Moonlight Masquerade (Edilean 8)

“Anything to do with doctors?” Ellie asked.

Sophie laughed. It looked like Roan had told what she’d said about naming it No Doctors Allowed. She glanced at Reede. “Maybe I should name it Now and Then.” She and Ellie looked at each other and laughed.

“I don’t think I’m needed here,” Reede said, but he was smiling.

“You poor thing. You want your usual?” Ellie asked.

“Sure.” Reede looked at Sophie. “What sandwich do you want?”

“Brie and cranberries,” she said, then looked up. “Oh. Sorry. I keep coming up with ideas for soup and sandwiches. I’ll take chicken on whole wheat. And—” Breaking off, she blinked a few times. “Phoenix. I’m going to name the restaurant Phoenix because . . . ” She trailed off.

“Rising from the ashes,” Reede said as he took her hand and squeezed it.

She smiled at him in thanks for understanding.

“You two are steaming up the glass,” Ellie said, but her voice was pure happiness. “I’ll get the sandwiches while you fill your carts. Your prices won’t be retail and it’ll all be charged to Roan.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “Thank you very much.”

Ellie looked at Sophie, with a brief glance at Reede. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Hate to break up the hen party but I have to get back to work. Who knows? Somebody may have a paper cut that I’ll have to tape together.”

“I wish I could find a pill that would sweeten you up,” Ellie said, then looked at Sophie as though to say that was her job.

Sophie put her hands up, palms out, and took a step back. Roan had said that she was, well, helping Reede’s bad temper, but it looked like it wasn’t much.

“See you later.” Ellie disappeared behind the case.

Reede got a cart and they went to the produce section. Sophie didn’t have a list with her but she knew what she needed to make about four big pots of soup—which should be enough for a day in a tiny town like Edilean.

“How bad are you?” she asked Reede as she put yellow onions in a bag.

“As a doctor? If the case is significant, I don’t think I’m bad at all.”

“No, I mean your bedside manner.”

Reede scoffed. “I’m not willing to sit there and listen all day if that’s what you mean. Do you need mushrooms?”

“Yes. Make sure the heads are closed. Why did the people have hives? From allergies? Three people in the same day? Were they related?”

Reede put mushrooms in a bag. “I can’t really talk about individual patients.”

“Sure, I understand,” she said. “I just wondered because there have been a few times in my life when stress made me break into hives. When my mother died and I realized I couldn’t leave town to take my sculpting job, my whole body was covered in ugly red patches. They went up my neck and into my hair. My doctor spent twenty minutes with me while I cried.”

“What did he give you for them?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said, “but he told me that every day I was to drink a glass of wine and laugh at least once.”

“And did you?” Reede asked.

“No. But I wish I had. Where’s the dairy section?”

“That way,” Reede said and he was thoughtful as he followed her.

“I asked them why the hell they had hives.”

“Surely you didn’t say it like that, did you?