Identity

“I’m going to say, without bias or hesitation, it’s brilliant.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Audrey gave her a one-armed squeeze. “You can be part of it. You’ll come on Saturday, won’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’ll help work the bar if you need it.”

“Really?”

Audrey beamed; Olivia just smiled.

“Not for a job, for family. You’ve hired bartenders by now.”

“We have two,” Olivia told her. “We think one has managerial potential. But I know we’d welcome your opinion there. And it would take a lot off our minds if you’d more or less supervise on Saturday.”

“Done. I’m going to start looking for work next week, but I’ll pitch in here. If there’s something I can do to help you get going, I’ll do it.”

“How about now, with those finishing touches?” Olivia gestured them out. “We need to dress the restroom.”

“Unisex, ADA compliant,” Audrey added.

“We need to choose the art. A table or console, something to go on it. We need to dress the tables in the café, and this and that.”

“My schedule happens to be open at this time.”

“Excellent. When we’re done, I’m taking both my girls out to dinner.”

She enjoyed it. For a few hours, she didn’t think of what she’d lost and what she had to do next. She enjoyed spending time with both women, debating appropriate art and furnishings, placing them, changing them.

And maybe putting just a little bit of her own stamp on a family business with her idea of adding fairy lights around the big window for a little sparkle.

She enjoyed dinner out, which, instead of the fancy she’d assumed her grandmother would choose, turned out to be pizza and a carafe of red house wine.

By the time she went to bed, she felt she’d actually accomplished something. Maybe, hopefully, she’d pulled out of wallowing time.

For the next few days she split her time between polishing up her résumé and helping prep for the grand opening. She unpacked, washed, and stored the cups, saucers, creamers, and sugar bowls her grandmother had designed for a local potter to create.

White with a red clover—the Vermont state flower.

“They’re perfect, Gram.”

“They are.”

“You need to price these for sale.”

“I thought about it.”

“I hope you do. I had this other thought.”

“How much is it going to cost me?”

“I think it’ll do the opposite, in the long run. It’s a wine bar, yes, and you’re tapping local vineyards for some of that. How about you tap local for your coffee beans, your tea? Then you can sell it—pretty tins of tea, classy bags of coffee. There are a couple of roasters local enough, and you could work with a tea farm. Vermont has a few.”

“That’s a thought.” And eyes narrowed on it, Olivia considered. “That’s a damn good thought.”

“Crafty Arts is all about Vermont arts and crafts. It plays on that. I did a little research.”

She reached in her bag, pulled out a folder.

“A little?”

“Well, once I got started. So it’s something to think about, going down the road.”

“And I will.” Olivia put on the bold red cheaters hanging from the chain around her neck, skimmed the first pages in the file. “It’s a good idea, Morgan. You’ve been an enormous help the last few days. Good brain, good eye, and a strong back. Much appreciated.”

She lowered the file. “I can’t talk you into managing the new space?”

“You don’t need me, Gram. If you did, I’d at least get you started. But you and Mom? You’ve got this. I need to get my own.”

“I expected that. So I’m going to tell you I heard Après—that’s the main bar at the resort—is looking for a bartender/manager. Or will be next week. Their head bartender just gave his notice. His wife got a job offer in South Carolina, and they’re relocating.”

Olivia set the file down. “Because I love you, I sucked it up, and I spoke with Lydia.”

“Lydia?”

“Lydia Jameson. She and I go back, farther than either of us care to remember, and her husband was good friends with your pa. She keeps her hand in—hell, both hands in. You can send in your résumé, and they’ll take a look before they start the job-open process.”

“At the resort. I’ve never been in Après, but I checked out their website, and it was on my list. Thank you.” She pulled Olivia into a hug.

“It doesn’t mean you’ve got the position.”

“I know. That’s up to me. But it’s a chance, and a chance to do what I’m good at.”

“You send your résumé to Lydia. I’ve got her email. Like I said, we go back. Write yourself a solid cover letter.”

“I will. Thank you, Gram. I’ll still pitch in here as much as I can, whether or not I get this job.”

“We’re counting on it.”



* * *



That evening, she googled Lydia Jameson to get a sense, and saw why Lydia and Olivia went way back. Both born and raised in Vermont, both from New England stock. Educated, cultured women, rock-ribbed and steel-spined.

Businesswomen, both. Lydia’s business dwarfed her grandmother’s, but business was business.

She spent a solid hour drafting, revising, and refining a cover letter. Formal and respectful, she decided, with a personal touch in her thanks for the consideration.

After a deep breath, one hand on that lopsided green cup, she hit send.

A new chance. And she had others, she reminded herself. Maybe she hadn’t landed where she’d expected, but she had opportunities here.

An opportunity to transplant those roots she wanted so much.

Restless, she went downstairs. Hair loose around her shoulders, Audrey stood in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine.

There came that light flush again.

“Caught me.”

“How about I join you?”

“I’m so nervous. I thought a glass of wine might help me sleep. I can’t believe we’re opening the café tomorrow. It was an idea, then it was the planning, then the work and more planning. And now?”

She handed Morgan a second glass. “It’s here, and I’m nothing but nerves. Your gram’s up there sleeping like a baby. She has no nerves, I swear.”

“Because she knows you’ve got a hit on your hands.”

“You really think that?”

“No. I know that. Listen, retail, art—like the shop—that’s not in my wheelhouse. But a wine bar is. I slipped into the wineshop a few blocks down, and its wine bar’s lovely. Small, dark, and moody, well run, heavy wood, deep colors. Yours? Airy, arty, a different vibe. And the way you’ve opened it—or will tomorrow—to the very well-established shop? It’s just damn smart. Like adding the coffee services, the tea options is smart. The baked on-site pastries and scones? It’s all there, Mom.”

“I keep telling myself that, but it sounds better when you say it.”

She’d always considered her mother on the flighty side. A woman who couldn’t settle down, couldn’t make a decision and see it through. But she didn’t see that now.