Where It All Began

by Lucy Score

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he admitted.

  “You can name your next rescue cow after me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Phoebe strolled through the town square, a fresh donut decked out in a rainbow of sprinkles from the bakery warm in her hand. Elvira hailed her from outside the record store.

  “Pheebs!”

  Phoebe waved and headed in her friend’s direction.

  “Did John give you the afternoon off?”

  Phoebe grinned, finishing her bite of sugary perfection. “He’s doing the books and claimed I was distracting him.”

  She’d sailed through the kitchen buck naked while he sweated over ledgers with a pencil and stack of receipts. The receipts and ledgers had been swept off the table and replaced with Phoebe’s ass until John came to his senses.

  “Just give me the afternoon,” he had begged. “I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She had no doubt of that. So, it was off to Blue Moon to while away the afternoon. Her thesis was finally in completed draft form and sitting on John’s nightstand. He’d promised to read it this week, but Phoebe was in no hurry. Now that it had taken shape, it was mostly just polishing to do. And now that she’d found her way into John’s bed, she wasn’t in any hurry to find her way out.

  Elvira fell into step beside her. “Okay, I’ve waited the appropriate amount of time to ask what happened last night. You two disappeared and missed the fireworks.” Her dark eyes sparkled with the anticipation of steaming hot gossip.

  “Oh, believe me, we saw fireworks,” Phoebe said, offering Elvira half her donut.

  Elvira grabbed it. “I knew it! How was it?”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes back into her head as she had with the first bite of donut and Elvira squealed.

  “Oh, my God. Okay, wait. Don’t tell me yet. This deserves some coffee. Let’s hit the café.”

  “What café?” Phoebe asked, scanning the street in both directions. She’d been in the town square a dozen times in the past month and never noticed a coffee shop.

  Elvira pointed at the Airstream trailer, the sunlight glaring off its metal body, taking up three parking spaces in front of the movie theater. It had a green and white awning stretched out over two tiny café tables.

  “No. Way. That’s a café?”

  “Not a legal one,” Elvira said, adjusting her sunglasses. “Which is great because not being bound by the law means Dixie, the proprietor, stocks up on liquor store minis. How do you feel about an Irish coffee?”

  “I feel like my soul demands one. And possibly another donut.”

  “You grab the baked goods, and I’ll get us a table before someone beats us to it.”

  Five minutes later, Phoebe was perched on a rickety folding chair enjoying instant coffee heavily laced with whiskey and Irish cream.

  Elvira took a bite of Danish and sighed. “Okay, now, spill.”

  Phoebe filled her friend in with a high-level review of last night’s escapades.

  “He drove into his own fence?” Elvira cackled, slapping the table. “Can I ask him about the damage next time I’m out? Can I please?”

  Phoebe bit her lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. We haven’t exactly decided to broadcast it.”

  Elvira pressed her lips together and made a locking motion. “My lips are sealed.”

  “You’re from Blue Moon. Your lips are never sealed.”

  “Not true! We keep all kinds of secrets around here.”

  “Example?” Phoebe challenged her, taking a sip of her coffee. “And don’t use Minnie Murkle and the Snip Shack.”

  “Well if you’re going to put restrictions on it, I’m going to need some time. Let me get back to you on that one. In the meantime, tell me what this all means. Are you staying? Are you guys together? What about your master’s and a job?”

  Phoebe reached for an apple fritter. “Well, I guess the only thing that’s changed is we’re sleeping in the same bed now. I’m still getting my degree, and I’m still looking for a job.”

  Elvira settled her elbows on the table and leaned in. “Why not work here?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I need cash. A lot of it.”

  “Bookie problems? Is someone going to break your kneecaps?”

  “I wish it were that simple. My parents need the money. And if Nordemann knows this, how do you not know it?”

  “She never breathed a word! I’m going to remind that woman of her duties as Town Busy Body. There’s a lot of competition for that title.”

  Phoebe shook her head and filled Elvira in on her parents’ predicament. “If I don’t get a job and start contributing now, they’ll lose the house,” Phoebe told her.

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry to hear that.” Elvira reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s hard to see parents go through a tough time.”

  “They’ve dedicated their lives to making sure my sister and I have everything we needed. It’s our turn to give back, and as soon as I get a job, a good one, I can start chipping away at the twenty grand in medical bills.”

  “Ouch. Your parents are lucky to have you as a daughter.” Elvira raised her coffee cup. “To family.”

  Phoebe clicked mugs with her. “To family,” she echoed. “What about your family? Do they live here?”

  Elvira shook her head. “My mom moved to Boca after she and dad got divorced. He lives in Wisconsin with his third wife. I have an older brother in the city.”

  “Why did you stay here?”

  Elvira’s smile was warm. “I can’t imagine living anyplace else. I may not have blood here, but I do have family.”

  “Do you want to get married? Have a family of your own?” Phoebe pressed.

  “God no! Not after the shit show my parents put on,” she grinned wickedly. “I like being exactly who I am without worrying about fitting someone else into my life.”

  “That’s very Blue Moon of you,” Phoebe winked.

  “What if staying here was an option?” Elvira mused.

  “You mean what if $20,000 fell into my lap, and I could go wherever I wanted?”

  “Dream big,” Elvira advised.

  Phoebe lifted her shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve been on this path so long. I was going to go into research, you know, help identify new technologies, new biochemistry applications.”

  “Stop it with your farm geek speak,” Elvira laughed, pretending to fan herself.

  Phoebe grinned and bit her lip. “I don’t know. There’s something so hands-off about that side of things. You know? I’ve spent the last few weeks hands-on. Up to my elbows in dirt and produce and weed spray and… I love it.”

  “Ladies,” the smooth baritone of a world class flirt interrupted their conversation. Michael Cardona grabbed a chair from the other table and pulled it up to their table, slinging a leg over the seat. He helped himself to a piece of Phoebe’s fritter.

  “Help yourself,” Elvira snorted.

  “Is that Cardona out there?” Dixie, her cloud of white hair framing an unlined face like a halo, yelled from the door of the Airstream.

  “It is, Ms. Dixie,” Michael said fixing his most flirtatious smile in place.

  She rolled her eyes. “Save it for someone ten years younger. I suppose you’ll be wanting a coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he called. Dixie disappeared back into the trailer.

  “What brings you out today?” Phoebe asked Michael.

  “Sheer boredom. Four days without a call. No fires, no accidents, not even a damn ferret stuck in a tree.”

  “That’s because you made Alfie promise to keep his pets on a leash after the last time,” Elvira pointed out.

  “I didn’t realize that would lead to a life of boredom,” Michael sighed heavily. Dixie returned, shoving a mug of steaming black coffee into his hands.

  “Thanks, Ms. Dixie.”

  “Save it, Romeo.” She bustled back into her cocoon, and
Phoebe could hear a newspaper crinkle.

  “How did your dance with Hazel go last night?” Phoebe demanded.

  The tips of his ears turned pink. “Are you blushing?” Elvira gasped, pushing her sunglasses down her nose. “Well, as I live and breathe, Michael Cardona is speechless and turning pink!”

  “I am not!” Michael rubbed the tip of one ear. “It’s the sun. Shut up.”

  “You liiiiiike her,” Phoebe teased.

  No one missed the upturn of his mouth. “Shit. Okay. Yeah. I like her, and the dance was… nice.”

  “Which one?” Elvira grinned wickedly, twirling a curl around her finger.

  “You danced with her more than once?” Phoebe gasped.

  Elvira held up three fingers.

  “No, way!”

  “How did you miss that, nosy?” Michael shot back.

  “Oh, Phoebe and John had their own personal fireworks show to watch,” Elvira smirked.

  Michael’s grin was blinding. “No, shit? You and John.” He held up his palm, and Phoebe pretended to be the slightest bit reluctant about slapping it.

  When had she done this last? she wondered. Had coffee with friends, caught up on lives? There wasn’t a lot of camaraderie in her major, at least not for a woman. She’d had casual acquaintances in school, sure. Girls she met for drinks or study partners. But when had she had real friends who talked about real things? And who would have thought she’d find those relationships in the little town that refused to relinquish the sixties?

  --------

  When she returned to the farm, she found John in the same position as when she’d left. Head in his hands at the kitchen table that was littered with paper.

  “Where the fuck are you?” he muttered to the ledger in front of him.

  Phoebe dropped a kiss on his cheek and plunked the still cold lemonade down next to his elbow. “Problem, sexy farmer?”

  “I’m missing $1.39,” he muttered.

  “Eeesh. Sounds serious.”

  “I’ve been looking and looking for the last goddamn hour. I can’t find it.”

  She rattled her change purse. “I think I can spot you,” she teased. His response was a grunt.

  Phoebe peered over his shoulder. She tapped an entry. “Is that the entry from McCafferty’s for the fence wire?” she asked.

  He squinted at the page. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  “You transposed the numbers,” she said picking up the receipt at the top of the tower of disaster.

  John snatched the receipt from her and glared at it and then the ledger. “Son of a bitch. I’ve been sitting here for hours!”

  “Poor baby,” Phoebe crooned, patting his head. “Are those mean old ledgers picking on you again?”

  “How did you do that?” he asked, finally looking at her.

  She shrugged and helped herself to a sip of his lemonade. “You may be a wordsmith, but I’m an accounting genius. I can help with the books. It’s a sick fetish I have for numbers.”

  John shoved his chair back and got down on his knees on the worn linoleum. “I’ve changed my mind. I think we should get married.”

  Phoebe laughed and pretended to ignore the warmth that trickled into her belly.

  He stood and lifted her up, swinging her in a circle. “Yep. I’ve definitely fallen in love with your brain. How about a September wedding?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” she said, linking her hands behind his neck as he let her slip to the floor. “In place of your terribly romantic proposal, I will accept a date with you tonight. Elvira invited us over for drinks—why doesn’t Blue Moon have a bar, by the way? Michael will be there. And we ran into Hazel and invited her, too, to surprise Michael.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, picking up the lemonade and taking a triumphant sip. “We can pick up pizza or subs on the way over. That new sub shop—what’s it called?”

  “Righteous Subs,” Phoebe said, pulling a to-go menu from her back pocket. “I already have everyone’s orders.”

  “Great minds,” he said. She felt the levity between them shift just a bit as he eyed her over the menu.

  “You look pretty today,” he said suddenly and then looked down at the lemonade.

  Self-consciously, Phoebe scooped her hair behind her ears. “So do you.” She shook her head. “I mean, you look… good. Handsome. Sexy.”

  He put down the cup and slid his hands down her arms. “How much time do we have?”

  “Enough,” she breathed, sliding her hands under his shirt.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elvira’s house was a tiny, salmon pink cottage on the outskirts of town. Her lot was large and wooded, making the one-story home look even smaller under the arching oaks and birch trees.

  Phoebe and John followed the meandering sidewalk through hosta plants and ferns, past a grouping of mischievous gnomes dressed as The Beatles, to the covered front stoop.

  “I think Pierce Acres needs a gnome,” Phoebe said, slipping her arm through John’s as he pressed the bell.

  “I think a gnome is the last thing Pierce Acres needs,” John said affably.

  They heard footsteps from within, and Phoebe leaned in closer. “By the way, Elvira knows we slept together. Hi, El!”

  She felt John tense beside her and jumped at the pinch he inflicted on her ass.

  “Come on in. Hazel’s already here. We’re out back.”

  John held the door for Phoebe and Elvira pressed a wine glass into her hand. “Beer’s in the fridge, John,” Elvira said, leading the way through a postage stamp-sized living room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases bowing under their literary load.

  There was a small fish tank with two colorful fish and a scuba diver that took up most of the sideboard in a dining room cozy enough to hold a table for four very good friends who didn’t mind sitting on top of each other.

  The kitchen was miniscule, but each inch of counter and cabinet were organized for efficiency.

  Elvira, dressed in an off-the-shoulder gauze tunic and denim shorts, pushed through the screen door and Phoebe sighed with pleasure. The cottage’s back deck had more square footage than the house itself. A beefy farmhouse table with seating for eight took up most of the top tier of the deck. Next to it, a cozy screened-in porch looked like the perfect place to spend a rainy day reading.

  Strings of lights raced from the roof of the house out into the yard to the trunk of a massive oak and back again, bathing the yard in a soft glow.

  The landscaping, more of everything, overflowed from large beds and made Phoebe think of the jungle. There were colorful pots of herbs and flowers scattered around the deck, a hammock tucked away in the corner of the yard, a fire pit, and a whimsical fountain.

  “Wow, El. This is spectacular,” Phoebe breathed.

  “Home sweet home,” Elvira said. “You good on wine, Hazel?” she called to the woman lounging on a chaise.

  Hazel tilted her head in their direction. “Shh, I think I’m meditating.”

  “I heard you snore a minute ago. That’s not meditating. That’s napping,” Elvira said, cheerfully topping off Hazel’s glass.

  “I got called in to the park at 3 a.m. this morning to help Linus Fitzsimmons find the clothes he took off after drinking too much punch,” she yawned.

  Phoebe wondered what kind of a man little Billy would turn into with that kind of father.

  “Anybody home?” Michael’s voice carried from the front door back through the house.

  “Out back,” Elvira hollered. “I didn’t tell him you were coming,” she whispered conspiratorially to Hazel.

  Michael, toting two six packs, waltzed through the backdoor wearing a fitted Blue Moon Fire Department t-shirt and jeans. “Pierce, you forget where you keep your razor,” he asked rubbing a hand over his own clean-shaven jaw.

  Before John could fire back an insult, Michael spotted Hazel reclining like a goddess on her chair. He missed the step and went down hard. />
  John rescued one of the six-packs before it hit the deck and grinned.

  “Oh, that was worth it,” Elvira whispered to Phoebe. “You okay, there Michael?”

  --------

  They pulled up chairs around the chaise that Hazel had abandoned so Michael could elevate his swollen ankle. She’d even applied the first aid herself, wrapping his ankle in a snug Ace bandage and topping it with a bag of ice.

  Phoebe leaned into John’s side as everyone unwrapped their subs. “I think he literally just fell for her.” She snickered at her own humor, and John gave her a dry look. “Oh, come on. That’s funny.”

  “Debatable,” John whispered back. “How’s the ankle there, Cardona? You going to be able to climb a ladder to save any ferrets?” John opened a new beer for his friend.

  Michael scoffed. “Please, this won’t even slow down my six-minute mile.” He said it while watching Hazel’s face.

  Hazel eyed him up. “Six flat?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Six thirty-two,” he said with no small amount of pride.

  “Huh, not bad,” Hazel said, raising her fair eyebrows.

  Phoebe could see it coming even before Michael did.

  “Not bad? What do you run?” Michael leaned forward in the chaise, daring her to beat his time.

  Hazel lifted her wine glass to her lips. “Six nineteen.”

  Michael called bullshit, and they immediately began planning a race to settle the dispute.

  “They’re going to be married and having babies in no time,” Phoebe predicted.

  “They’ve been dancing around each other for ten years. It’s going to take more than a sprained ankle and Cardona’s fat head to get those two out of their own ways,” he predicted.

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Michael demanded. “Lovers’ secrets?”

  “Oooooh!” Elvira and Hazel made kissy noises reminiscent of twelve-year-old girls at a sleepover.

  “I forgot to mention that Michael knows, too,” Phoebe said in a stage whisper.