“Y’all want a free Life’s-A-Peach muffin?”Įach had been painstakingly wrapped in cellophane with a folded flier for the Lucky Harbor Beach Inn tucked into a ribbon. “Muffin?” Tara asked a new section of the line, handing them out as people expressed interest. She moved on, assuring herself that the continuous swallowing of her pride since coming to Lucky Harbor only felt like it was going to kill her, but surely it wouldn’t.
Tara had a finger of her own to hold up, but since it wasn’t a polite one, she refrained. Taylor held up a polite finger and pulled out her vibrating phone. “Actually, what I’m promoting is the renovation of the inn my sisters and I are opening in two weeks–” She broke off when Mrs. And since she was all for energy conservation, she let her mouth curve into a smile. Tara had read somewhere that it took less effort to be nice than bitchy.
Taylor said disappointedly, “promoting cholesterol consumption like this.” Tara looked down at her beautiful muffins, fat and soft and gently browned, each perfectly baked and undoubtedly overflowing with calories. She gave a brief thought to lying, but she didn’t want to be struck dead by lightning - it would ruin her good hair day. “Are they low fat?”īefore coming to Washington State, Tara had spent most of her life just outside of Houston on her grandparents ranch, where holding back the use of butter and lard was considered sacrilegious. Taylor, the owner of the local craft and supply shop, looked the basket over carefully. “Muffin?” she asked the next woman in line. She’d bought it to look sophisticated and elegant. At least her sundress was lightweight, the material gauzy and playful against her skin. Telling herself that she was merely glistening, and hopefully looking luminous while she was at it, Tara amped up her smile and kept going. Perspiring wasn’t just undignified, it contradicted her never let ‘em see you sweat motto. Perspiration beaded on her skin, which really chapped her hide. The large basket was heavier than she’d anticipated, and the late afternoon June sun beat down on her head in tune to the Pacific’s thrashing waves beating the shore. “Muffin?” Tara asked as she walked along the long line of people waiting on the pier to enter Lucky Harbor’s summer festival.
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