Over Joyed

by Jeannette Winters

  Focusing on the only thing she could do at the moment, Joyelle turned her attention to Roxanne. She noticed she wasn’t dressed quite so…stuffy today. Maybe it was her day off.

  “Welcome back. Looking for more scones? Or want to try something new?”

  Roxanne peered through the display case and said, “I’m desperate for something…sweet.”

  “You’ve come to the right place.” Joyelle was grateful for the distraction and spent the next several minutes updating Roxanne on all the options that lay before her. Hopefully, she’d be leaving with another dozen goodies today.

  With any luck, maybe more.

  * * *

  “Excuse me. The door was open and I…I’m looking for the owner.”

  Ace couldn’t believe he’d left the door unlocked. When he was focusing deeply on his work, he blocked out everything else. Or at least he tried. It wasn’t as though he kept a lot of cash on premises, but his bikes were valuable. The voice behind him didn’t sound threatening at all; otherwise he’d have reached into his desk drawer for some protection before turning around. It was a decent neighborhood, but there were people out there who didn’t like the competition. He’d definitely had become that. Unfortunately, having so much to lose, he couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.

  He had no idea who it was, but the voice definitely didn’t belong to Joyelle. How was it possible her voice was etched in his mind? It was no different than her green eyes which he didn’t want to remember either, but couldn’t seem to forget. At least it’s not her.

  As Ace turned around, he sure in hell wasn’t expecting to see a little old lady. No way was she in the correct place. “I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong place. Maybe you’re looking for the bakery next door?” Not that someone her age couldn’t ride a motorcycle, but he wouldn’t recommend it.

  “I might be old, but I can still tell the difference between a motorcycle and a cupcake.”

  Ace got up and walked over to her. “I’m sorry. No offense intended. It’s just I don’t get many walk-in customers. What do you need?” And please don’t ask me to design a bike for you. It wasn’t as though he didn’t welcome new business, but really, right now, he didn’t need it.

  “Are you Horace?” she asked.

  It was something he hated to admit. “I am.”

  She reached out her hand. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear you have some of the best custom motorcycles in Denver.”

  He hoped his reputation extended past the edge of town. The last bike he designed and built was for a guy in New York. And the one he’d been trying to finish, before being interrupted, was for a guy in Texas.

  “I’d like to think my customers like what I build for them. Are you here to talk about a bike for yourself?” Say no.

  She laughed. “Oh, my. I barely can get in and out of a car, never mind riding a motorcycle. Of course, in my younger days, I might have been on a bike or two.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “Actually, I had a 1950 Indian Chief Black Hawk.”

  “I’ve never seen one in person.”

  “It was a long time ago. Motorcycles have changed a lot since then.”

  “That they have.” And his custom designs were adding something to that, he hoped. He watched as the woman walked around examining the posters scattered all over the walls. They were his inspiration at times. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?” he asked. Not that she was a nuisance, but he had things to do.

  He wasn’t sure if she’d missed his question or ignored it. Either way, her response was, “I believe I have a picture of me on mine.”

  “Really?”

  “Would you like to see it?” she asked.

  Why not? If anything, he respected his elders. “Sure.”

  The woman gave him a bright smile, one that seemed so…familiar. He was glad that made her happy, but she didn’t pull out any photos. Instead she grabbed him by his forearm.

  “I’m sure I can find it,” she said, tugging him.

  He let her lead the way and asked, “And where is this picture?”

  “In a photo album. Where else would I keep it?”

  God, he hoped she didn’t expect he’d follow her back to her home, wherever that was. “I’d like to see it, but really don’t have much time to be running around town.”

  “Won’t take long at all,” she said, leading him outside to the parking lot.

  “Wait a minute. I should lock up before we go.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to do this. He would’ve jumped at the chance to see that bike in person, but a photo, hell, he could do that online. He pulled out his keys, locked the shop and turned back to her. “Okay, where are we off to?”

  “Next door.”

  Ace raised a brow. “I thought you were showing me a photo?”

  “I am. My granddaughter has my albums. She is very nostalgic, you know.”

  No, I didn’t. And really, I don’t care to. If he’d known who she was, he wouldn’t have left the building. “You’re Joyelle’s grandmother?”

  “I go by Grandma, but yes, I am. Do you know her?” she asked.

  “We’ve met,” he said flatly.

  “Isn’t she lovely? Really, just the sweetest person you’ll ever meet.”

  “I think I’d describe her as…” Be nice, now, Ace. “…happy.”

  She grinned. “What a lovely thing to say. Oh, I was under the impression that you hadn’t met yet, but in my old age, I may have misunderstood.”

  Or I might not have said who I was to her. As they walked to the bakery, arm and arm, he said, “You’re not that old.”

  “I’m almost ninety!”

  With a dashing grin he replied, “I wouldn’t give you a day over seventy.”

  She squeezed his arm and said, “Joyelle is absolutely going to do flips when she sees you. I just know you’re going to be best friends when you get to know each other better.”

  Oh, yay. Just what I need. A chatty friend who is…happy. All the time.

  “Maybe we could do this another time. I’m…very busy at the moment.”

  “I could see that. And with all that work, you need to make sure you have something to eat and drink. A good cup of coffee will do you good,” she said as they got closer.

  “Five minutes. That’s all I’ve got.” Even that was more than he wanted to give. He’d sworn he’d never step into Joyelle’s shop. Not that the smell didn’t tempt him every time he rode by, but he knew what would happen if he did. One cup of coffee would probably come with an explanation as to where she got the beans, the roasting process, even who had picked them. It was coffee. All he cared was that it was strong and black. That’s it.

  “Well, we are here now, so you might as well come in, even if it’s just for a few minutes.” He held the door for her and she stepped inside. There was a customer about to leave, so he held the door for her as well. “What a nice young man,” Grandma noted.

  If she knew what he was thinking, she wouldn’t be saying that. As they made their way to the counter, he saw Joyelle give her grandma a warning glance. He was glad to see this hadn’t been set up by Joyelle. If anything, she looked like she didn’t want to see him. That puzzled him. Granted, he hadn’t been all warm and fuzzy, but he hadn’t been a complete asshole either.

  “What are you doing here?” Joyelle asked.

  “Your grandma said she wanted to show me a picture. I didn’t realize where it was at the time.”

  Joyelle crossed her arms. “A picture? Of what, me?”

  Ace laughed. “Something much more interesting.”

  “My old motorcycle. You remember me telling you about it, don’t you?” she asked Joyelle.

  Joyelle never took her eyes off him. “No, Grandma. I don’t.”

  “Well, you just stay here and entertain Horace while I go dig up the photo album.”

  She left the two of them alone in the shop. And Joyelle, for once, didn’t have a smile on that sweet face of hers. If anythi
ng, she looked like she could rip his head off. Understandable. She probably felt lied to. Technically, he hadn’t lied, but convincing her otherwise was more work than it was worth.

  “Horace? You’re Horace?” Joyelle asked.

  God, he hated that name. “I prefer to be called Ace.”

  He saw her foot tapping as she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that when I came by a few days ago?”

  “Because I was busy and didn’t want to be disturbed.” That was no lie.

  She shook her head. “So noise isn’t the only unpleasant thing about you, I see.”

  Ace shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a long list somewhere.” He looked around and didn’t see her grandma anywhere. “Why don’t you tell your grandma I’ll see the photo another time.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. You can blow me off if you want, but no one does that to my grandma. Now sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee while you wait. This could be a while. There are a lot of albums to look through.”

  Joyelle headed behind the counter and Ace really thought about walking out that door. So what if he pissed off his neighbor? It wouldn’t be the first time. But there was something about her green eyes, and how they’d turned so dark, as though she was trying to intimidate him. Ace found it…intriguing. There was more to her than sugar. There’s some spice, too.

  She returned with a large hot coffee. “Black.”

  “You remembered,” he said after taking a sip.

  “It’s my job to remember what people like. That’s how you get repeat customers. Not that I expect to see you here again,” she stated flatly.

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “You’ve been here for more than a month and never stopped in. I delivered you a box of goodies, and still, you never stopped in. I doubt my coffee is going to do the trick. Besides, you make your own.”

  She really didn’t forget anything about their conversation. Did she have a photographic memory? He barely recalled what was said, well, most of it at least. Unfortunately, he remembered perfectly how cold he’d been to her.

  He took another sip. “I do, but this is…it’s not half bad.” He couldn’t bring himself to say good. Why was that? Because she did make a damn good cup of coffee. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it, to himself or anyone else: Ace didn’t want to like anything about her or her place. Of course, he’d eaten every fucking crumb in that damn box of sweets she’d brought to the shop. He’d told himself that it was already there, and that it was easier than going out to grab a bite somewhere else. Once again, another excuse. Getting good at coming up with them. What’s my excuse for still being here? He didn’t have one. Not yet at least.

  “Horace, you’re a –”

  “Please call me Ace.”

  “Ace. While you’re here, I was wondering if you’d mind if we talked.”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” he replied.

  Joyelle took the vacant seat at the table beside him. “I mean about why I came over a few days ago. Aren’t you even curious?”

  “Not really,” he said truthfully.

  She huffed. “You were supposed to say yes.”

  He chuckled. “If you’re going to answer for me, then you don’t really need me here to have the conversation, do you?” Joyelle’s brow wrinkled as she bit her lower lip. He’d stumped her on that. That’s one for me.

  When she finally replied, her tone was flat. “I do talk too much. It’s why my other career didn’t pan out.”

  “What did you do before?” he asked, and immediately wanted to kick himself.

  “I worked in a tattoo parlor.”

  He hadn’t expected that at all. “Really? Doing what?”

  “Tattoos,” she said as though obvious.

  He drank more of the hot brew and said, “I can’t picture you as a tattoo artist.”

  “Well, I was one, and a darn good one too,” she stated firmly.

  “So why’d you quit?” he asked.

  “My boss didn’t understand that I could multi-task.”

  Ace had a few tats himself. The last thing he wanted was to hear someone’s life story while getting it done. “You mean talk?”

  “Yes. What’s so wrong with talking? How else do you get to know people?” she asked.

  “I’ve gotten a few tats and I don’t know anything about the person giving them. Except that they are licensed.”

  “That’s boring,” she stated.

  “It’s business, not a bar or a club.”

  “So you would have fired me, too?” she asked.

  Well, that sucked. How was it she could put him on the spot? Ace wasn’t about to answer her. Instead, he steered the conversation back onto smooth road. “And now you run your own business, one that seems to make you happy, if I’m correct.”

  “I do. For the most part, customers are warm and friendly. And if they’re not…”

  “You talk to them until they cave in,” he teased.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” she said, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Never said I was nice. But you figured that out before, I’m sure.”

  “I think you want me to believe you’re a…an…unpleasant person. Not sure why, though,” she said, her gaze steady and an unasked question on her brow.

  “I’m exactly what I appear to be.” That wasn’t entirely true. But her reading him? No, that was too much. He had a wall up for a reason and sure as hell didn’t want her chipping away at it.

  Her grandma returned before Joyelle could protest. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I’ve looked everywhere but couldn’t find it. I’m too tired to keep looking and want to get home before dark. Joyelle, can you please look for me and bring it to Horace when you locate it?”

  “Grandma, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

  “That’s true,” she responded. “Horace, you know what it looks like. Could you please be a dear and stay and help her look? That picture means everything to me and I’d really like to see it again before I pass.”

  “Grandma, don’t talk like that!” Joyelle said, practically leaping from her seat to her grandma’s side. “You’re going to be around for a long time.”

  “I hope so, but not finding that picture has stressed me and that is not good on an old heart like mine.”

  “Okay, I’ll find it. I promise. Do you want me to drive you home?” Joyelle asked.

  “No. You stay here with Horace and look for the photo. I’m not going to be able to rest till it’s located.” She walked over and hugged her granddaughter and then turned back to him. “You will stay and help her, right?”

  Oh, you’re good. Ace got up and said, “I’d love to, but I have things I need to finish at my shop.”

  She practically slumped as she pleaded, “Maybe you can come back tomorrow and help her? For me?”

  He knew he never should’ve come. This sweet old lady was running the show. That didn’t mean he could tell her no. His own grandmother would have a fit if he did. Ace looked over to Joyelle, who seemed equally perplexed as to what to say. “I can stop by tomorrow, for a short time, if that is okay with you,” he asked.

  Joyelle nodded. “That’s fine. But I know how busy you are. I’ll try my best to locate it tonight.”

  “But you need your sleep, Joyelle. Besides, you heard Horace, he’ll be here tomorrow. You two have no idea what this means to me. Thank you both so much,” she said as she headed to the door. “I can’t wait to see the picture again.”

  When she was gone, Ace asked, “Do you really need my help?”

  Joyelle said, “I’m not sure. She hasn’t really told me what I’m looking for. A picture of her on a motorcycle? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

  “She insisted you had it in one of the albums.” If it really exists at all. “Unless she was…mistaken.” He couldn’t come out and accuse her of manipulating things to get them together. But why would she want that? He and Joyelle could barely tolerate being in t
he same room. If her grandma was trying to play matchmaker, then she really missed the mark.

  “She unfortunately doesn’t forget a thing. Which makes me wonder why she couldn’t find the picture herself. So I’ll look for it. If I find it before you come over, I’ll let you know.”

  That was his out. Instead he opened his big mouth and said, “Or I can help when I come by for coffee.”

  He didn’t miss the curl of her lips. “I always have a fresh pot on.”

  Ace nodded, then headed for the door. “See you in the morning.”

  As he walked back to his shop, he told himself this wasn’t going to become a habit. After they found the photo, he was going back to his routine. And from now on, I’m keeping the doors locked. No more unexpected visitors.

  Chapter 4

  So much for getting any rest. Joyelle had spent most of the night looking for that picture, and it had nothing to do with her grandma. She didn’t want Horace here. I mean, Ace. It was one thing to come in as a patron, but the boxes of albums were located in her apartment, one floor up. She definitely didn’t want him up there. Normally, her place was tidy, but after her night’s search, it looked like her home had been burglarized.

  Between customers, she tried putting things back in order, but as fate would have it, the shop was busier than normal. A blessing, and hopefully the trend would continue. That meant coming up with an excuse for why Ace wasn’t going to be allowed to help. Not that he really wants to anyway.

  The bell chimed again, and she rushed back downstairs to greet the next customer. Please don’t be Ace.

  Thankfully it wasn’t, and boy, was she thrilled to see who it was. She’d been meaning to call Rylee Haywood and see how things were going. Rylee was the one person Joyelle kept in contact with after she’d been fired from Wicked Ink Works. Not only was Rylee amazing at designing unique tattoos, but she was fun to be around. But Rylee seemed a bit…flustered. Not her usual spunky self.

  “Rylee, what’s wrong?” Joyelle asked from behind the counter. It could be as simple as a desperate need of something sweet, but nothing in their lives had ever been that simple.

  “Back door,” Rylee said through a tight grin. Or is it a grimace?