Just One Kiss. Сьюзен Мэллери
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to be back,” he told her. “Your friendship meant a lot to me.”
“It meant a lot to me, too.”
He moved closer and closer...and stood up.
“I should head back to the hotel,” he said, stepping to the side and starting down the stairs. “Thanks for dinner.”
Patience watched him go. She supposed some socially correct response was called for, but all she could think was Justice Garrett owed her a kiss and she was going to find a way to collect.
* * *
THE NEXT EVENING Patience climbed the stairs to the house. It was her day to work late, so it was already close to seven. Her mom took care of Lillie’s dinner and helped with any homework, which made the later shift easier. She knew that she was lucky—a lot of single moms didn’t have the built-in support she did.
She opened the front door and was about to call out she was home when she saw her mother talking on the phone. Ava looked intense and concerned, neither of which was good. Patience dropped her purse onto the table by the door, then headed up the stairs to her daughter’s room.
Lillie was curled up on her bed, reading.
“Hey, baby girl,” Patience said as she walked over and sat on the mattress.
“Mom!” Lillie dropped the book and lunged forward for a hug. “You’re home.”
“I am. How was your day?”
“Good. My math test was easy. We’re watching a video on gorillas tomorrow and we had tacos for dinner.”
Patience kissed her daughter’s forehead, then stared into her eyes. “I noticed you slipped in that bit about the math test.”
Lillie grinned. “If I study, the tests are easier than if I don’t.”
“Uh-huh. Which means I was...”
“Right.” Her daughter grumbled. “You were right.”
Patience squeezed her. “That never gets old.”
“You love being right.”
“I love it more when you say it.” Patience glanced toward the stairs. “Do you know who Grandma’s talking to?”
“No.”
Patience supposed she would get the story when her mother hung up. “I’m going to make a salad. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.” Lillie picked up her book.
Patience went back downstairs and into the kitchen. She could hear her mother’s voice, but not the conversation. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out leftover taco meat. By the time her mother had hung up, she’d assembled a salad and was carrying it to the table.
“Sorry,” Ava said as she walked into the kitchen. “That was my cousin, Margaret.” She took the chair across from her daughter.
Patience took a bite of her salad and chewed. “She lives in Illinois, right?” she asked when she’d swallowed.
Her mother had some family in the Midwest. Patience vaguely remembered a few of them visiting when she’d been little, but there hadn’t been much contact in years. There were the obligatory cards and letters at the holidays and not much else.
“Yes. Margaret and her mother, who is my step-aunt. It’s complicated.” Ava paused.
Patience watched her, aware that something had happened. Ava was flushed. She shifted in her seat and couldn’t keep her hands still.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her mother started to smile, then shook her head. She half rose, then collapsed back in the chair. “Great-Aunt Becky died.”
“Who?”
“Great-Aunt Becky. My step-aunt’s mother. She’s not technically a relative—at least I don’t think so. She and I wrote the occasional letter. You met her once. You were four.”
“Okay.” Patience put down her fork. “I’m sorry she died. Are you upset?”
“I’m sad, of course. But like you, I only met her a few times. She visited us when you were little.” Her mother smiled. “You took to her. From the second you first met her, you couldn’t stand to be away from her. You wanted her to hold you. You wanted to be on her lap. When she got up, you followed her from room to room. It was very sweet.”
“Or annoying, if Great-Aunt Becky wasn’t into kids.”
Ava laughed. “As it turned out, she was as charmed by you as you were by her. She extended her visit twice and you both cried when she left. She always meant to come back, but never made it.”
“I wish I could remember her.” Patience had vague recollections of a tall woman, but that could have been anyone. “Do you want me to send a card?”
“If you’d like. The thing is, Great-Aunt Becky left you some money. An inheritance.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected. “Didn’t she have children of her own?”
“One daughter. Great-Aunt Becky was very wealthy, so her immediate family is taken care of. You don’t have to worry.” Ava leaned forward and took Patience’s hands in hers. “She left you a hundred thousand dollars.”
Patience stared at her mother. She heard a rushing in her ears and if she’d been standing, she would have surely fallen to the floor. The space-time continuum seemed to shift just a little to the left.
“A hundred...”
“Thousand dollars,” her mother said. “You heard that right.”
The number was too big. No. It was too huge. Impossible to grasp. That was all the money in the world.
“Margaret wanted to let me know that the lawyer in charge of Great-Aunt Becky’s estate will be calling you in the morning. He has the check written and ready to overnight to you.”
Patience pulled one hand free to press it to her chest. “I don’t think I can breathe.”
“I know.”
“We can pay off the mortgage.”
“I don’t want you to worry about that.”
Patience shook her head. “Mom, you’ve been there for me all my life. I want to pay off the mortgage. Then I’ll fund Lillie’s college account.” She bit her lower lip.
Even after all that, there would still be money left over. Maybe as much as twenty-five thousand dollars. Assuming she put some away for a rainy day, there was still enough to...to...
Ava nodded. “I know. I thought of that, too.”
“The coffeehouse.”
“Yes. We could do it.”
Patience sprang to her feet and raced upstairs. When she reached her bedroom, she pulled open the bottom drawer of the small desk under the window and removed a file. It was her business plan—the one she’d been working on for years.
She returned to the kitchen and spread out the papers.
Everything was there. The cost of the lease, money for minor renovations, equipment, supplies and some promotions. There were cost projections, income estimates and a profit-and-loss statement.
“We could do it,” she breathed. “It would be tight.”
“I have some money I’ve saved,” Ava told her. “I’d want to invest in the business. That way we’re really partners.”
“We’re partners no matter what.”
“I want to do this, Patience. I want you to open the business and I want to help.”
Patience returned