Page 30 of All She Wants

“Erin Zarelli, I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Get in here before my scones go cold.”

Gloria pulled Erin into a fierce hug. When Gloria released Erin, she noticed Claire beside her. She turned to her at once. “And who’s this?”

“Claire Desmarais. Claire, this is Gloria Beecham, who makes the best scones between here and actual Scotland.”

“Flatterer.” Gloria shook Claire’s hand firmly. “Sit anywhere. I’ll bring you the cranberry-orange before the tourists take them all.”

The café was small and crowded, with steamed windows and mismatched chairs. Snowmelt pooled near the entrance, darkening the wide pine boards. Erin found a table by the window overlooking Main Street. White rooftops and bundled pedestrians filled the view beneath the absurd blue sky that always followed a Colorado storm.

She ordered Claire’s coffee without asking—black, no sugar, slightly hotter than most places served it. A look of surprise crossed Claire’s face before her mouth curved into a smile. Erin smiled back, quietly delighted that she had remembered correctly.

Gloria brought a plate of golden-brown scones, still hot enough to soften the butter beside them. Claire selected one, spread butter across the top, and took a bite. She paused. “Now I understand why you brought me here.”

Erin smiled. “Gloria’s scones inspire fierce loyalty.”

A woman in a puffy red vest stopped beside their table. Her hand rested lightly on the shoulder of the shorter woman next to her.

“Erin, I thought that was you. Merry Christmas.”

“Karen. Merry Christmas.” Erin stood and hugged her, then turned to the other woman. “Debbie, how are you?”

“Better than last year,” Debbie said. She looked at Karen, and their hands found each other between them. “Much better.”

“We wanted to thank you again,” Karen said. “This Christmas feels very different because of you.”

“Because of both of you,” Erin corrected gently. “You did the difficult part.”

Debbie smiled. “You helped us find our way through some tough times.”

Erin turned toward Claire. “This is Claire. Claire, meet Karen and Debbie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Claire said.

Debbie squeezed Erin’s arm. “We’ll let you get back to your coffee. It was lovely meeting you, Claire.”

Erin watched them leave hand in hand before sitting down again.

A man in a Carhartt jacket waved from the door as he was leaving. “Erin, tell Ingrid I’ve got her firewood split and ready to go. She just needs to call for delivery.”

“I’ll let her know, Ray. Thank you.”

Gloria refilled their coffees and set the pot on the table as though they had earned permanent custody of it. “Speaking of Ingrid, give her my love, will you? I keep meaning to bring her soup, but the holidays got away from me.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Nell would’ve had my head for letting this much time pass between visits.”

Gloria’s smile faltered at Nell’s name. She touched Erin’s shoulder, let her hand rest there for a moment, then returned to the kitchen.

Claire watched her go. She lifted her coffee, took a slow sip, and set it back down on the mismatched saucer. They finished their scones in comfortable quiet. Erin left cash beneath the sugar bowl despite Gloria shouting from the kitchen that her money was no good there, and they stepped back onto the cold street.

Claire caught Erin’s hand and steered her toward the bookstore they had passed earlier. Inside, the rescue greyhound raised its head from behind the counter, enjoyed a brief scratch behind the ears from Claire, then settled back to sleep. Erin led her to the sapphic fiction shelves.

Claire studied the titles before choosing a novel Erin had loved and another Erin had never read.

“You’ll have to tell me if that one is any good,” Erin said.

“I’ll lend it to you when I finish.”

Ten minutes later, they stepped back onto Main Street, carrying a paper bag between them. Claire waited until they had walked half a block before speaking. Her breath trailed white in the frozen air. “Who was Nell?”

Erin kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead where it curved past the last shop fronts toward the quieter residential stretch. The packed snow squeaked beneath their boots.