“Well, he does know what he’s doing,” Christine blared. “In case you haven’t read some of the reviews that have been written about the Bistro...”
Tensions rose between the Sheridan sisters. Everett swallowed another gulp of his whiskey. It was up to him to take their attention elsewhere. After all, they were somehow involved with this stupid wedding, as was he. It wasn’t worth fighting over.
“You said something about Ursula?” he interrupted. “Ursula Pennington?”
Lola and Christine turned their heads toward him. Christine glowered, while Lola flashed that all-out perfect smile toward him.
“Yes! The very same. Are you here for the wedding?” Lola asked.
“I am,” Everett said.
Christine arched her brow. She seemed not to trust the fact that he had interrupted their conversation like this. “What are you? A groomsman?”
“No. No way. Nothing like that. I guess most of them will fly in on private jets,” Everett said with a laugh.
“Sure,” Christine said, still a tiny bit annoyed.
“Don’t listen to her. We’ve had a hell of a time getting this wedding together. It was announced last minute, as you probably know, and our cousin Charlotte is the wedding planner,” Lola explained.
“That is quite a gig,” Everett said, impressed.
“True. We’re all helping out as much as we can. Most of our family is on the island, and she has no qualms in ordering us around,” Lola said.
“That’s good. I’m here to take photographs, mostly for Wedding Today,” Everett said.
“Oh, my God! Charlotte was just featured in that magazine,” Christine said. “Someone interviewed her about how frantic it’s been, planning a wedding for a celebrity in just a few weeks. I read the article. It was great.”
“I guess this is the kind of wedding that changes the wedding industry,” Everett agreed.
“You don’t seem particularly enamored with the idea of weddings,” Lola said with a smile.
“I wouldn’t call myself that, no. But they can be beautiful when done right.”
“We’ve never been married, either,” Lola said.
“Not yet,” Christine said.
“There’s always more time,” Everett said. “At least, that’s what I always tell myself. I hope I’m right.”
They continued to talk: about Everett’s career as a photographer about the places he had gone to work. He and Christine realized that they’d been at the same event a few years before in Paris when Christine had entered her cake into a pastry chef competition.
“Some of those cakes were absolutely extraordinary,” he told her. “I thought I was going to lose my mind, not being able to eat them.”
“I feel the same way when I make them,” Christine returned. She seemed a bit looser, a bit friendlier. Maybe she regretted how she’d been when they had initially met.
Lola ordered another round of drinks and insisted it was on her. She then lifted her arms skyward, popping her shoulders. “I realized we never got your name,” she said.
“Oh. I’m Everett. Everett Rainey,” he said. He dropped his hand out, and she shook it, maintaining that pretty smile.
“I’m Lola. This is Christine.” She arched her brow, then pretended to hunt around the bar for a moment. “I guess you’re here by yourself. Nobody to celebrate Thanksgiving with?”
“Afraid not,” Everett said. He tried to make sure his grin didn’t waver; he wasn’t sure he was successful.
“You should celebrate with us!” Lola suggested.
Christine gave her a look, like, I can’t believe you just said that.
But even she echoed it, next. “Yeah. Why not? We already have a million people eating with us. Why not a million and one?”
“Are you sure I’m not putting you out?” Everett asked, looking at one and then the other.
“Not at all,” Lola insisted. “Plus, you can meet the wedding planner herself. She’s a true genius, although she would never admit that.”
“I can’t resist meeting a genius,” Everett replied with a large grin.
“Plus, you can’t insult Christine and miss out on all the pies she’s been baking all day long,” Lola continued.
“I’m up to my ears in pies,” Christine nodded.
“What kinds?”
“Pumpkin. Pecan. Apple,” Christine said.
“Apple’s my favorite,” he said.
“Then I have a bone to pick with you,” Christine said, giving him a mischievous smile. “Because they’re the hardest to make. All that chopping!”
Everett thought again of his mother, up to her elbows in apple peels. Why hadn’t he ever offered to help?
“Where are you staying tonight?” Lola asked.
“Over in Edgartown,” Everett said. “I just have to figure out how to get over there.”
“No, no. You’re not going that way,” Lola said. “The roads are way too bad after all this snow, and my family owns an inn just a few blocks away. You’re coming with us.”
Everett laughed. “It’s really not a problem. I can call a taxi.”
“Nobody on this island wants to drive your sorry butt across it so late at night before Thanksgiving,” Christine retorted.
Everett turned toward Mike, who heaved a sigh and said, “I would think twice before you argue with the Sheridan sisters. If they get the other one over here to finish the job, you really don’t have a chance.”
“There’s another of you?” Everett asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Susan. And she’s the harshest one of all,” Lola affirmed.
About an hour later, Lola and Christine led Everett through the snowy center of town, back toward the docks, and then on down toward the Sunrise Cove Inn, which they said had been in their family for generations. The place was picaresque in every way, with big windows that cut out toward the water, a cozy foyer interior with a big antique desk, and an attached bistro, where Christine apparently worked as the pastry chef.
The front desk was empty, and Lola had to rush to the side to flick on the lights. “Shoot. I guess nobody is staying here at the moment. Did Susan say anything about that?” she asked Christine.
“She mentioned that there will be a few people checking in on Friday,” Christine said. “But, I would check
