Sophie looked out the window of the inn, trying to identify the source of the commotion-and saw Marcus standing in the street, surrounded by clamoring children, Morgan strapped in her familiar position on his chest.
His gaudy, purple-paisley chest. Perfectly matched to the gaudy purple baby carrier.
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Giggling helplessly, she motioned Elorie and Aunt Moira to the window.
“Oh. Oh, dear.” Moira managed a few words around convulsive laughter. “Did wee Lizzie help him shop, then?”
That seemed like an unfair commentary on their youngest healer’s fashion sense.
Elorie, the artist of the group, just looked pained. “Maybe he’s color blind.”
“Perhaps-” Moira’s laughter hiccupped to a stop. “Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign. Coming out of his shell, so to speak.”
Sophie grinned. “It’s a pretty purple. Kind of matches Morgan’s eyes.”
Aaron rolled into the room, a tray of berries and scones in his hands. “What’s up?”
“Uncle Marcus got new shirts,” said his wife, with a more-or-less straight face.
“Great.” Aaron laid his tray on the table. “He said Morgan had puked on all his old ones, so I sent him to that website you shop on for all of my stuff.”
“I think-” Elorie spluttered to a stop, gasping for air. “I think he took a wrong turn into the retro Hawaiian beachwear section.”
Aaron stared a moment at his wife, dissolved onto the couch in a pile of giggles. And then walked over to look out the window. Sophie watched as he manfully swallowed. Several times. “Well, it’s not black.”
“Indeed it’s not,” said Moira staunchly, lips quirking. “I think I’ll just go put on one of my sunniest skirts. We could use a little more color around here.”
Lizzie burst in the door of the Inn. “Sophie! Gran! I need something purple to wear. Uncle Marcus said it’s Purple People Eater Day and anyone who isn’t wearing purple might end up getting eaten by the one-eyed monster.” She didn’t look at all upset by this possibility. “He’s gonna teach us the song and everything.”
He just shrugged his shoulders, eyes twinkling. “No idea, but I’ll go bake more scones. Pretty sure we’re about to get overrun by witches.”
Absolutely. Marcus gone crazy was bound to be a tourist attraction. Sophie grinned and grabbed Lizzie’s hand. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I have purple glitter glue tucked away in one of my healer kits.” It fixed any number of minor ailments, but she was willing to sacrifice for a good cause.
Lizzie danced a quick jig. “I bet Gran will let us pick some of her purple flowers, too.”
Also likely.
They were about to have a party. Instigated by Marcus Buchanan, a shopping disaster, and a bright-eyed girl with purple eyes.
Sophie shook her head. Wonders would never cease.
Moira slipped into her garden, a pair of shears in her hand, and discovered Sophie already there. “Standing guard, are you?”
“I promised Lizzie the last of the purple flowers.” She looked behind her ruefully. “Good thing Ginia’s bringing some backup-I think we’re down to a couple of fairly sad specimens.”
Young Ginia’s garden was bold, creative, and festooned with purple. “I was just hoping for a wee gardenia for my hair.”
Sophie grinned. “How do you feel about white or yellow?”
Moira looked down at her bright floral dress and purple hand-knit scarf. She looked a bit like a garden explosion already. “Either of those ought to do nicely.” She smiled, mentally running through her list. “And a bit of mint for the lemonade, and let’s see if we have any beets we can speed up a little, shall we? I’ve a mind to make some purple soup.”
“Aaron’s making blueberry squish muffins.” Sophie leaned into the herb patch, snipping competently. “And last I heard, Sean and Kevin were trying to turn some poor, unsuspecting corn-on-the-cob purple.”
She’d eaten stranger things. “Uncle Billy’s bringing us in a nice load of lobster.” The spring ones always tasted the nicest, and if the pinging of her phone was any indication, there was quite the crowd coming.
Once upon a time, she’d owned nary a device that pinged.
Sophie held out a basket brimful with purple mint. “Enough?”
“Barring a full-scale invasion.” Moira took the basket, enjoying the lively aroma of mint and flower cuttings. “Has my nephew gone into hiding yet?” The last she’d heard, Lizzie had been trying to convince him to run purple streamers down from the church steeple.
“No.” Sophie smiled quietly. “He’s on your front porch. Helping Sean turn T-shirts purple.”
Moira felt the lump hit her throat, and looked around for a place to sit. She needed to shed a few tears before this party got underway.
Sophie tucked in beside her, a soothing arm around her shoulders. “He’s finally becoming the man you’ve always believed him to be.”
“He is.” Moira let the tears trickle down her cheeks. She didn’t speak of what might come. Of what
Sophie looked out at the garden for a long, long time. And then touched Moira’s hand in quiet comfort. “It’s the flowers that bloom last that hold best against the fall frosts.”
Aye. And this flower was finally planting himself in good, strong soil. But in the end, the frosts almost always won.
Jamie looked over at Daniel. “At what point do you think we’re supposed to step in and carry him home?”
Daniel grinned. “If I’d known he’d be this happy a drunk, I’d have gotten him sloshed fifteen years ago.”
“There’s not a drop of alcohol in him.” Moira squeezed in between them, two glasses of mint lemonade in her hands.
Jamie looked over at Marcus, leading a rousing and entirely off-key rendition of Purple People Eaters. They’d finally found someone who sang badly with more enthusiasm than Aervyn. And none of the several dozen people who’d crashed a quiet day in Fisher’s Cove seemed to mind.
Nor did the villagers. Jamie was pretty sure an impromptu lobster bake was in the works. Which was good-that way there would be someone awake to play with Kenna at 2 a.m. Maybe he’d actually get to sleep with his wife for a change. He spotted her happy head, dancing with the triplets while a growing crowd belted out the Purple People Eater chorus.
No one loved a spontaneous party more than Nat.
Moira slid a glass into his hand. “The babies are all still napping. I checked.”
So had Jamie. All five of them, lined up in baskets on Moira’s porch, happily sleeping through enough noise to wake the dead. “I dropped the TV remote yesterday and it woke Kenna up.”
Daniel snorted. “Nathan slept through all four home games of the world series. But if a chair creaked while he slept? Nell threatened to send me to remedial ninja training.”
If there was such a thing, he was signing up. Jamie squeezed Moira’s shoulders and collected Daniel’s empty glass. Time to go see if Aaron needed help feeding this crew.
He made it two steps. And then sun-bright power flashed from Moira’s porch.
The babies.
Jamie got there first-but only because he ported. Marcus thundered onto the porch an instant later, one blazing ball of purple fury.
