Page 5 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Molly

On the morning of my first full day in Eureka, I burst through the door to Key to Happiness Art Studio with such force that the two elderly customers and shop employee inside jump in alarm.

“Sorry,” I say, sheepish.

But my rage is back in full force by the time I reach Key’s office in the back.

“Did you know she was here?” I demand as soon as I see my potentially traitorous best friend.

Keyana pauses mid-brushstroke, turning away from the praying mantis on her canvas. “Know who was where?” she asks, taking stock of my clearly dangerous mood.

“ Robin, ” I spit out. “At the Hummingbird.”

“Holy shit.” Key turns from her easel and deposits her brush on a side table. “Why on earth would Robin come back here?”

I search Key’s face for signs of some kind of Parent Trap scheme.

Outside of myself and the inn’s employees, Key was the most devastated by our breakup.

Robin and I met her in that sparkly honeymoon phase of our relationship when it seemed like we’d be together forever, just after we moved to Eureka, and she used to be equally close to both of us.

I’m lucky she chose my side in the breakup, because without her, I might have come completely untethered and floated off into space.

Seeing no signs of deception in Key now, I deflate. “No clue,” I admit. “Something about ‘getting back to her roots’ and ‘creative flow.’?”

“Typical,” Key says. “Using the inn for her own career advancement without taking any responsibility for it.”

“Wait a second. I forgot the important part.” I walk over to Key and wrap her in a tight hug. “Hi. I missed you,” I say into her shoulder.

Key squeezes back. “Welcome back to Eureka,” she says. “It feels more like home with you here, even if you’re grumpy.”

“When did you arrive?” I ask.

“Couple weeks ago,” Key says, stepping back and brushing at the bits of dried paint from her apron that stuck to my shirt.

“Just long enough to get the studio set up and hire a few new employees. Don’t even think about coming to the duplex I’m renting.

Everything’s still in boxes. Yesterday I found my French press, but couldn’t find my mugs, so I drank the coffee out of a vase. ”

“Invite me over when you’ve got a free evening,” I say. “You know I love organizing storage closets.”

Key raises her eyebrows. “Sounds like you’ve got your own complicated living situation to deal with first.”

“This is beyond worst-case scenario,” I say, pacing the length of the room.

“I can’t just make stained glass anywhere.

I need the studio’s natural light and my workbench to cut and lay out the glass, and the utility sink and ventilation for the soldering and patina.

Meanwhile, Robin insists she has to be there too, even though there are a million kitchens that are bigger and nicer. ”

“Oh, I feel you,” Keyana says, nodding toward her own highly specific studio arrangement. “You’ve seen how long it takes me to set up a new painting space. But can’t you stay somewhere nearby and just use the shed during the day?”

“It’s June in Eureka. I called around, but every hotel in the county is at capacity.” I drop into an empty chair, burying my face in my hands. “How am I supposed to share a house with her? For at least a month! I don’t know how to survive this.”

“She really won’t leave?” Key asks.

“She says she’s legally just as entitled to the inn as I am. And she’s not wrong.”

Key fiddles with the brushes next to her easel for a moment, then looks up as if she’s had an idea. “So make it impossible for her to stay.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“You were together for, what, six years? Surely you know how to press her buttons. Scare her off.”

Huh. Key might be on to something. If I made Robin miserable during our marriage simply by being myself, what could I do if I was actually trying?

“How’s the inn, besides Robin?” Key asks. “Do my murals need a touch-up?”

I groan, remembering the horror that greeted me upon entering the building yesterday.

“It’s awful, Key. That management company ruined everything.

Painted over all your work. Got rid of the furniture and decorations and turned the whole place into some soulless chain hotel.

Seriously, it looks like an IKEA catalog. Not in a cute way.”

“Even the one of all the different flowers in the entryway?” Key says, looking appropriately horrified. “That’s tragic!”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you going to fix it?”

“Why bother?” I sigh. “It’s not like I’m going to open it to guests. It’s just a place for me to crash while I work.”

Key gives me a knowing smirk. “Yeah, we’ll see how long it takes for you to take on a project or four.”

I look at the praying mantis painting Key’s been working on.

She’s penciled in a burst of marigolds in the background that’s going to look stunning.

Her style has evolved since I first met her.

I hardly knew anything about fine art when I met Keyana, but now even I can recognize her skill. “How are you doing, being back?” I ask.

After being separated for too long working on projects in different cities, last year Key and I schemed to get commissions at the same time in New Orleans.

We were sharing an apartment and studio space there when she got the news that her father’s Parkinson’s had taken a turn for the worse.

Key lived in Conway for the last few months, helping care for him until he passed.

I wrapped up our affairs in Louisiana, then made it to Key’s hometown in time for the funeral.

Afterward, Key told me her plan to move back to Eureka Springs, a town she first visited with her dad as a kid and where she’d started her art career around the same time Robin and I bought the Hummingbird.

She wanted to buy the storefront she used to rent for her gallery, and she wanted me to come with her, at least at first, to design a custom window for her business.

I couldn’t say no. I asked Roxie, the agent Key and I share, to clear my calendar of commissions, then headed back to Arkansas.

Key’s been there for me through every up and down.

I want to do the same for her. Even if it means returning to the town that broke my heart.

Key tilts her head from side to side, considering my question. “It’s all right so far. A lot of emotions to work through. But that’s good for my creativity, in a way.”

Knowing all that Key’s been through lately, I’m sure she’s got more to get off her chest, and I’m guessing she could use a walk.

I remember the new bakery down the street owned by an acquaintance of Key’s.

I promised I’d also make a window for that shop while I’m here, and I’ve been meaning to check it out in person.

“Want to tell me about it over donuts?” I suggest.

Key’s eyes light up. “At Thembi’s place? Oh hell yeah. I’m in.”

A few minutes later, we’re swimming through crowds of tourists on Main Street, dappled sunlight cutting through the trees around us. “How’s your mom doing?” I ask, remembering how drained and unlike herself she had seemed at the funeral.

“About as good as she can be,” Key says with a sigh. “It’s a big change. She’s never lived alone.”

“Wow. She met your dad when she was a teenager, right?” I ask, matching Key’s leisurely pace.

“High school sweethearts. Forty-two years together and it still didn’t feel like enough.”

I can see it hurts Key to think about her mom’s loneliness.

Heck, it hurts me to think about, especially considering my own catastrophic marriage situation, which doesn’t hold a candle to losing someone who had been your spouse and best friend for decades.

Deciding I’ll give Key some space to process that later, I change the subject.

“How’s the business bureau going?” I ask.

Key visibly perks up. “Really well. Thembi and Louis joined their first board meeting last week, and they’re thrilled to get to work. We’re planning some advertising and recruitment in Little Rock, Conway, Jacksonville, and Pine Bluff.”

Part of Key’s goal in moving back to Eureka Springs was to start a Black Business Bureau with some friends and create a safer space for people of color in the mostly white town.

Eureka is an oasis for old hippies, making it a pretty liberal place.

The city council endorsed gay marriage in 2012, the same year Robin and I bought the Hummingbird Inn, and the town voted to make weed the lowest possible priority for local law enforcement back in 2006, way before either issue got nationwide support.

But getting to and from Eureka requires driving through former sundown towns and a neighborhood that still proudly calls itself “the birthplace of the KKK.”

It was Key who drew my attention to the real history of Eureka, the stuff they gloss over in the walking tours.

The healing natural springs had long been a sacred site for the Osage people when the federal government pushed them off the land.

Then Eureka became a kind of safe haven for previously enslaved people, with numerous Black-owned businesses and hotels and schools.

But that all changed in the mid-nineteenth century, when white politicians decided to position the spot as a wealthy retirement town, pushing Black people out of the community they’d help build.

Now Key’s leading the charge to bring that Black history and heritage back.

Key talks me through updates on her business development efforts as we turn down a stairway carved into the mountainside, leading to the street below.

“You know my friends-and-family discount for anyone on the bureau has no expiration date,” I say once she’s finished.

“Assuming Robin skedaddles again soon, I’ll come back anytime. ”

“I bet folks will take you up on it,” Key says. “Especially once they see whatever windows you come up with for Thembi and Louis and me.” She pauses before adding, “Too bad the Hummingbird isn’t open so you could offer a discounted place to stay too.”

I roll my eyes. Keyana gives me constant grief for letting a gorgeous historic building we both adore sit empty because I’m not willing to pick up the phone and work through the details with my ex.

To her credit, Key’s totally right. To my credit, Robin is an unrepentant asshat who walked away from our life together and never looked back.

Who can blame me for not wanting to open that can of worms?

Besides, when I hit the road with my stained glass, I was surprised by how much I could charge for my work.

I may be leaving money on the table with the inn vacant, but I don’t actually need income from the Hummingbird.

Key and I take a right, squeeze past a group of people watching a street performer with a banjo, and there it is: Drizzled Donuts.

I immediately pull out my phone to get pictures of the long window running above the storefront, the one where I can already picture my stained glass on display.

I think I recognize this building as what was once our favorite local pizza place, where our old friend Clint was a server.

That is, when he wasn’t working at the hardware store, or the florist’s, or the gay bar, or Keyana’s studio.

A real jack-of-all-trades, Clint. I make a mental note to ask Key if she’s seen him since she’s been back.

I’m pulling a tape measure from my bag when a tall, smiling woman with long box braids appears at the door. Key greets her with a hug, then introduces her to me as Thembi, the owner of Drizzled Donuts and treasurer of the Eureka Springs Black Business Bureau.

“So nice to meet you,” I say, following Thembi inside and pushing down a wave of nostalgia at the familiar layout and hexagonal-tiled floor.

The old booths have been refinished with pink velvet fabric and the walls painted a minty green.

Nevertheless, my head is swimming with memories of cuddling up to Robin at the table in the back corner where we always used to sit, play-fighting over the last garlic knot.

I forcefully push the images from my brain.

I came to this town for my art, not for my messy feelings.

“Key’s told me so much about you,” Thembi says, waving us toward a table. “And she showed me some of your windows. I can’t wait to see what you create for the shop. Getting affordable custom art is like winning the lottery for a small business owner.”

“I can’t wait to get started,” I say. “I’ve had a long run of commissions for banks and hotels and old rich dudes’ mansions lately, so I’m itching for a passion project. I’ll grab measurements today, plus some pictures of your display case for inspiration.”

“Oh, I’ve got just the muse for you. Fresh out of the oven.”

Thembi returns a minute later with a box of vibrantly colored donuts, scents of chocolate and vanilla and hot sugar glaze wafting from them.

As soon as a bite of a raspberry-cheesecake-stuffed donut hits my tongue, I’m in heaven.

They almost taste good enough to make me forget what I’ll have to face when I return to the inn.