by Jess Vonn
“Do you have your cell phone?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, clearly confused by the random question.
She reached down and pulled her massive purse into her lap and began digging through it. She pulled out an umbrella, a whistle, a pack of shiny heart stickers, a deck of cards, and a bottle of Elmer’s glue before she asked for help.
“Can you hold this stuff for a sec?” she asked, dumping the random items into Cal’s lap before he had a chance to answer.
He looked down, chuckling despite himself. She was a regular Mary Poppins.
“Ah ha!” she said before pulling out a smart phone with a case covered in pink sprinkled donuts. “Got it.” She held the phone between her neck and her shoulder as Cal passed back the rest of the random contents of her purse.
“Now why do I need it?”
“Let me see it.”
She shot him a suspicious look, but she entered her code and passed it to him.
“Your phone background is a photo of John Krasinski?”
“Yes, it is. He’s my third favorite pretend boyfriend.”
“Out of how many?”
“Roughly seven.”
“Dare I ask who number one is?”
“A girl’s gotta have her secrets,” she teased. “It adds to my general air of mystery.”
She was joking, yet spot on. The number of things he wanted to know about Winnie Briggs, and how she landed squarely in the middle of his life here in Bloomsburo, grew daily. Like Dorothy, it was as if a tornado had scooped her up and dropped her right in his lap. Though not literally, unfortunately.
He punched his number, under the name “Cal the Great,” into her contacts. “My cell phone is the best way to reach me.”
Winnie perked up. “Oh, okay. You mean for work stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course, because why would I be reaching you for non-work stuff. That’d just be absurd,” she rambled, her cheeks flushing in a way that made Cal want to reach out and stroke them. To see just how much crimson he could fill them with.
“Totally absurd,” he said, his eyes locking into hers, probably expressing as many uncertainties as hers did. He passed the phone back to her, and her fingers grazed his, sending tingles up his arm. She pushed a few buttons on the device.
“There, I just texted you. Now you’ve got my number, too.”
His satisfaction with this scenario couldn’t be masked.
“And is it safe to say that you’ll be sending any texts that come from this number, or does Danny J. McDonald the intern field these for you as well?”
A clever response sat on the tip of his tongue, but before he could reply, a figure appeared in the corner of his vision.
An impossibly blond, svelte, self-possessed figure to be more specific.
Greta Johannsen.
If bantering with Winnie caused Cal to warm into relaxation, Greta’s sudden presence blasted him with cold discomfort like a suddenly opened freezer.
He glanced at Winnie, who was less skilled in masking her emotions than Cal. Winnie’s face shadowed over. Her hands tensed.
“Well, Cal, if my tempting salary and benefits package hasn’t enticed you to come and take over the Broadsville Chamber of Commerce office, maybe the prowess of our football team will,” Greta said, her hand stroking his forearm. The woman wasn’t capable of speaking to him without also laying her hands on him.
He sighed. When Greta first moved back to the area after going to college on the West Coast, she’d merely wanted him as a man. She was a gorgeous, bored, pampered young woman in a quiet part of the world, and she desperately wanted Cal to add some sizzle to her life.
The feeling wasn’t mutual. Sure, Greta may be the most technically attractive woman for hundreds of miles, but she had a cold edge and a hunger for power and control that only bolstered Cal’s defenses against her advances. She wasn’t looking for a lover or a partner, but a plaything she could sink her hooks into. Cal wanted nothing to do with her.
Dozens of polite rejections had done little to weaken the woman’s resolve, so her strategy changed. Now, courtesy of her daddy’s money, she was the mayor of neighboring Broadsville, so she had professional reasons to contact Cal on a regular basis. This meant that in addition to hounding him on a personal level, hardly a week could go by without her trying to hire him away from Bloomsburo to serve as her town’s chamber director.
He knew, of course, that ‘the benefits’ of the job went well beyond health insurance.
“Come on now, Greta, you know I’m not a fair-weather fan. I’ve got to support Bloomsburo, even when they can’t manage to get on the board.”
Her hot pink lips curved, revealing perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth.
“You’re such a good man. It’s why I have to have you,” she said, her eyes flickering with utterly non-professional intentions.
“Greta, have you met Winnie Briggs?” he asked, deflecting. He didn’t want to do this with Greta, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do it in front of Winnie.
He watched the woman pry her gaze off him and redirect it toward Winnie. Cool. Assessing. Disapproving. Suddenly Carter’s earlier comment made a lot more sense.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Greta said, offering nothing more by way of introductions.
He watched Winnie straighten her shoulders and extend her hand.
“Nice to meet you. I’m the new editor of The Bloom. I noticed you at this week’s city council meeting, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before you left,” she said, polite and composed, if lacking the warmth she’d exuded just minutes before.
“I didn’t notice you,” Greta said, giving Winnie’s hand a brief, light squeeze before recoiling.
Confusion flashed across Winnie’s face. Clearly there was more to their first meeting than Greta was indicating.
Protectiveness swelled in Cal’s chest. Close behind it was a wave of guilt, knowing that now that Greta had seen Cal and Winnie sitting together, laughing and talking, Winnie would get an even colder shoulder than normal from Greta.
“Greta is the mayor of Broadsville,” Cal continued, filling in the holes of the woman’s shoddy introduction.
Unsure how to respond, Winnie merely nodded.
“Speaking of, Cal, there’s something you simply must help me with,” she said, her thin, perfectly manicured hand reaching down and grabbing his own, causing her excessively flashy rings to glitter beneath the stadium lights.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A few of our local business owners are on the away team bleachers, and they were having the loudest debate about sales taxes. They’re practically causing a scene. I had to come find you to see if you might help resolve it, given your expertise.”
Cal sighed. Only with Greta was flattery served on a knife at his throat.
He looked at Winnie, a silent apology.
“Duty calls,” he said dryly, managing about as much as enthusiasm as if he were off to remove wallpaper.
She laughed, a burst of nervous energy released.
“Okay, then. Have a great weekend.”
“You, too,” he said, surprised at the loss he felt as he left Winnie’s side.
Greta linked her arm into his and began to pull him to the stairwell. He looked back at Winnie one more time after making it to the bottom of the bleachers, and he noticed that her right index finger had already made its way into her hair, twirling and twirling those pretty brown curls.
He wondered briefly if she even knew she had the nervous tick.
He wondered for much longer what other little secrets he might learn about her body if given the opportunity.
Chapter 9
Sunday dinners at Rhonda Spencer’s house were chaotic, but charmingly so, and Cal, unlike many single men his age who might begrudge mandatory time with their immediate family, looked forward to the occasion each week.
In a way, the Sunday dinners were like a trip back t
o his childhood, when their cares were fewer. Only now, his father, eight years dead, was out of the picture, which only made the dinners that much better.
Charles Calhoun Spencer! He could hear his mother’s voice in his brain, scolding him for indulging such an unkind thought. Ironically, one of the few times she tended to utter his full name was when Cal spoke ill of his namesake.
Without the drama that his father’s behavior brought into the mix for so many years, and with Cal and his siblings now past the sometimes tumultuous transition into adulthood, they’d all grown into good friends.
Despite the signature red hair that branded his sisters as Spencer women, the three couldn’t be more different.
Haven, twenty-eight, excelled in her role as family know-it-all and, taking after Rhonda, mother hen. Fiercely loyal not only to her mom and siblings, but also to her soft-spoken husband Dan and their twin daughters, Mary and Lulu, Haven was a brash, fiery, passionate force of nature. She was every stereotype about redheads, magnified times ten. As stubborn as Cal and twice as temperamental, he and his oldest little sister butted heads plenty of times growing up, but now as adults, he considered her to be one of his very best friends.
Next in line came twenty-six-year-old Willa, whose coolheaded calmness could only be the result of growing up in the shadow of her larger-than-life older siblings (that, and perhaps a stronger dose of their mother’s more peaceful DNA). Athletic and disciplined, Willa participated in lots of fitness competitions, including the Iron Woman, and that was actually how she’d met her long-distance partner of two years, Jane, who lived in New York. Their travel for competitions allowed them far more time together than their long-distance relationship did otherwise, and kept Willa away from more Sunday dinners than his mother would prefer. Her work as an occupational therapist in town gave her much satisfaction and, at least for now, kept her rooted in Bloomsburo.
Finally came the baby, Rosie, just two years out of college at twenty-four, and working as an assistant in the Disability Resource Center at a small liberal arts college several towns over. Even if she’d only been the baby of the family, Rosie, with her sweetness and quick humor, would have likely been doted on. But Rosie was also a fighter. An uncommonly early diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at twelve might have broken the spirit of someone with less resolve than Rosie, who viewed the disease as a challenge she’d never stop fighting. Usually accompanied by her high school sweetheart, Jack, the woman went after everything life had to offer, from music lessons to international travel to the occasional foray into stand-up comedy. Thankfully Rosie’s symptoms remained fairly mild and, miraculously, the non-stop checkups and alterations to her medications did little to dampen her bright disposition.
Cal wasn’t sure he admired anyone on earth more than Rosie.
Thinking of his sisters, his heart felt full as he walked up the brick steps to his mother’s quaint, Craftsman bungalow, his arms loaded with his contributions to the evening meal: a crockpot full of minestrone soup and two loaves of still-warm homemade bread.
The house was neither big nor fancy, but like all things associated with his mother, it emitted character and charm. The shingles were a pale teal color, and the windows were framed in cream and navy-blue trim. The house, accented with rambling vines and antique touches, hit that sweet spot between well-maintained and well-loved. Small details that might have otherwise looked tacky or shabby turned whimsical with Rhonda’s touch.
By the time he stepped onto the porch, Cal could already hear the familiar voices inside. Balancing the heavy basket he carried in one hand, he swung open the screen door and stepped into the chaos.
“He’s here!” two bright voices called, in almost perfect unison, as his nieces, Mary and Lulu, charged him before he’d even had a chance to set down his basket of food and the crock pot. Their little faces shined up at him in love and excitement, missing teeth and all. And damn if that wasn’t the best part of his entire weekend.
“Uncle Cal, Mommy said that the woman who moved into Grandma’s shed is very pretty,” Mary said, in that demanding, matter-of-fact way that sounded exactly like her mother Haven. Her big blue eyes, another gift from her mom, peered seriously into his, as if she were daring him to question her mom’s opinion.
He shot Haven a look of annoyance as she walked toward him and grabbed the food from his hands, but she merely shrugged innocently.
“What? I saw her from across the lawn the other day. It was just an observation.”
When had his sister gotten into cahoots with his mother?
“And don’t be worried about me. It’s mom you have to watch out for,” Haven continued. “You’re in trouble about something. Don’t ask me what it is. I’m just excited for the entertainment it will add to our evening.”
She turned on her heel, delivering his food to the kitchen, and Cal redirected his attention to the sweet nieces before him.
“Well, is she pretty, Uncle Cal?” his other niece, Lulu, asked gently, her face half hidden behind her mess of curly red hair that belied the timidity she inherited from her dad. “Grandma said you’re the only other person who’s seen her.”
Something in Cal’s stomach seemed to flip flop. She’s damn beautiful, he thought, though he knew he’d rather starve than admit such a thing in this piranha’s den.
With his hands now free, Cal squatted down and scooped up a niece in each arm, amazed as always at how much they seemed to grow even between one Sunday and the next.
“All I know for sure is that is you two are the smartest, prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” he said, crushing them in a double bear hug until they squealed in delight. When he finally released them, they were satisfied with the affection and abandoned their inquiry, running back to the heaping pile of toys on the living room floor.
Cal made his way across the family room and into the kitchen, waving at his brother-in-law, Dan, who happily sat at his usual post on the couch. He gladly watched his daughters if it meant he could mostly ignore the sister talk in the kitchen. Cal knew he wouldn’t be so lucky tonight. His three sisters were like lions, and they could not be still if there was fresh meat in the room. Needless to say his mother led the pack.
Jack, his youngest sister’s long-time boyfriend, had already made his way to the fridge and grabbed a beer for Cal. He was a good man.
“This is all your mom has to drink, though I’m afraid you may need something stronger tonight. They’re in rare form,” Jack suggested sympathetically to Cal as he handed him the bottle before excusing himself to join Dan in the living room, clearly escaping the line of fire.
Cal popped the cap off his beer and downed a third of it one draw, praying for resolve in the face of the nosy Spencer women.
“Well, is she?” asked his youngest sister, Rosie.
“Is she what?” Cal asked, feigning ignorance.
“As adorable as mom says she is?” Rosie continued with a sweet smile, a smile that usually wrapped everyone in the family around her finger. But not this time.
“She’s a work acquaintance. That’s irrelevant.”
“Notice how he didn’t actually answer the question,” chimed in Willa, glancing at her sisters with suspicion. “But it felt like a yes.”
He heard a pot slam on the counter behind him, making him jump.
“You wouldn’t all have to be playing these guessing games about Winnie if Cal hadn’t scared her off,” his mother said from behind him, uncharacteristically sharp. “She should be here tonight, but she refused my invitation and I believe your brother is to blame.”
Haven gave him an I-tried-to-warn-you look before Cal turned around and saw his mom’s face, twisted in disapproval.
Shit.
“What did I—” he started, but his mom quickly cut him off.
“Don’t you play innocent with me, Charles Spencer,” she began, walking over and jabbing a pointed finger into his chest. He could hear his sisters snickering behind him. His mother tended to dote on her only son, so th
e women enjoyed every glimpse of his occasional fall from grace. “If there is one thing I have tried to instill in you children it’s to be kind to other people, and I am getting the strong impression that you have not given this woman a warm reception.”
“Shame on you, Cal,” Haven said with exaggeration. Channeling the self-discipline he lacked when she used to bait him as a kid, he refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.
Cal opened his mouth to defend himself, but his mother filled the silence first.
“Now, how is it that a man so charming that he could sell wool sweaters at the equator can’t direct a little bit of his good-naturedness toward my new friend?”
“Ma, she’s not your friend. She’s your renter.”
Rhonda stepped back, her anger momentarily overshadowed by disbelief.
“You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot be friends with. I handpicked Winnie out of dozens of applicants for that cottage because I liked her, Cal, and my every instinct suggested that she would be a positive addition to my life.”
He sighed.
“Can you imagine what it’s like to move so far away from the only world you’ve ever known? Not knowing anyone to call up and invite out to a movie? Not having anyone to share a meal with or have cook for you? No family around to—” she started, but her voice cracked, and along with it, Cal’s resolve cracked, too. He could fortify himself against his mother’s anger, but not her sadness.
He stepped forward and pulled his mother into his arms.
“No. I can’t imagine that. You’ve built too good of a life for us here. That’s why you can’t get rid of us. You spoil us.” He kissed the top of her hair and she squeezed his ribs.
“I get to decide if I spoil her, too.”
“I agree. I’ll encourage her to take you up on your next invitation, Ma.”
His mom’s blue eyes looked up into his, hope returned to them.
