One Little Thing by Kimberly Lang Page B

few years ago seemed like a stranger. Eventually she’d have to go back—her day of reckoning would come—but until then, it was easy enough to forget Fuller even existed.
This
was where she wanted to be.
    The bank, post office, and grocery store were quick, easy errands and she made it back to her place, a tiny guesthouse beside Mrs. Kennedy’s house, in plenty of time for her own lunch and maybe a short nap. Even after over two years of getting up to open the shop, that five a.m. alarm was still hard to handle sometimes.
    She dropped to the couch and kicked off her shoes, and Nigel jumped into her lap with a purr. Threading her fingersthrough his soft gray fur, Molly closed her eyes with a sigh.
    And—of
course
—there was an immediate knock at her door, followed by Mrs. Kennedy calling, “Molly?”
    Nigel hissed in the general direction of the door, voicing her feelings quite nicely. While the place was clean, cozy, and affordable, her landlady had boundary issues and a rather interesting interpretation of the tenant-landlord relationship.
    Grumbling, she moved Nigel off her lap and rolled off the couch. Knowing Mrs. Kennedy could see her through the glass window in the door, she pasted a smile on her face as she opened it. “Hello, Mrs. K.”
    Eula Kennedy was welcoming warm weather with a bright fuchsia sundress and a color-matched faux hibiscus in her carefully coiffed white hair. Molly could only hope that forty years from now she’d have the nerve and ability to carry off something like that.
    â€œHello, dear. I’m
so
glad I heard you come in. I was about to head to Latte Dah to find you.”
    â€œI just came home for lunch.”
As I do most days.
Her schedule wasn’t a secret or anything.
    â€œWell, I won’t keep you but a minute.”
    Molly had no choice, really, but to open the door wider for her to enter. Mrs. Kennedy was carrying a bulging grocery sack from the Shop-N-Save, but it didn’t look like groceries. As she set the bag on the coffee table with a sense of satisfaction and purpose, Molly had a bad feeling she wouldn’t like the explanation of that bag.
    â€œI got a call from Jocelyn last night.”
    Jocelyn was Mrs. Kennedy’s niece, currently pregnant and living over near Destin. Molly nodded absently while she eyeballed the bag. Oddly, it looked like it was full of notebooks. “I hope she’s doing well.”
    â€œThe doctors have put her on bed rest. Worries about an incompetent cervix.”
    That got her attention. Molly had no idea what that diagnosis might mean, but Mrs. Kennedy looked worried, so it probably wasn’t good. “I’m sorry to hear that. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said automatically.
    â€œI’m so glad you said that,” Mrs. Kennedy said in a tone that had Molly wishing she’d stopped talking after “sorry.” “There’s no way Jocelyn can rest the way she needs to with two other little ones running around, so I’m going to go stay with her and help until after the baby is born.”
    â€œI’ll keep an eye on things at the house, no problem.” She often looked after the place while Mrs. Kennedy traveled. It was one of the reasons her rent was so cheap.
    â€œI know you will, and I appreciate it, but the house is really the least of my issues. I’ve got my Sunday school class and volunteer shifts at the library covered, but there’s no one to take over the Children’s Fair on Memorial Day weekend.”
    No. She couldn’t possibly be thinking that I should . . .
    Memorial Day marked the official start of the summer tourist season, and Magnolia Beach always went all out for the weekend with concerts and an arts and crafts fair downtown, a fireworks show over Heron Bay, services at the War Memorial, a parade, and, of course, the Children’s Fair, which was originally Mrs.