Page 8

I wish to hell it were enough.

4

Opal

“Remindme again why you’re a paralegal.” I glance at the artist who just completed the final brushstroke on a mural that, mere weeks ago, was nothing but a fleeting idea in my mind.

Posey Franzini bumps her hip against mine. “I like the law, and keeping your options open is never bad. If this mural painting thing takes off, I’ll at least be able to prepare my own contracts. That’s a big plus.”

She’s right about that. I had to sign a contract when I hired her to create and paint a mural for my bar. The contract was precise and spelled out everything right down to the exact number of hours she anticipated the project would take.

She completed it within the time frame, and it turned out better than I had ever imagined.

The mural is the instantly recognizable skyline of New York City. A large gold crown adorned with turquoise gems is perched atop the Empire State Building. It makes perfect sense since the name of my bar is Turquoise Crown. I’m rewarded with a smile whenever I mention it to anyone since the name pays homage to a board game that my Great Aunt Hildy created decades ago.

Hildy’s still tearing through this city with the wit and wisdom that only a ninety-year-old diva can. On her birthday last year, she decided to share a portion of her wealth, so I inherited this building she purchased three years ago on a whim. Her intention back then was to transform it into a cozy craft store with a room in the back for gambling.

Common sense entered that chat in the form of my dad telling her to ditch the idea since he didn’t want to see her in a prison-issued orange jumpsuit. Aunt Hildy would likely have gotten away with it, but my dad pointed out that it only takes one disgruntled poker player to knock down the entire house of cards.

When she gifted me the deed to the building and the rights to the trademark for the Turquoise Crown game, I combined the two and came up with the idea for this board game bar.

The concept is simple. People can drop in whenever they choose, pick a table, and play a board game with strangers or friends. We open a tab until they’re ready to leave. That’s when they’re charged a small fee for playing in addition to anything they’ve ordered from the menu. We plan on serving a bunch of different beverages, including some kick ass cocktails. Add to that, a half-dozen finger foods, and I’m banking on Turquoise Crown being a hit.

If it’s not, I’ll trudge back to the corporate world and put my business degree to good use.

“The mural is beyond perfect,” I tell Posey. “Would you be okay with me sharing your contact information with anyone who asks?”

“So good.” She drags a hand through her blonde hair.

Mine is the same shade. Her blue eyes don’t match my brown, but that didn’t stop the contractor I hired from assuming we were sisters.

Posey played along with it while I tried to contain a giggle. We don’t resemble each other at all. Posey has a cute button nose, and mine sports a small bump on the bridge. Her face is a perfect heart shape, while mine is oval. Add the fact that I’m six inches taller than Posey to our list of noticeable differences, and it’s hard to fathom how the contractor jumped to the conclusion that we’re related.

“Do you need to take off?” I glance at Posey. “Malvie is dropping by with some samples in an hour. I think she said she made something called Dicey Dip.”

Posey groans while shaking her head. “Mals needs to rethink that name because I’m not putting anything labeled dicey in my mouth.”

I laugh out loud. “My cousin is a great chef, but her dish-naming skills need some work.”

Since they’re best friends, Posey knows all about Malvie Kincaid’s culinary skills. At twenty-four, they’re three years younger than me, and both are committed to pursuing their creative passions. Malvie is between chef jobs, so she said yes when I asked if she’d come on board to help with menu planning. I offered her a full-time job here at Turquoise Crown once it opens. She agreed to see me through the first two months, but she’s made it clear that working at my game bar isn’t her final career destination.

“Speaking of work,” Posey segues horribly. The wince on her face tells me that. “I need to get back to the office. I banked a few hours last week to devote to finishing this today. Thank goodness my boss is a great guy.”

I sigh. “I’m sure Malvie will stop by your office with some Dicey Dip for you to try.”

She tosses me a wink and a smile. “Tell her to stay away.”

* * *

Two hours later,I exit Turquoise Crown headed straight for home. The last of the Dicey Dip is in a shallow dish in my hands. Since Malvie accidentally shoved the lid for it into her canvas bag before she took off, I was left with an open container of a peculiar-smelling green dip. It may resemble sludge, but it rates an eight out of ten in taste.

After locking the door, I turn abruptly to head toward the curb to flag down a passing taxi. I’d hop on the subway, but I don’t want to subject my fellow New Yorkers to the stench coming off this dip.

I have no idea what Malvie put in it, but if she wants us to serve this during our soft launch next week, she needs to tone down the smell a notch or five.

I spin and take a step, but before I can land another, I crash into what feels like a wall of muscle.

It’s all wrapped in a bespoke suit. Someone I once knew had a closet filled with suits from the prestigious menswear store. It was the only brand he wore. I’d recognize a Berdine suit anywhere, even when the sleeve of said gray suit jacket is covered with green slime courtesy of me.