Free Beauty Bites by Mary Hughes

talk, people listen. He’s big, moves like a cat and was something significant in the military. Twyla calls him her Spartan general and that nails him so well I sometimes wonder if it isn’t the truth.
    I hugged her tightly in return. “I had good directions. Nice ‘cabin’.”
    “Wait until you see inside.” She led me into a rustic, pine-paneled interior. A spacious kitchen opened onto a large living room. “There’s a deluxe bath with whirlpool tub.” She pointed to a short hallway off the kitchen. Two doors were open, a big double bed in one room and a narrow twin in the other.
    A third door was closed. Suspicious noises were coming from behind it.
    I raised an eyebrow. “With four empty cabins and a big house, you’ve got roommates?”
    “The owners live in the house,” Twyla said. “And we’re only trying this up north thing, to see if it works. Why spend double the money? It might end up a bust. Want some coffee?”
    “Thanks, but I’m caffeined out. I’ll take some of that, though.” I pointed at a corked bottle on the red Formica counter top. “Burgundy?”
    “Merlot. Nikos, honey, pour us some of that grape nerve tonic, will you?”
    He grunted, which Twyla says is him being eloquent, and proceeded to competently decork the bottle and pour three glasses, ending each with a professional swirl.
    While he was pouring, a particularly loud squeal came from the closed bedroom. I winced. “That’s Elena O’Rourke? She sounds…different.” An understatement. The Elena I knew was tougher than most WWE wrestlers. That little girly squeal would have been anathema to her, although I’d been out of the Meiers Corners’s gossip loop for a few years.
    “Strongwell, now.” Twyla handed me my full glass.
    “Oh yeah. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up.” I sniffed the wine appreciatively. Fruity, with a hint of oak. “I can’t believe Elena married Bo. Isn’t he the Viking who owns the luxe apartment building on the upper east side?”
    “That’s the one.” As Twyla reached for her wine Nikos tapped the back of her hand. “What?”
    He took her fingers, kissed them. “Breathe.”
    “You want her to breathe?” I said.
    “He means we should let the wine breathe.” Twyla was apparently good at translating Gruntese. “After our nerves are calmed, right Synnove?” With a grin at her big dark SO, she clinked glasses with me and knocked back a healthy swallow.
    Nikos only sighed.
    Twyla waved her half-empty glass toward the living room. “Sit. Over there, by the fireplace. Night’s cooled us off enough that Nikos can make us a pretty fire with apple logs and we can get drunk and toast marshmallows and have s’mores, not necessarily in that order. Why are we getting drunk, by the way? And does it have to do with that very expensive Italian suit coat you’re wearing? Hand-tailored, unless I miss my guess. Athletic cut, hubba-hubba.”
    I laughed. “Curious much? Thanks for not starting in on me the moment I arrived.” I tucked myself into a big chair by the fireplace and sipped merlot. It had a bite, like that Turkish coffee…a flash of regret hit me. No. Ric wanted me to use my looks to win patients. “I had a bit of trouble getting to the party. Holiday loaned me his jacket to cover it.”
    “Road accident? Are you okay?”
    “Not an accident, at least not on the road.” I flipped back the coat to show her the torn blouse. “Sorry about this. I’ll buy you a new one.”
    She sucked in an angry breath. “Who did that? I’m gonna kick his ass.”
    I looked down. My breast was bruised, a souvenir of Little’s “proposal”. “Don’t worry, I took care of it. But it did put a damper on my making rational and convincing arguments to Holiday. As I told you, he said no.”
    “Good grief, if you think I care about Holiday after seeing that—”
    “I took care of it, Twyla. And I’d like to put it behind me. Now let me debrief so I can enjoy the treat of upcoming s’mores and pretty