Page 17 of Sunset Catchers
Chiming bells announce my presence when I walk into the hole in the wall Office of Tourism, alerting the grey-haired lady sitting behind the one and only desk that she has a visitor.
There isn’t another single soul inside—a pang in my sternum. I wish Junie was here. She always tagged along to do the talking when I asked her to. She is very good at conversing with strangers, while small talk always feels so awkward to me. Even just choosing between saying Hi, Gello or Good afternoon could send me into a tizzy.
A warm smile greets me. “Welcome in, dear. What can I do for you today?”
Hi? Hello? Good afternoon? Pick one, brain!
“Good day, Ma’am.”
Oh, gosh. That was certainly a choice. I’m pretty sure I said that with a country accent. I hope she doesn’t think I’m mocking her. “I was wondering if it would be possible to have any information on vintage markets or fairs that might be happening around?”
I loved these kinds of events; they were great opportunities to find special pieces to make rooms feel more unique and curated.
“Of course. You’ve come to the right place.” She smooths out the light-blue blouse tucked into a pair of dark grey trousers as she gets up from her seat, rounding her desk to grab a bunch of brochures from the display stands.
“Where are you visiting us from?”
“Montreal.”
“I love that city,” she says fondly. “I spent a few years in my twenties there.” Her brows furrow. “You’re quite early in the season for a beach vacation.”
Spring is definitely not the most popular season to come here, with one of the main attractions being the beaches, which are still very cold. She seems genuinely worried that I’ve wasted time and money coming here only to freeze my ass off in still frigid water.
“I’m here for work,” I reassure her.
She turns on her flat-clad feet, zeroing on me. I instantly squirmed under her scrutiny, folding my arms over the oversize t-shirt I’ve thrown on under a cardigan for my stroll in town.
Do people not come here for work? Am I breaking some small-town law? Will the Sheriff be called? Will I be handcuffed and thrown in a tiny cell? I don’t even know Junie’s number by heart for my one phone call!
“You’re the designer Kit hired for her project,” she says. “You’re Winnie!” I huff out a small, relieved breath then smile.
“I’m her!” I confirm. “How do you know Kit?”
“Oh, that old hag?” She waves a hand in dismissal. I frown. Um, okay…“She’s been my best friend for more than fifty years.” Smile back on. “Please, do tell her that I called her an old hag when you see her next.” I bob my head and grab the pile of paper she hands me.
“You’ll find the information about vintage markets and fairs in the bigger booklet, and I added some brochures about attractions you might want to discover while you’re visiting us.”
“That’s great,” I say earnestly while ruffling through all the brochures.
“I take it you’ve met Levi, then? Kit told me he’d be helping on this project.”
“Yes. Just came from a meeting with him.”
“I hope he was the gentleman Kit tried to turn him into.”
“Sure.” I don’t know if I would call Levi a gentleman per se, but I don’t want to hinder his reputation or whatever. Maybe he is a big deal around here.
“Send him my way if he troubles you. I have a few chores that need to be tended to.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you so much again…”
“Louise. But please, call me Lou.”
I did not want to call a virtual stranger by her nickname, but I obliged out of this concept called politeness.
“Okay. Well, thank you. Lou. Have a great rest of your day.”
Louise, I’ll call her however I please into the confines of my mind, waves me goodbye, and then I’m on my way, slipping the pile of brochures into my dedicated errand tote bag.
