A Measure of Happiness by Lorrie Thomson Read Free Book Online Page B

Abby Stone, take care of her. Abby, who rarely swore, had been the first to tell Celeste it was okay to haul off and tell Ed—aka Celeste’s eating disorder—to shut the fuck up.
    Shared DNA wasn’t the only way to measure family.
    When Celeste’s brother Lincoln had brought her out back of their whitewashed Cape and encouraged her to point his. 22 downrange and balance a photo of Justin’s face in the middle of the sight, Abby had shown Celeste how to dodge harsh words and barbed looks. When Celeste had wanted to run away, Lincoln had provided her with a suitcase, a road map, and a how-to lesson on breaking into empty motel rooms for free stays. Abby had taught her how to settle down, take life in stride, and stay in Hidden Harbor. When Lincoln had teased her about her first baking frenzy and then her refusal to taste test her own baked goods, Abby had reminded Celeste how to nurture herself.
    To this day, Celeste didn’t fully understand how one of her greatest pleasures—food—had become her greatest fear.
    From outside Briar Rose, Abby’s bayside bed-and-breakfast, three in the afternoon could’ve been mistaken for three in the morning. Cars with license plates from Maine to Maryland crowded the darkened parking lot. Since Celeste’s return to Hidden Harbor, the low-lying skies had progressed from partly cloudy to in your face and ready to burst. Celeste’s inhalation rattled in her chest.
    At least she’d gotten her job back.
    Clearly, Katherine had missed the extra set of experienced hands. That didn’t explain why Celeste’s boss, usually wary of strangers, had turned around and on the spot hired Zach Fitzgerald. The guy was seriously cute, no doubt about that. Probably too cute for his own good, judging by the way he’d first attempted to flirt with Celeste and then succeeded in charming Katherine.
    Katherine didn’t hire strangers without bakery experience and she didn’t charm easily. No doubt about that either. Six years ago, when Katherine was looking to hire, only Celeste’s daily hounding and a two-week nonpaid trial run—Celeste’s suggestion—had beaten out half a dozen other high school students who were hungry for work.
    Three pumpkins climbed the steps to the New Englander’s porch. Small, medium, and large, with the smallest gourd on the top step. Shiny orange bows fastened cornstalks to either post. Red and gold mums overflowed from a half whiskey barrel and completed the façade of domestic bliss.
    Abby was a wiz at staging.
    No one could’ve guessed the innkeeper and owner was a twenty-two-year-old single mom. No one could’ve imagined that Abby had lived through first a pregnancy at eighteen and then having her douche bag boyfriend freak out and take off. No one could’ve been prouder of her than Celeste for surviving.
    Survive first and then figure out how to live. That philosophy had bound Celeste and Abby together since Mrs. Nelson’s first-grade class, where, at recess, they’d caught balls, climbed jungle gyms, and run from the advances of one-sided little-boy crushes.
    Celeste was thrilled her best friend’s business was thriving. Really she was. But that didn’t keep Celeste from wanting Abby all to herself. Celeste would’ve liked nothing better than to kick out Abby’s guests and tell them not to come back until either the storm blew over or Celeste figured out what had happened back in New York.
    She hoisted her duffel onto her shoulder and dragged herself up the steps. The new slate sign next to the front door boosted her resolve: Enter as strangers, leave as friends. That sounded like her Abby.
    Sunshine to Celeste’s snark and cynicism, Abby shared Celeste’s worries, lightened her load. Abby meant popcorn and hot cocoa. The warmth of hand-knit winterberry throws around Celeste’s shoulders. The comfort of home. With Abby, Celeste could tell all