“I wish I knew who did this amazing carving on the shelves and counters.”
Maria looked thoughtful as she swept the last pile of dust into the pan. “It’s a good question. Do you know if anyone in your family was good with wood?”
My mouth twisted as I shook my head. “No. My dad never told me anything about anyone. He always said that I was all that mattered.”
Maria frowned, her eyes filling with concern. “What about your mother?”
Keeping my eyes down, I blinked away the tears that were simmering behind my eyes. “She died when I was four.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Sage, I’m…I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Pressing my lips together, I managed to keep the tears away as I looked up at Maria. “It’s okay. I wish she was here…but…”
Maria stayed respectfully silent as I cleared my throat.
“Sometimes I wish mom hadn’t died because I want her here, obviously, but also because my dad wouldn’t be so ridiculously protective of me. Maybe I would have actually known my grandmother, instead of just having to guess about her life.”
I turned away, once more fighting tears. “I feel terrible thinking that. It feels selfish.”
She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, the touch filling me with warmth. Maria wasn’t much older than me, but the gesture felt almost motherly.
“It’s not selfish, Sage. You poor girl. You’ve had a rough time of it.”
I gave a watery chuckle, trying to dab at my eyes without her seeing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this into a therapy session.”
As I looked up, I only saw gentle concern on her face. “I’m here to talk anytime you need someone.”
Maria turned suddenly to her bucket of supplies and dug out some wood polish. “Hey, how about we polish the shelves and countertops? This wood is so beautiful, I think it deserves a really nice shine.”
I nodded, thankful that she sensed my need for distraction. “Sure!”
Handing me a rag, she poured a tiny amount of the polish on it and showed me how to distribute the oily substance evenly. Then, she taught me to rub the rag in small circles along the wood. Under the careful polishing, the wood began to gleam, a vibrant, reddish hue coming out.
A smile lit Maria’s face as she surveyed the freshly polished counters and shelves.
“The place looks almost new again!”
“Yes, it does. I can’t thank you enough for your help.”
She grinned as she packed her cleaning supplies away. “It’s no problem at all. Getting the shop running again is a big chore. Do you need more help tomorrow?”
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “I think I’ll just mop the floors tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long. And do you mind if I borrow your duster? Those rafters could still use some attention, I think.”
“I don’t mind at all. Tim and I live at 31 Alton Street. Just bring it on by whenever you get the chance.”
“Thanks!”
Maria turned to walk out the door as I gathered my supplies. Suddenly, I remembered a question I’d been meaning to ask her.
“Hey Maria? Have you seen a stray cat around town? There was one on my porch yesterday.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve seen a few strays. What did it look like?”
I paused, thinking. “Medium size, black and gray stripes, orangey eyes.”
She gave a confident nod. “Yes, I’ve seen that one around. She’s a bit of an odd one. Anytime she comes near our house, she doesn’t beg for food like other animals would.”
I pursed my lips, thinking of the eerie way the cat had stared at me the previous evening.
“Definitely odd.”
Maria left shortly afterwards, and I turned my attention to putting the cleaned stock back on the shelves. With Maria’s help, I’d be able to open the shop in the next few days. The thought was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.
I was just contemplating lunch when the bell over the door rang. Frowning, I hurried to the front of the store.
“Sorry, the shop isn’t open yet…”
I trailed off as I looked at the woman in the doorway. She was a little older than me, maybe Maria’s age, with brownish amber eyes. Her sandy hair was gathered into a messy bun, and she had a smattering of freckles across her face.
The sharp, green eyes that held a twinkle of mischief were by far the woman’s most striking feature.
“Hi! You’re not Celeste. Are you a friend of hers?”
I dusted my hands off on my pants and shook my head. “Um, not exactly. Celeste was my grandma. I’m Sage Lightwood-Black.”
A flicker of alarm passed over her features, which she quickly covered with a half-smile. “Sorry, did you say your last name was Black?”
I bit back a sigh of impatience. “Lightwood-Black. My parents both gave me their names.”
