She hesitated, visibly trying to make a decision, but clearly the need for caffeine won over all her principles.
Silent, she walked to the kitchen, found a cup, filled it, tore exactly one sheet from the paper towel holder, wiped a drop Tessa hadn’t actually seen fall, then opened the fridge and repeated the entire thing with creamer.
She folded the paper towel and tucked it under the holder, presumably for the next wayward droplet.
Through the whole process, there was nothing but awkward silence.
Standing in the kitchen, Crista stared out at the water, slowly bringing the cup to her lips for her first taste. As she sipped, she closed her eyes and let out a nearly imperceptible moan.
“You always liked coffee,” Tessa mused, suddenly transported a few decades in the past.
Crista turned and looked at her, a question in her eyes. Because Tessa had dared converse, or because of the odd comment?
“I remember that when you were little,” Tessa said, “maybe eight or nine? You wanted coffee like the grownups and your mother wouldn’t let you have it.”
“But yours did,” Crista said through her teeth, as though speaking pained her but the memory was too strong to ignore.
Tessa didn’t reply as she waited to see what direction this conversation would take.
“When my mother would go out for her morning walk on the beach, Aunt Jo Ellen would give me half coffee, half milk, and way too much sugar.” Crista let out a soft sigh. “I always liked your mother.”
Tessa blinked, certainly not expecting that admission or…civility.
“I think she understood that I didn’t have a friend like all the big kids, and she taught me how to play solitaire,” Crista continued. “She called it Beat the Devil.”
“To this day, still her favorite card game.”
Crista took another sip, then put a hand on her stomach as if the coffee wasn’t sitting well.
“Is she okay?” she asked after a few seconds. “Your mother, I mean.”
“Not really.” Tessa put down her pen and leaned back, eyeing the other woman mostly because she had no idea when she might turn into Xena: Warrior Princess and whip out her sword.
“Is she sick?” Crista asked.
“She’s, um, heartbroken.” She swallowed, knowing the rest of the story could cause trouble. “My father died very suddenly of rapidly growing pancreatic cancer seven months ago,” she said. “Turbo cancer, they called it.”
Crista made a face. “Oof.”
“One day he was fine, had a doctor’s appointment, and five weeks later, he was gone.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s been difficult for her. For all of us.”
Crista just nodded, then lowered the cup and took a breath to speak.
Tessa held up her hand. “Listen, don’t say anything bad about my father. Take up your beef with Eli and Vivien, but I worshipped that man. And I’m still mourning his death.”
Crista looked down at her coffee, her face softening. “I already said what had to be said,” she whispered, turning to the kitchen. “And I think I’d rather have tea.”
“There’s a selection in the pantry,” Tessa said. “You’ll have to heat the water with the microwave.”
While Crista busied herself with a change in beverage, the silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy. She came back with the same cup—washed and dried—the string from a tea bag dangling over the side.
Tessa expected her to go outside or upstairs, but she stood near the dining table, checking out the obvious signs that it was being used as an office.
“I heard something about you and Lacey starting a business,” she said. “Is this where you work?”
“Eli uses the office down the hall, so we set up here. We clean it up before dinner most nights.”
“What do you do, exactly?”
