Page 36 of One Kind Goal

Voices at the back of the space mixed with the soft piano music pumping through speakers hidden somewhere in the shop.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Chennie,” one voice said.

“Thanks, Trixie,” a second voice replied. “She’s growing so fast. I feel as if she was a newborn yesterday and now look at her.”

“This picture of the three of them together is precious. What a gorgeous family you have.”

“That one is my favorite too. Thanks.”

As Morgan approached, an older woman behind the counter squinted at her over a pair of red glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her eyes were a pale blue and she had straight silver hair that was cut to hang above her shoulders. Lines creased the sides of her mouth and corners of her eyes as if to advertise she’d spent most of her years smiling. She wore a form-fitting black sweater and when she came around to Morgan’s side of the counter, a flowing, burgundy skirt stretched from her waist to her calves.

Her shoes, however, drew most of Morgan’s attention. They were black, lace-up boots with silver embroidered flowers at the sides of the heels.

“Are those . . . are those Verenza boots?” Morgan asked, stopping shy of crouching down to touch the detailing.

The woman angled out one leg and pulled her skirt up a little to reveal that the boots went up to about mid-calf. “They are Verenza boots, my dear. Excellent eye.”

“I have a pair that I got in Italy,” Morgan said.

“Isn’t Italy marvelous?” The woman clasped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek. “And Julian Verenza is an absolute knight.”

“You met the designer of the boots himself?” Morgan’s voice rose in disbelief.

The woman grinned, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes when she wiped off her glasses and set them on the counter behind her. “I did indeed. He was my favorite thing about Italy.” She bit her bottom lip and sighed. “But that was many years ago.” She waved a hand then focused back on Morgan. “What did you love most about Italy?”

“The food.”

“Agreed,” the other woman who leaned against the counter said. “I never ate as well as I did in Italy, though our own Chef Jorden at Albero’s comes pretty darn close.”

“Oh, yes,” the first woman said. “Are you visiting Vermont, dear?”

Morgan nodded.

“Then go to Albero’s while you’re here.” She put her index and middle fingers to her thumb then brought all three up to her lips, kissing them and pulling them away as she closed her eyes. “So good.” She opened her eyes. “What’s your name, honey?”

“I’m Morgan.” She held out her hand.

“I’m Trixie and this is Chennie.” They all shook hands then Trixie said, “So what are you in the market for today?”

“Nothing really. I’m browsing while my . . .” What did she call Sawyer and Nia? “While my friends are in the toy store next door.”

“Ah, I see. Well, feel free to look around and if you have any questions, give a shout. Almost every piece in here has a story I can share.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Morgan meandered through the shop while the two women continued their conversation at the counter until Chennie said goodbye and left. She found a collection of old books that would look fantastic on the library shelves of the New York estate, a vase that matched two she had on display at home in the pool house, and an angel figurine that would make a nice addition to the collection Brooke had.

But then a wooden Pegasus hiding out in the back corner of the shop snagged her attention. Intricately carved, it had a pole running through it like a carousel horse would. Suddenly, Morgan was transported back to when she was fourteen.

To the last summer she’d had with her parents.

****

“Cotton candy is the weirdest thing,” Dad said. “Am I supposed to eat it or stuff it into the walls to insulate the house?”

Mom laughed. “Eat it and insulate your stomach.”

“Why do they bother changing the color if it all tastes the same?” Brooke asked as she picked off a piece from Claire’s blue mass of cotton candy.