“No felonies necessary,” she mutters tearfully.

Marina wilts with a sigh, mumbling, “Cora,” under her breath. She straightens and says, “It’s my fault. I hired you at Sunny’s. I should’ve taken you with me when I left. That place is too small for us. We need more character.” She waves her arm around before slipping it onto Wren’s shoulders. “Come work for the G&G.”

She glances at the others, unsurely. Wade looks ready to protest, but Wren’s tears soften him like Marina’s words earlier.

Marina continues, “We need someone already trained in customer service and register operations. Part-time. Oh, and once we get this place cleaned up, it’ll need a spiritual cleansing, too. Can you help?”

Her teary eyes widen. “I’ll stock up on sage. We’ll need a lot of sage. And green tealight candles, for abundance.”

“Perfect.”

Once again, I stand in awe of her. That is, until Uncle Wade gives me a pointed look, reminding me of our deal. How am I going to pay for all this?

I decide to worry about that later. Christie engages Wren in collecting furnishings for the smoker’s porch while Roy and Wade test its stability. Marigold and Peter discuss the best options for her first project.

And Marina takes my arm and guides me to the pier.

27. Marnie

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Marnie

The swamp is surprisingly lovely. The morning light hits the still water, reflecting the perfect blue sky. Dragonflies skitter over the surface like Hungry Hungry Hippos, snatching up bugs. Cattails and overgrown grasses line the banks, lazily waving hello to the Spanish moss high in the trees overhead. A white heron regally prances along the opposite bank while algae-covered turtles sun on a broken log perched in the shallow water.

I take another breath, deciding this could be my spot. The boys have their little place to get away. Why shouldn’t I?

Who knew a swamp could be so beautiful?

“I’m sorry about the other night,” I say. “At my door… I’m sorry for being insensitive. With my appearance and especially my thoughtless jokes. I selfishly forgot how that day was traumatic for you, too.”

He shuts his eyes tightly like he’s trying to block the image. “What did we say about apologies?”

Warmth spreads from head to toe at the sound of his low, raspy voice—this after I promised myself no more naughty thoughts about Grady Tripp.

No frowns. No fears. No tears. No imaginary sexcapades with Grady Tripp.