She showed him two small glasses. They were beautiful. He recognized Lissa Prakenskii’s work. They were small goblets with twisted stems, tiny hearts embedded in the stems and floating in between the layers of glass. He couldn’t imagine how any glassblower, no matter how skilled, could produce that kind of work in something that small.
Hannah had included two bottles of a liquid in the woven basket. “This is nonalcoholic.” She had a small bottle on the table he hadn’t noticed. She measured a small portion into a glass and added water. “You just use two tablespoons and fill the glass. You can use sparkling water if she prefers.” She handed him the drink.
Player forced himself to try it. He wasn’t much on anything sweet, but Hannah had been really good to him, taking time to show him how to apply the lotion and cream. Even if it didn’t work the way Hannah thought it would, Zyah would probably like the foot massage after standing on her feet all day. In any case, there was no harm in trying. He took a cautious drink. The beverage tasted . . . extraordinary.
“If Preacher gets ahold of this, he’ll decide you’re more than a goddess.”
She smiled, clearly pleased. “Let’s hope Zyah likes it. It’s expensive, Player, because everything I do is made by hand, and it takes time to get everything right. I have to experiment.”
He waved that away. “Believe me, I can tell without Preacher acting like a crazy man that you’re well worth it. I really appreciate it, Hannah. Did you include a list of everything so I can reorder if she likes it?”
Hannah nodded as they both stood up. Preacher came hurrying toward them, nearly knocking Player down. “Are you finished?”
Hannah exchanged a slow smile with Player. “I believe we are. Sabelia will ring the purchases up for you, Player. Thanks for coming in.”
“Preacher, don’t keep her past closing time,” Player cautioned.
“Don’t worry,” Sabelia said. “I’ll make sure he leaves.” She had followed him through the shop to put his packages on the floor beside the table.
“Thanks, Sabelia,” Hannah said, forestalling any response from Preacher.
The shop door opened, and Alena and Lana sauntered in. Preacher frowned at them. “What do you two want?” he demanded.
“Tea,” they replied in a perfect duet, and then laughed.
“I’m sure there’s another tea shop somewhere,” he groused.
“This is my business,” Hannah reminded. “Sabelia will serve them while we talk.”
Player left them to it. He hoped Lana and Alena would give Preacher some time with Hannah before they made him too crazy, but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
FOURTEEN
Some days were just longer than others. There was no getting around it. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t slept the night before might have attributed to the hours dragging on forever. Zyah glanced out the large windows for the millionth time. The view should have gone a long way to making the job bearable on a day like this one. The ocean was particularly moody. The moon was out, shining over the water so that she could see the choppy waves, dark and angry, an ominous portent of something evil coming.
Dread had been building for the last hour. This was the store’s late night. The locals came in to shop in a steady flow, peaking around seven and then tapering off at eight. She stayed open until nine. Only another hour and she could go home, see Mama Anat. She couldn’t wait to see her. Her grandmother grounded her. No matter what was going on, no matter how chaotic, Anat made the world seem right. She needed her. She also wanted to see Player. She missed him.
They both had slept for very brief periods of time, no more than half an hour, and maybe that was why he hadn’t woken with a terrible nightmare. She called it a victory each time he managed to sleep and there was no traumatic dream. At her home she slept in the guest room and rushed to him if he woke, already wrapped in the illusion, the White Rabbit present most of the time. Or he would be covered in sweat, fighting in his sleep, trying to stop his attackers. She detested those nights the most. She caught too many glimpses of what had happened to that beautiful little boy.
He’d been such a sad child with his sorrowful blue eyes. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and run, keep him safe. He’d had a mop of light brown hair, streaked with blond, not those white streaks like he had now. They looked like highlights he might have dyed in his hair, but she knew they were there naturally. He’d gotten them the hard way.
She glanced at her watch. Half an hour. She could start shutting things down. She hadn’t had a customer in the last half hour. She was so lucky. The day had been crazy, with people streaming in steadily. Good for business. Over the last couple of weeks, she felt they were doing very well. Steady, returning customers. That, more than anything else, was what they needed to count on. She was getting a feel for what was needed. Many of those coming in had suggestions, and she took note of them so she could order and keep the right supplies on hand.
A bright pink Cadillac pulled up to the curb with a screech of brakes, jumped it and bumped off with a loud grating noise. Zara recognized the car immediately. It was Lizz Johnson’s pride and joy. She made a show of driving it slowly up and down the main street of Sea Haven at least twice a week. She always drove it to Anat’s house but called ahead to ensure she could park her beloved vehicle either right out front, where everyone could admire it, or in the driveway of the garage.
Francine, Lizz’s granddaughter, leapt out of the driver’s seat, doubled over with laughter. She slammed the door hard and came around the hood, still laughing, covering her mouth and shaking her head. She wore a tight skirt that molded to her slim hips and a low-cut blouse that framed her thin rib cage and showcased her set of breasts nicely. Her boots were knee-high, soft leather, a light tan, and worth a fortune. Zyah recognized the brand. Lizz definitely indulged her granddaughter in everything from clothes and shoes to jewelry and even allowing her to drive without her license. As she approached the door to the grocery store, she staggered for just a couple of steps, then recovered her balance, phone in hand, laughing as if it were funny. Clutching her purse, Francine made her way into the store.
“Zyah. Just the girl I’m looking for.”
Princess to peasant. That was Francine, and no one was around to catch her act. She was that genuine. She really did think of herself as superior because Lizz had a fortune.
“Nice to see you, Francine. I see you have your license back. Congratulations. Mama Anat will be so happy for you. She was worried about how you would get around when the rains came.”
Francine frowned and waved that subject off dismissively. Her driver’s license was clearly of no consequence.
“I thought I’d take you to dinner tonight. I felt so bad that I went off with that loser biker. I shouldn’t have done that without at least texting you and giving you the heads-up.” Francine smiled, her white teeth dazzling against her red lipstick. She came closer to the counter so she could lean against it.
“I love your boots,” Zyah said, not wanting to answer immediately. Francine’s good moods could turn on a dime if she was thwarted in her plans, and Zyah had no intention of going to dinner with her. “They’re absolutely gorgeous.” Francine was very vain when it came to clothes, shoes, jewelry and even makeup.