rest of Point Mouette.
Then came a large white building, which they’d been too rushed the day before to notice. It turned out to be an inn—Mouette Inn—and was comfortable-looking rather than grand, with cheerful flower gardens and a wide porch full of lounge chairs, and across the road from it was a wooden dock built far out into the ocean, which everyone agreed was full of possibilities.
None of this slowed down the intricate dance ofIsosceles, but when they had to turn off Ocean Boulevard and start up the hill, the triangle had a hard time holding its shape, and as the road got steeper and curvier and there were cars, even Skye knew that the soccer drill was over. Still, she insisted they all run in a straight line, carrying the balls. She wanted them to chant as they went, but while she was trying to decide on a chant, Jane and Jeffrey ganged up on her and said that if they had to chant, they wouldn’t run. Even without the chanting, it was grueling work, and they were grateful to reach Moose Market.
Inside, the store had wide-planked wooden floors and leaning shelves, and it smelled delicious, like ripe fruit and new bread. Jeffrey, in charge of Aunt Claire’s list, sent them hunting and gathering for groceries, and when they’d finished that, all three ended up staring at the rows of fresh-baked pies in the glass case near the cash register, debating the merits of each, and finally deciding on one lemon meringue and one strawberry-rhubarb. Then Skye grabbed extra cartons of orange juice to drink on the way home, since the run there had made them thirsty, and they were ready to check out and head back.
On the way down the hill, Jane lagged behind the others, laden down with a soccer ball, her orange juice, and both pies. Moose Market had made her think about her book. Maybe she needed to come up with a particularly interesting place for Sabrina tomeet her love, like a country store with wooden floors.
Looking up from the pies, Sabrina saw him across the aisle, near the lettuce and celery
. No, that doesn’t work, thought Jane. Was it possible that Sabrina Starr simply wasn’t ready for romance? And how does somebody become ready for romance, anyway? This was an enigma, one that Jane needed to solve.
“For my art,” she said out loud.
Ahead of her, Skye called out, “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Jane knew there was no point in discussing love with Skye, who didn’t have what Jane considered to be a romantic soul. Or with Jeffrey, whose head was so stuffed with music that there wasn’t room for much else. Like right now—Jane could hear him trying to explain to Skye about something called a diminished seventh chord while Skye was beating him with a roll of paper towels to make him stop.
Jane wished she’d begun thinking about love a week or so ago, when the family was still together. Iantha would have answered her questions. She always did—it was one of the million nice things about her. Rosalind might have, too, though she had said it was none of Jane’s business that one time Jane asked what it was like to kiss Tommy. Maybe that hadn’t been a good question to start with. Maybe she should work out better questions to ask, and make up a survey forresearch. Yes, a Love Survey. Jane liked that idea a lot. What she needed was a good first question, one that would get people interested without scaring them away.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked out loud.
“Jane, what are you talking about?” It was Skye again, but this time she was only a few feet away. Jane had caught up without noticing.
“She wants to know if we believe in love at first sight,” said Jeffrey.
“More love,” said Skye, now hitting Jane with the paper towels. “As the OAP, I demand you don’t mention love for the whole rest of the day.”
Jane thought this hardly fair, but before she could launch an argument, everyone was distracted by the rattle and clatter of something rushing down the
Then came a large white building, which they’d been too rushed the day before to notice. It turned out to be an inn—Mouette Inn—and was comfortable-looking rather than grand, with cheerful flower gardens and a wide porch full of lounge chairs, and across the road from it was a wooden dock built far out into the ocean, which everyone agreed was full of possibilities.
None of this slowed down the intricate dance ofIsosceles, but when they had to turn off Ocean Boulevard and start up the hill, the triangle had a hard time holding its shape, and as the road got steeper and curvier and there were cars, even Skye knew that the soccer drill was over. Still, she insisted they all run in a straight line, carrying the balls. She wanted them to chant as they went, but while she was trying to decide on a chant, Jane and Jeffrey ganged up on her and said that if they had to chant, they wouldn’t run. Even without the chanting, it was grueling work, and they were grateful to reach Moose Market.
Inside, the store had wide-planked wooden floors and leaning shelves, and it smelled delicious, like ripe fruit and new bread. Jeffrey, in charge of Aunt Claire’s list, sent them hunting and gathering for groceries, and when they’d finished that, all three ended up staring at the rows of fresh-baked pies in the glass case near the cash register, debating the merits of each, and finally deciding on one lemon meringue and one strawberry-rhubarb. Then Skye grabbed extra cartons of orange juice to drink on the way home, since the run there had made them thirsty, and they were ready to check out and head back.
On the way down the hill, Jane lagged behind the others, laden down with a soccer ball, her orange juice, and both pies. Moose Market had made her think about her book. Maybe she needed to come up with a particularly interesting place for Sabrina tomeet her love, like a country store with wooden floors.
Looking up from the pies, Sabrina saw him across the aisle, near the lettuce and celery
. No, that doesn’t work, thought Jane. Was it possible that Sabrina Starr simply wasn’t ready for romance? And how does somebody become ready for romance, anyway? This was an enigma, one that Jane needed to solve.
“For my art,” she said out loud.
Ahead of her, Skye called out, “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Jane knew there was no point in discussing love with Skye, who didn’t have what Jane considered to be a romantic soul. Or with Jeffrey, whose head was so stuffed with music that there wasn’t room for much else. Like right now—Jane could hear him trying to explain to Skye about something called a diminished seventh chord while Skye was beating him with a roll of paper towels to make him stop.
Jane wished she’d begun thinking about love a week or so ago, when the family was still together. Iantha would have answered her questions. She always did—it was one of the million nice things about her. Rosalind might have, too, though she had said it was none of Jane’s business that one time Jane asked what it was like to kiss Tommy. Maybe that hadn’t been a good question to start with. Maybe she should work out better questions to ask, and make up a survey forresearch. Yes, a Love Survey. Jane liked that idea a lot. What she needed was a good first question, one that would get people interested without scaring them away.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked out loud.
“Jane, what are you talking about?” It was Skye again, but this time she was only a few feet away. Jane had caught up without noticing.
“She wants to know if we believe in love at first sight,” said Jeffrey.
“More love,” said Skye, now hitting Jane with the paper towels. “As the OAP, I demand you don’t mention love for the whole rest of the day.”
Jane thought this hardly fair, but before she could launch an argument, everyone was distracted by the rattle and clatter of something rushing down the
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