The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

When her alarm beeped at one, she pulled herself out.

And as she began the process of saving her work, shutting down, for the first time she heard the bouncing of a ball in the foyer downstairs.

Jack, the little boy who hadn’t lived to see his tenth birthday, loved playing with Yoda. And the love was mutual.

Maybe it was odd how easily she accepted that, but she’d lived in Lost Bride Manor long enough to learn not just to accept, but to embrace.

Because she didn’t want to scare him—though how you scared a ghost was beyond her—she called out before she started down.

“I’m shutting down work for the day. I have work in the kitchen now.”

She saw no sign of Jack until she got to the kitchen and found all the cabinet doors open.

“I guess you weren’t finished playing with Yoda.” She closed doors as she spoke. “But I’m on a schedule.”

She got out the enormous heavy pot and Cleo’s big slab of meat.

“Not as scary this time,” she told herself. But she didn’t actually believe it.

She seasoned the roast, began to brown it in oil. While it browned, she started peeling carrots.

She had a browned slab of meat and a pile of carrots and had started on the potatoes when Cleo dashed in.

“Sorry! I got caught up.” Cleo grabbed an apron. “I started on a mer family. Cute little merbabies and toddlers. Then I thought: Where’s Nana and Paw? They should have grandparents. I’ll help you peel potatoes, and you can help me peel apples.”

Before getting another peeler, Cleo pinned her cloud of burnt-honey hair up.

“I forgot a tie. Let me have that one.” Sonya peeled the one off Cleo’s wrist, tied her hair back. “When we were in college, did you ever see us peeling potatoes together?”

“I have to say no. But I didn’t see myself peeling them with anybody.” Cleo’s eyes danced as she looked at Sonya. “Shame-the-devil truth? I kind of like it.”

Sonya studied the mound of peels. “I like when it’s all done, and doesn’t suck.”

“I kind of like the process, like art. The finish is what brings you pride, but you can’t have the pride without the process.”

“I’m working on the Gigi’s job. I’m liking that process. And I can admit this process isn’t as fraught as when I did it by myself the first time.”

“I hung with you on FaceTime.”

Sonya gave her a hip bump. “This is better. No regrets, right? About moving in?”

“Not a single one. I love it here. God, I love my studio. I’m going to love taking time to paint outside before much longer, and spending a Sunday afternoon sailing Poole’s Bay when Owen builds me my sweet little Sunfish.”

“I’d have stayed without you, because I knew this was my place, my home as soon as I saw it. But I wouldn’t have been half as happy.”

When they had all the vegetables prepped, Sonya heaved a breath. “Okay, here goes. You dump them in the oil and juices, with the herbs, stir them all around, let them cook awhile, brown a little maybe.”

“All right, you’ve got that. I’m going to start on the pie crust.”

“You’re actually making pie crust. With flour and—whatever else is in pie crust.”

“Process, Son, process. If you just do the inside part, it’s sort of a cheat. I just—What is that noise?”

Sonya kept stirring even though her heartbeat sped up. “It’s the dumbwaiter.”

“The… well, God.” Rubbing her hands on her apron, Cleo walked into the butler’s pantry, frowned at it. “I’m going to look. It better not be something awful or it’s going to piss me off.”

Sonya held her breath, and didn’t release it until she heard Cleo say, “Aww! Oh, it’s sweet. Look here, Son. It’s a pretty pie plate.”