Chapter 15

fifteen

W ith fewer guests to feed, breakfast preparation on Tuesday morning took less time. Isabelle even made one woman a special-order omelet. Pearl and Hilda were doing the dishes, and Isabelle was sipping coffee and reading the morning paper at the table, when Blossom bustled in. She dumped a can of dog food into a bowl for Jolene, helped herself to coffee, and plopped down at the table opposite Isabelle.

"Are you ready to be sorted out?" Blossom said with a smirk as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips.

"Go away," Isabelle said, returning her attention to the newspaper.

"I can't leave just yet. Jolene is still eating, and you may need me for your meeting."

Isabelle lowered the newspaper. "What meeting?"

"This meeting," Blossom said and snapped her fingers. The sound of the front door closing was followed by footfalls in the hallway and the appearance of Silas and a woman Isabelle had never seen before.

"Sorry to interrupt." Silas gestured at the guest. "Marilyn Daily with Waterside Wholesale Food Distributors is here for her nine o'clock appointment."

Feeling Blossom's eyes on her, Isabelle resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. "You must be mistaken. I didn't make an appointment for this morning."

"Your son made it for you." Helping herself to an empty chair, Marilyn took a handful of glossy brochures from her leather tote and fanned them out on the table. "We offer every food item imaginable, from Doritos to Philadelphia-style cheesecake."

"We don't need either. Thank you for your time," Isabelle said, bringing the newspaper up before her face.

Blossom snatched the paper away from her. "You're expecting a houseful of guests this weekend. Unless you plan to serve them burnt pancakes again, I suggest you listen to Marilyn's pitch."

"Fine," Isabelle said with a huff.

For the next few minutes, Marilyn talked about her service's wide variety of breakfast items. "Myrtle's guests love our mini quiches," she claimed.

The mention of Myrtle, the proprietor of Myrtle's Bed and Breakfast, made Isabelle sit up straighter. Myrtle was one of the Lowcountry's most renowned cooks. On slow weekends, she offered Sunday brunch to the locals, who raved about her food. "I can't believe Myrtle serves her guests anything that isn't made from scratch."

"You're right," Marilyn said with a nod. "She does most of the cooking and baking herself, and we supply the majority of her raw ingredients. She does, however, add variety to her buffet by serving some of our prepared items."

Blossom picked up the brochure for the mini quiches. "You don't even have to dethaw these. Just pop them in a preheated oven for a few minutes."

"Or an air fryer," Marilyn chimed in.

Isabelle turned up her nose. "I don't own an air fryer."

"You should get one. They're extremely useful." Marilyn set down the brochures and opened her iPad. "I suggest we start with samples of our most popular breakfast items. You can try them out next weekend and see what you think."

Isabelle threw her hands up. "Fine! I'll try your service. But only on a trial basis."

"Understood." Marilyn eyed her refrigerator. "Do you have a second freezer for storage?"

While there was a freezer in the cottage, Isabelle refused to haul heavy boxes of frozen foods across the courtyard. "Nope. You'll have to make smaller, more frequent deliveries."

"No problem." Marilyn handed Isabelle an order form, and together, they went down the list, choosing easy-to-serve foods she thought her guests would enjoy.

After seeing the woman off, Isabelle went to her cottage to shower. Dressed in navy linen slacks and a white silk blouse, she headed off to run errands in town. She needed a break from her guests, Blossom, and the stuffy cottage.

On a whim, after picking up her dry cleaning and alterations, she decided to stop in at Coastal Hardware. She was inspecting the selection of air fryers when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up to find Blossom smiling down at her.

"Fancy meeting you here. I see you took Marilyn's suggestion about purchasing an air fryer. I have this model on my bus." Blossom removed a box from the shelf and deposited it in Isabelle's hands. "You won't be disappointed."

Isabelle dropped the box in her cart. "Are you following me, Blossom?"

"Heavens, no. I'm shopping." Blossom gestured at her cart, loaded with gardening tools and bags of potting soil. "I'm sprucing up your containers with fresh plants. They have a nice selection of annuals in the nursery out back."

Isabelle's jaw went slack. "But I just planted those containers in April."

"And I'm sure they looked lovely in April. But flowers die if you don't water them." Blossom reached into her cart for a coil of black plastic tubing. "Which is why I'm installing an irrigation system for the planters."

"Who gave you permission to do all this? I'm certainly not paying for it."

Blossom flicked her wrist, dismissing her concern. "I'm doing it as a favor to you. And don't worry. It's on the house."

"Well . . . um . . . thanks," Isabelle muttered as she wheeled her cart down the aisle.

Isabelle's next stop was Fancy Pantry. The food distributor would make a large delivery on Thursday, including everything from bottled water to the breakfast foods they'd selected. But they needed a few items to tide them over until then.

She was scrutinizing the selection of salad greens in the produce section when a familiar voice behind her said, "What a coincidence! And here you are again."

Blossom's playful shove caught Isabelle off guard, and she tumbled forward. Fortunately, the woman grabbed hold of Isabelle before she face-planted in the lettuce.

Blossom held onto her while she steadied herself. "Good gracious! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Isabelle wrenched her arm free of the woman's grip.

A goofy smile spread across Blossom's face, revealing a smudge of pink lipstick on her front tooth. "Where are you going next? I'll meet you there."

"Home! Where I plan to sequester myself in my cottage, away from the likes of you, until the next guests arrive on Thursday." Isabelle dug through her purse for a tissue. "By the way, you have lipstick on your tooth."

Blossom scrubbed the lipstick off her tooth. "Don't be a spoilsport. I was going to ask you to play bridge. You do play, don't you?"

"Of course. But we need four people to play."

"I can easily arrange for additional players," Blossom said, winking at her.

Isabelle imagined playing bridge with Blossom and two women wearing white robes, angel wings, and halos. She pressed her temples between two pointer fingers. This woman was starting to get to her.

She inhaled a deep breath, reminding herself to be polite. "I'm not in the mood for bridge today, Blossom. I'm not feeling well. I'm going home to rest," she said and hurried to the checkout counter with only half the items on her list.

Isabelle hadn't played bridge in years. She quit her bridge group around the time she dropped out of her other social circles. She grew tired of those silly women blabbering ad nauseam about their petty lives.

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face," her mama used to say when she turned down invitations to birthday parties and school dances—not that there had been many invitations. Isabelle had never truly fit in with any social group. She found it easier to be alone than forced to converse with someone she cared nothing about.