Page 6 of Masquerade Mistake
I’m racing against the clock, and it’s a losing battle. Why I agreed to make “hot breakfast,” I don’t know.
“There’s enough cereal to feed a small village, and you’re scrambling eggs,” I mutter, scraping hardened egg off the supposedly non-stick pan, knowing full well he’s going to complain.
“Finn, get out here or you’re going to miss your bus!” I yell, spooning the egg on a plate beside a blonde piece of buttered toast. At least I got that one right.
He stumbles into the kitchen, one shoe on and the other in his hand. His hair needed a trim two weeks ago, and it’s hanging in his eyes.
“I wanted runny eggs, not scrambled,” he says as I place his plate in front of him. I ignore his protest and grab a brush off the side table. Thank goodness for convenient clutter.
“The egg broke in the pan, so today you get scrambled. Hold still.” I work at a tangle as he tries to eat, but every time I yank, egg falls off his fork and back on his plate.
“Mom!” He tries to smack the brush away, but I hold it out of reach.
“Give me one second,” I say, and I’m relieved when he stays still long enough for me to make some sense of his hair. He shovels the rest of the food into his face while I fumble with the knot in his laces. We have one minute left when he’s at the door, backpack on, lunch in hand.
“I love you, Finn bug,” I say, holding his face and giving him a kiss on the nose. He squinches into a toothless smile, and I know one day he won’t let me do this anymore. Right now, I’m soaking it up.
“I love you too, Mom bug,” he says, giving me a kiss back on my nose. Then he’s out the door. Now that he’s a big first grader, he insists that I can’t stand with him outside. So I watch from the window as usual, my to-do list running through my head, even as I marvel at how fast it’s all going.
The bus arrives, and while he’s too old to have his mom out there with him, he turns and waves. I wave back and keep waving until the bus is out of sight, just in case he’s watching.
Then it’s time to work.
My craft room is an organized disaster. A large table in the center of the room is covered in book swag, all promoting B. A. Warner’s upcoming book, Midnight Fire. Off to the side are keychains, each with charms and a tiny replica of the book. Another corner holds the resin glitter magnets I set last night. About a hundred ribbon and charm bookmarks are already in pouches, as are the wine stem charms. The early editions of B. A. Warner’s book are off to the side, ready for me to package into boxes and send off to the author’s street team and select bloggers who will promote the book during launch week with giveaways and hyped-up social media posts.
It’s all for Bookish Magic, the business I created when I was pregnant with Finn. I’d always been a huge reader, and I started making little swag gifts for the authors I loved the most as a thank you for entertaining me. One of the authors loved it so much, she commissioned me for a book event. That event led to more authors hiring me for book swag. By the time Finn was born, I had my own apartment, steady work, and never had to worry about childcare or bills. I wasn’t rich by any means, but I had enough. It all happened by accident, really, which I guess was the theme once I realized I’d missed my period.
I’m halfway through packaging the book boxes when I hear the front door open and close, followed by the familiar sound of size eight boots on the hardwood.
“Please tell me you brought coffee,” I say. Maren holds up a tray with our usual iced almond milk lattes in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other. My stomach rumbles in anticipation. “I probably wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for you.” I get up and follow her to the kitchen table.
“No, you’d probably eat less sweets and more vegetables. But I’m here to give your skinny ass a few curves,” she says, grabbing two plates and setting a croissant on each.
“You’re one to talk.” I lean in and smell the pastry when she places it in front of me. “Oh wow, you got the almond ones.”
“Fresh baked too. I’m only here for a few minutes, though.”
Maren almost always stops over at my house on her breaks from Insomniacs, the coffee shop just blocks from my house. She says it’s better than eating food in her car since she hates what the ocean air does to her dark hair, which today is streaked with neon green. Why the humidity bothers her after twenty-five years of living in Sunset Bay, I don’t know.
“I should probably let you know that these are bribe croissants,” Maren says before she takes a bite. I put mine on my plate without tasting it and give her a look.
“How much and do I need to call a lawyer?”
“Girl, I’d bring the salted chocolate chip cookies if I needed bail money,” she laughs. “Trust me, you’ll like this one.”
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, refusing to touch the payoff pastry until I know what I’m signing up for.
“So, you know my co-worker Nina?”
“The one who never gets my coffee order straight?”
“Yeah, her barista skills are lacking. But her genetic pool is on fire. You should see her cousin. He just moved to town and doesn’t know anyone, and we both thought it might be fun if we set him up with someone cute and single to show him around.”
“Oh, hey! You’re single! You should totally show him around!” I pick up the croissant and take an enormous bite, figuring I might as well since I’m not about to do what she’s asking.
“Claire, you have to date sometime. Finn just turned six, which means you’ve been single for…” She stops to count on her fingers.
“Almost seven years. Longer, because I wasn’t actually dating Finn’s dad.”