Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) Read Free Page A

across the tile. Saved, at least, from drowning. I’ll check the blunt-force trauma later.
    She leaned over to the chrome lever at the front of the tub and gave it a full twist. She heard the momentary pop of water startled from its complacency followed by the gurgle as it drained.
    By the time Gigi was due to come by for her Sarah had regrouped sufficiently, even when the doubt of her ability to combat the complaint tried to encroach into her brain. She reminded herself that though she wasn’t sure how, she would be saving her plans.
    She took extra care in her appearance for tonight, deciding to dress with her “as-if” mentality. She didn’t pull out the strategy often, but it had its merits—appear as if you’re full of confidence and there’s a good chance the world will believe it.
    Tonight in her close-fit black pants and trendy tunic sweater, she had the look of assurance. The silver hoop earrings, the long drippy chain necklace—all of it worked the façade. Sarah straightened her shoulders and air-kissed her painted lips toward the image in the mirror. Confidence, she was loaded with it.
    Later, as they drove down Ocean Avenue toward the beach on their way to The Pier House, Gigi bubbled with typical excitement.
    “Something awesome’s in store for us tonight, Sarah,” she said with a broad grin. “I feel it.” She scrunched her nose for emphasis.
    “If you say so.”
    Gigi clucked her tongue. “Come on. Loosen up. You look great, by the way.”
    “Thanks,” Sarah said. “So do you.”
    In contradiction to Sarah’s smooth-lined outfit, Gigi’s ensemble had been sewn with threads soaked in “wow.” There was that familiar flash in Gigi’s eyes that matched the electric blue of her billowy blouse. No one needed to tell her she looked great.
    Gigi hummed with audible admiration. “Girl, your ex should see you these days.”
    Sarah’s fingers brushed over the soft strands of her un-sprayed hair, a flowing mass of waves that had a mind of its own. She’d abandoned the tedious efforts to straighten the arrogant waves years ago—especially since it had been Gary’s idea in the first place.
    When the strings of pin lights lining the roof of the small building came into twinkly view, Gigi flipped down the visor above her head and looked into the rectangular vanity mirror, lit now by a small bulb.
    “Um, you’re driving,” Sarah commented.
    Gigi, ignoring Sarah’s observation, ran well-manicured fingers over her pointed, spiky hair—jet black these days, color choice of the month. Just two months earlier, her short wacky hair had been a deep red—burgundy really—in honor of Valentine’s Day.
    Sarah’s wheat-brown that had been the same all her life. It was true, Sarah supposed, that no two women could appear more unalike. But, it had been love at first sight for the two friends on the day Sarah had walked into her first Garden Club meeting.
    Luckily for her, she’d sat right beside Virginia Allen, the proprietor of the town’s flower shop. Gigi had handed her a plastic cup and had leaned close. “Have some,” she had whispered. “I spiked the hell out of it.”
    Sarah had taken a tentative sip, immediately tasting the distinct tang of wine—a lot of wine—and it was good.
    The woman with the strange hairdo and crazy, dangling feathered earrings had given her a toothy grin. “I’m Gigi,” she’d said. “You’re not one of these prima donnas. I can tell.”
    That had been over a decade ago, and since then the two had faced a lot of things; Gigi’s scare with a phantom lump in her breast, as well as her painful breakups with on-again-off-again boyfriend, Mickey Nolan. There’d been Sarah’s divorce, followed by the anguish of her going solo at the inn.
    Gigi pulled her car into one of the lot’s parking spaces and the two scurried toward the entrance against the chilly ocean breeze. Music wafted through the flimsily tented patio that jutted from the main building. They