people, must be folks from out of town.

Shrugging, I struggle to think of anything at all. I just feel relieved. For the first time in a long time, everything seems