2 The Witch Who Saw a Star
Page 12
“These are remarkable,” she said.
“Please excuse us,” someone said from behind.
Maris and Mikhail turned to see Minako and Alfred Page, the owners of the bookstore and hosts for the evening’s gala. They were both holding platters of delicious looking hors d’oeuvres.
“May I offer you some warm salmon shumai,” Minako said, pointing to it, “also vegetable spring rolls, butternut squash with gouda pot stickers, and hand rolls of spicy yellowtail sushi.”
“You certainly may,” Maris said, taking a small paper plate and napkin from the tray. “Minako, you’ve really outdone yourself.”
The diminutive Asian store owner beamed at her, her sleek black hair swaying as she bobbed her head. “Thank you,” she said. “We also have some liquid refreshments.”
“Japanese whisky and sake,” Alfred said, holding his tray forward. It was covered in little ceramic sake glasses of all shapes and colors, some with amber liquid, and some with clear. The heady scent of the alcohol mixed nicely with the aromatic smell of the warm food.
Mikhail selected a shot of whisky. “Thank you,” he said, and lifted the little glass to both of them. “And thank you again for hosting the gala. You have done a magnificent job.”
As one of the largest establishments in Pixie Point Bay, Maris was hard-pressed to think of another place that could have hosted it. Certainly there was no other that could have done it with as much style.
“I’ll try these scrumptious delights to begin with,” she said as she chose the salmon shumai and the spicy yellowtail hand roll. Though she would have loved to take two of everything, her ongoing quest for lower cholesterol and weight loss stopped her. “Thank you.”
“Truly,” Alfred said smiling. “It’s very much–”
“Our pleasure,” Minako said.
Maris grinned at them as they resumed circulating among the guests. Though Alfred was of a medium height and build, he still towered over his petite wife. And with his blonde hair and bespectacled blue eyes, they couldn’t have looked more different. But Maris couldn’t think of another couple that she’d met that seemed so together.
As the warm salmon shumai melted in her mouth, she detected a hint of scallion and ginger. The combination was perfect.
“Good, is it not?” Mikhail said smiling. Maris could only nod, as she enjoyed the tender texture and just the right amount of soy sauce seasoning. “I think I ate a whole tray during the setup. Minako and Alfred made everything themselves.”
Maris covered her mouth with the napkin. “Wow,” she muttered. She was going to have to see if they’d be willing to share the recipe.
“If you can stand my company for just another minute,” Mikhail said, “may I introduce you to Clio?”
“Mmm,” Maris said, nodding after she swallowed. “I’d love to meet her.”
He glanced around the room. “Ah, there she is.”
Maris followed him to a slim woman who appeared to be in her early thirties. Her auburn hair had been gathered and pinned behind her head and her bright blue eyes gazed at them as they approached. She was holding a tiny sake cup, and chatting with a few people. But as Mikhail approached, she excused herself and came forward to meet them.
“Maris Seaver,” Mikhail said to her, “I would like you to meet the artist who painted the lovely photos of your lighthouse.” He inclined his head to her. “Clio Hearst.”
Clio’s eyes widened and she smiled as she thrust out her hand. “You own the lighthouse?” she asked.
“I do,” Maris said, shaking her hand.
“I absolutely adore it. It’s one of my favorite subjects.”
Maris glanced back at the artwork. “So I saw. And I must say, you’ve really managed to capture the magic of the place.”
“Oh thank you,” Clio said, glancing downward. “I hope I did it justice. But it’s wonderful to hear you approve.”
“How could she not?” Mikhail said. “But if you two ladies will excuse me, I think I might see a prospective buyer.” He gave them a quick bow and hurried off.
Maris turned to the artist. “Really, all of your work is amazing. Not just the lighthouse—even if it’s my favorite. I can see why Mikhail chose to feature you.”
A little color rose to Clio’s cheeks. “That’s so kind of you. I–”
The sound of raised voices interrupted her. Maris turned to see Aurora Puddlefoot arguing heatedly with a well-dressed man that she recognized. Like Mikhail, art critic Langston Spaulding and his wife were guests at the B&B and had come for the express purpose of the art gala. But at the moment the artsy couple were being assailed by the owner of the town’s gift store, Magical Finds.
• • • • •
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Dedication
For Mr. Bee’s Knees
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Emma Belmont
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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