Small-Town Hearts. Ruth Logan Herne
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Hannah mock-shuddered, her expression underscoring her words. “Yes, he was funny and charismatic, but he had no work ethic and little pretense of faith, and didn’t Alyssa Michaels tell you he just got fired from his latest job because he failed to show up, time after time? Were you thinking you could fix that? Fix him? Not hardly.”
“You’re right, I know that, it’s just…” Megan grimaced and shrugged. Her friend Alyssa had made it a point to call her and fill her in on Michael’s newest gaffe, showcasing how undependable he was. Why hadn’t she noticed that sooner? “Obviously I’m either too needy or gullible. Maybe both. Very honestly, the thought of putting myself out there again scares me to death.”
“I know.”
Something in Hannah’s soft tone said she understood too much. A hint of sadness shadowed her eyes, her gaze, then disappeared as she moved forward to hug Meg. “But I also know that you befriended me when I moved here. I knew no one, I had no family in this area, and you reached out to me. Talked to me. You brought God’s peace into my life at a time when I needed it, Meg. I want to be able to do the same for you.”
Meg returned the embrace, grateful for the connection. Alyssa had been nudging her much the same way, but taking those first steps seemed harder than she’d have ever thought possible.
Hannah stepped back, eyed the clock and gave a low whistle. “And on that very emotional note, I’ve got to fly if I want to get the library open by three.”
Meg nodded and grabbed her hand. “Hannah. Thanks.”
Hannah shrugged. “Hey, we’re girls. Been there, done that. Girlfriends have to stick together. And sometimes give one another a well-meaning push.”
“Which means I get to do the same for you sometime?”
Hannah waved a hand in the air as she headed for the door. “Right now we’re talking about you, not me. See ya.”
Meg grinned at her retreating back. Noting that Ben was still out back with the late-afternoon renewed antics of the finch families, she began unpacking ice cream counter supplies when the phone rang, a welcome interruption from errant happily-ever-after thoughts.
“Colonial Candy Kitchen, Meg speaking. How can I help you?”
“Meg, this is Jacqui Crosby.”
Okay, make that was glad of the interruption. Meg was never too thrilled to chat with fiancé number one’s intrusive mother. “Jacqui, how are you?”
“Frazzled and frantic, totally out of character for me, as you well know.”
Meg knew no such thing. Jacqui Crosby was a town gossip, one of those people who could be counted on to spread information with hawklike speed, always watching and sharpening her tongue at others’ expense. Meg asked, “Well, good chocolate is always a cure for that. What can I get for you?”
“Oh, I don’t want chocolate,” Jacqui shot back, her tone hiking. “I’m doing a high-protein diet to stay in shape for summer. Of course, you don’t have to pay attention to that with your long dresses, do you, dear?”
One, two, three…
“What I’m calling about is your apartment. I’d like to rent it.”
Her apartment?
Meg frowned. The second floor of her house held two apartments: cute, clean and in good shape after years of plaster dust, plumbing and paint. She lived in one and rented the other. Her most recent tenants had moved out in mid-May after graduating from Meg’s alma mater, Alfred University. But why would Jacqui Crosby want her apartment, and how on Earth could Meg tell her no?
“Brad and Denise are having a house built outside of Hornell,” Jacqui continued. “Their old place is too small with the new baby on the way and they need a place to stay for the summer. My kitchen’s being redone and you know what a mess remodeling is, so there’s no way I can have Brad Junior running around underfoot for eight weeks. How much is the rent?”
Brad and Denise, staying next door all summer, with the little boy they conceived while she wore Brad’s ring?
“Jacqui, I’m sorry, it’s not available. And it’s a small unit,” Meg added. “It wouldn’t suit them.”
“Oh, but it would,” the older woman insisted. “I expect they’d do nothing more than sleep there, Megan, and spend the days over here while Brad worked.”
Megan had heard enough of the local gossip to know Denise wasn’t a big fan of Jacqui’s interfering nature. There was no chance the young mother would spend day after day at the Crosbys while Brad worked. No, she’d be here, hanging out, a visible reminder of what kind of girl actually got the guy in the end. And it wasn’t the petticoat-wearing business woman with a candy store. Oh, no. It was the blond fashion doll sporting tight jeans, tight shirts and no job.
Nope. Not going to happen. “I’m sorry, Jacqui, it’s not possible and I’ve got to go. I’ve got chocolate on.”
“But—”
But nothing. Meg recradled the phone, realized she’d been just short of rude and vowed to scan the caller ID more carefully in the future. Regardless, no way, no how was she about to rent her next-door apartment to Brad and Denise, but Brad’s mother kept her fingers on the town pulse, and Meg’s ad in the weekly paper was hitting the stands today. She could only pray for a quick lease before Jacqui realized she’d been played, because that possible scenario wouldn’t bode well for anyone.
Danny scanned the day-old classified list, frowned and headed back to his rental car. He climbed in, started the engine, studied the map and his directions from Google, missing the GPS on his Beemer but not willing to have his car mark him as a man with money.
Making a K-turn, he headed south and west to view this last apartment. With any luck, he might be able to move in tomorrow. Get established. That would be perfect.
His phone jangled the opening notes to “My Boy Lollipop,” his sister’s signature ringtone, an inside joke among the Romesser clan. They’d agreed to use candy songs to identify themselves, including Grandma Mary, making the quirk totally childish but fun. Danny hit the speakerphone button, in no mood for a traffic ticket for not being hands free. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“Can we change places?”
He bit back the phrase in a heartbeat, wanting to help her. But he couldn’t, and that cut into his protective instincts. “What’s going on?”
“Trouble in Philly at the University City location.”
Ouch. That particular Philly store had been problematic lately; a string of small thefts and possible gang influence had targeted their location adjacent to the University of Pennsylvania campus. “Do we need additional security?”
“Done. I amped up the internal monitoring and didn’t tell the staff, but I feel like a spy, watching them like this.”
“All it takes is one bad apple, Mary Clare. One dishonest person can totally ruin your bottom line and set a store up for failure. You know that.”
“You’re right, of course, it’s just a weird feeling. The security agency will be doing the hands-on video scan so I feel slightly less intrusive.”
Danny understood the dilemma. Security was an unfortunate necessity, more so in certain locales, and Mary Clare hadn’t overseen those venues as yet. Time and circumstance had gotten in the way. He broached that subject cautiously. “Are you doing okay, Mare?”
“Mostly.”
Danny cringed, wanting to help, knowing there was nothing he could do.
“I’m keeping busy. Working here actually helps, it keeps me away from places that Christian and I used to go to. A few degrees of separation isn’t a bad thing right now.”
“And you know you can call me anytime, right?” Danny was stating