Matty walked out of the kitchen, just as a knock came to the hallway door.
"Come on in, Wendy."
Wendy opened the door and walked into the living room.
"Just leave it open. We closed it to give you guys some privacy.
Would you like a coffee?"
"I would love one. Black is fine, unless you have some Irish Creme to add."
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"Sit at the table, Wendy. Be there in a sec."
A minute or so later, Matty returned with two mugs of coffee and a bottle of Irish Creme, on a tray. She put the tray on the table and sat down.
"Help yourself," she offered, as she lit a cigarette.
Wendy prepared her coffee.
"Shit. I left my cigarettes in the room."
Matty pushed the pack toward her.
"Help yourself."
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Wendy looked at the package.
"This is a pic of Tuckamore Bay."
Matty laughed.
"Local cigarettes. Handmade right here in the Bay."
"Is that legal," Wendy laughed.
Matty shrugged.
"Who knows. They have been doing it for years here."
Wendy lit a cigarette.
"Smooth."
She sipped her coffee.
"Have you seen the men?"
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
