Free Firefly Summer by Nan Rossiter Page A

she was a full-time resident! “Someone needs to take a chill pill,” she muttered, shaking her head.
    Moments later, the left lane started moving and the man pulled into it, and as he blew by, he returned her gesture and raised her one rude expletive.
    â€œBack at ya,” Birdie said with a smirk as she clicked on her radio.
    People began to gradually turn off Route 6 toward their destinations and the traffic began to move. Birdie glanced over at Arnold’s as she drove by. She couldn’t believe there was already a line curling around the building. “It’s definitely summer,” she said with a sigh.
    A few minutes later, she turned onto Old County Road and into a sandy driveway straddled by a white picket fence. “Can you believe I finally got my picket fence?” Sailor had said when she’d been giving Birdie the directions.
    â€œThis is nice,” Birdie murmured as she parked behind Remy. She could see her sisters look up from where they were standing in the garden. She reached for the plate of Caprese salad—fresh tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil, drizzled with balsamic vinegar—and handed it to Sailor through the window.
    â€œMmm, this looks good,” she said, smiling.
    â€œThe basil’s from my garden,” Birdie said as she picked up her cumbersome bag, clanking with bottles, and gingerly stepped out.
    â€œWhere are your crutches?” Remy asked, frowning as she gave her a hug.
    â€œOh, I don’t need those old things,” Birdie said. She turned to Sailor, hugged her, too, and pulled out the bottle of pinot grigio with the festive ribbon tied around its neck. “I’m told the palate is full and ripe,” she said with a smile.
    Sailor chuckled. “Is that what your favorite gay package store owner told you?”
    â€œIt is, ” Birdie admitted with a grin. Then she frowned. “Do you really think he’s gay?”
    Sailor nodded. “I love the label,” she said, admiring the da Vinci drawing. “And I do because he’s way too cute to be straight.”
    Birdie laughed. “You’re probably right.”
    â€œAnd what did you get for yourself?” Sailor asked, eyeing the second bottle.
    â€œMalbec,” Birdie said, holding out the bottle of Phebus.
    â€œDid he talk you into it?”
    She chuckled at how true her sister’s observation was. “He said it’s all the rage!”
    â€œSo you’re betraying your beloved merlot?” Sailor teased, feigning shock.
    â€œJust expanding my horizons,” Birdie said. “Do you have a corkscrew? Because I brought one just in case.” She started to reach back into her bag.
    â€œI have one,” Sailor assured. “Come on in and we’ll crack these bad girls open!”
    Remy offered Birdie her arm and she gladly took it, and as they followed Sailor into the little cottage, Sailor turned. “Do you want the grand tour now or in a little bit?”
    â€œIn a little bit,” Birdie said, sinking wearily into the only chair in the kitchen—a folding beach chair. “My ankle’s a little achy.”
    â€œThat’s why you should be using your crutches,” Remy scolded. “It’s only been a couple of days. . . .”
    Birdie waved her off. “I’m fine. It’s just because I had to push the damn clutch in so many times on my way here—traffic was terrible! In fact, it’ll probably be a half hour before Piper gets he—”
    â€œHello!” a voice called cheerily.
    Sailor looked out the window. “Here she is now!”
    â€œHey!” Piper said, sweeping in and giving her sisters hugs. She set down a platter of bruschetta and a bottle of the Black Dog Tavern’s new wine, Great White Chardonnay—it had a picture of the iconic black dog with a shark fin on his back.
    â€œWhere’d you get that?” Sailor asked, admiring the label.
    â€œPackage