Page 46 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Mira sits on the edge of my desk without asking. “Bad?”

“Gloria quit.”

Her eyes widen. “Perfume Gloria?”

“The very one.”

“Wow. I thought she’d outlive capitalism.”

“Same.”

“And they want you home.”

“They offered me money,” I say.

“That’s allowed.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I glance at her.

Mira’s face shifts, and I hate it because kind faces make me honest, and honesty during business hours feels unprofessional.

“I don’t want to go back like this,” I say.

“Like what?”

“Single. Broke. Working two jobs. Organizing my ex-fiancé’s wedding. Wearing boots that sound like tiny bones when I walk.”

“The boots are a concern.”

“Thank you for prioritizing.”

“I’m serious.” Her voice gentles. “Do you think anyone back there is going to look closely enough to see all that?”

“Yes.”

“Then give them something else to look at.”

I blink. “Like a magic trick?”

“Like the fact that you’re competent. Employed. Paid. Needed.”

“Needed is not always the compliment people think it is.”

“No,” Mira agrees. “But paid is.”

I hate when she’s right.

My phone buzzes again.

This time it’s not my mother.

Unknown Number: Ms. Thorn, this is Principal Mary Whitcomb from Winterberry Cove High. I hope this isn’t too unusual, but your mother gave me your number regarding the upcoming vineyard community dinner/fundraiser. I understand you may be assisting your family on-site that week. We’re finalizing details for a small meet-and-greet for our prospective hockey coaches and wondered if we could coordinate with you directly.

I read the message twice.