by Leigh Riker
“Really,” he said. Not that Mel would ostracize her if things didn’t go well—meanness wasn’t in her nature—but he wasn’t sure a recommendation would mean much. Emma had lost too many clients since the accident, for which other people seemed to blame her, and was fighting to stay in business. As he’d told her, selling No More Clutter might be the better option. “Be careful,” he said.
“You don’t think I should do this?”
“I know you can.” He paused. Bob studied him with adoring eyes. “But you ran into the tribe’s buzz saw a few times just last night. Don’t forget—the worst phrase in this part of the country is ‘bless your heart.’”
“No one said that.”
“Some were likely thinking it, though, and you took the first opportunity to disappear from the pavilion. So don’t expect me to believe you’re not concerned or that you’re unaware.”
“I left because I needed air.”
“And to talk to Max Barrett.”
“I did want to apologize for not returning his calls but he found me first. And since then, I’ve been thinking,” she said. “That pony needs to be sold. Max offered to display it but—”
“It’s not the pony’s fault.” He stared into his glass. Bob blinked up at him as if she could see into Christian’s heart.
“But why would we keep it? I’m sure it’s beautiful, as he said, but instead of advertising his shop, it could give joy to another child...”
Christian’s senses went on alert.
“The playroom here was never more than half finished,” she went on.
His shoulders tensed. The room had formed a suite of sorts with Owen’s bedroom—his former nursery—on the other side of the jack-and-jill bathroom in between. And Emma clearly had other plans for it now.
“It would make a great home office, Christian. Temporarily. I know you’re not crazy about me bringing files here but I may have to. And while I’m looking for new space, which may take time, we could remove the mural, repaint the walls a different color—maybe a soft grayed taupe instead of the blue that’s in there now. There’s plenty of space for a desk on either side of that room.”
“For me, too? Or, no, you mean Grace? I don’t need a home office.” He paused. “You don’t, either. Sometimes I think your job will take over our whole marriage.” Now, he added silently, that there’s no little boy for you to come home to. As if Bob sadly agreed, she nudged her head into his hand. “After work we should be together.”
“That’s fine, but I still have a business to run.”
He tried to meet her eyes. “Emma, we have to talk, make sense of—”
Her voice quavered. “There aren’t enough words in the English language to make sense of what happened. Why can’t you see that?”
“So we should lock it all up inside and, what’s the phrase people always use, just move on?”
“That’s exactly what we should do.” She paused. “That’s all I know to do.”
“Well.” He eased Bob away, then rose from the table.
“Christian, what good is there in keeping the pony or keeping that room the way it is now?”
He turned to face her. Bob sat between them, head moving back and forth as if she were at one of his mother’s tennis matches. “You can’t even make yourself go in there,” he said, his jaw clenched. “How do you expect to sit there doing paperwork? Even to avoid me?”
“That isn’t true.”
Christian shook his head. “I wonder,” he said, “if you’re not like my mother after all.” He slammed his glass down on the counter by the sink.
“You’re being unreasonable. I only want— Christian, I’m not like that,” Emma said. “I’m not Frankie.”
“Whether you are or not—the playroom stays. Just as it is. Owen’s room, too.”
* * *
THE EMPTY UNIT at the Hamilton Place mall echoed as if Emma was walking through a tunnel. Outside the vacant store, in the broad hallways, people rushed by, intent upon their shopping. And Emma could feel her new Realtor trying to gauge her reaction. She’d called Nicole Foster the first thing this morning.
After Christian had objected to her bringing home a few files ahead of her move in late December, and had refused again to consider repurposing the playroom, she’d really taken the bit in her teeth, as he might say. Which reminded her all over again of the angry words they’d exchanged about Christian’s horse.
She never wanted to lay eyes on his horse or that barn again.
“This was a shoe store once, then a lingerie shop,” Nicole told her as they strolled through the now-abandoned space.
Emma turned in a slow circle. And turned again. She wanted to fling out her arms, embrace this place—and sign a lease as soon as possible. Wouldn’t that give her current landlord some second thoughts about losing her as a tenant? Yet she also didn’t want to jump at the first space she looked at.
“There’s a good amount of square footage here,” Nicole said.
“Mmm-hmm,” Emma agreed. She surveyed the area she might use for a reception desk, which she didn’t have in her current location. She studied the best spots for her own desk and Grace’s, too, where the display shelves would look best, and where she’d set up the mock walk-in bedroom closet, a model laundry room and even a garage wall storage unit.
“It’s a bit smaller than I’d hoped for,” she said at last.
“Organization is your business.”
“Yes, and I’d really have to get creative here—but I do like it.”
“You’d have three times the foot traffic you do downtown,” Nicole pointed out. “Maybe more. And there’s plenty of free parking. This is one of the largest malls in the Southeast, and with this location on the main level, customers wouldn’t have to use the elevators or even an escalator.”
“I’m on ground level now. This isn’t quite as good as being able to step out of a car and right into my store,” Emma said, “but it’s workable. More than,” she added. Taking a breath, she turned once more in the center of the room. She grinned. “This could be the right move. My business could thrive here, and with better advertising, and some luck, I might be able to quickly rebuild my customer base. Okay, what’s the damage?”
Nicole named a figure for the rent that made Emma’s eyes pop.
“Seriously? That much?”
“It is Hamilton Place. A premier location. Emma, it’s too good to pass up.”
And if Nicole got her to sign a lease on the first office space she’d seen, her job would be done with a handy commission for one day’s work.
“I know it’s a great space and I do love it...” She squared her shoulders. This could be her second chance. More customers, more money. People who didn’t know her...past, as so many did downtown. Yet she’d flinched at the amount, which was well above her current rent and even the higher amount her landlord wanted. “But I really can’t afford that much. Is the rent negotiable?”
“This is a premium location. Management doesn’t have to negotiate.”
Emma cast another yearning look at the empty room. “Not at all?”
Nicole linked arms with her. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee. We’ll talk.”
In the food court, Nicole decided she wanted a breakfast sandwich, but Emma stuck to the coffee she’d ordered. Her stomach kept giving little flips—nerves, she thought.
“I guess I shouldn’t have let myself get so excited,” she said, stirring cream into her coffee. “But I had an argument with my husband, who thinks I should sell my business instead of moving somewhere else.” She didn’t quite meet Nicole’s gaze. “No More Clutter is not in good shape right now—one reason I’m having to pinch pennies about the rent here—but I wanted to show him I can make a go of it still.”
Nicole pushed her sandwich around on h
er paper napkin, her lips pursed. “I’ve heard about your loss,” she finally said. “I understand why you’re struggling. People can be cruel, and there are several other options in this city for those who want to improve their storage capacity or redesign the garage.”
“Yes, there are,” Emma murmured. “But I think I’m competitive.”
“Or stubborn,” Nicole said. “That’s a good thing for any woman in business. You’re sure this space won’t work for you after all? It’s a real gem, Emma.”
“It is,” she agreed. “The storeroom in back is a nice bonus, but it’s small. I’d have to pare down my inventory, not carry so many samples in-store...provide more catalogs for customers to look at, instead. And one other thing,” Emma said. “The mall is pretty far from my home on Sequoia and the rush-hour traffic can be a real problem. I’m not sure...” She paused. “It is closer to my stepdaughter—my assistant’s—place, though. Grace could open for me at least some of the time and I could drive home just behind the traffic.”
“So this is workable.” Nicole polished off her breakfast sandwich, then wiped her hands on a clean napkin.
“Except for the rent.”
“Hmm. Let me see what I can do.”
They walked toward the nearest exit, where Emma had parked next to Nicole. Normally, her new Realtor would have driven Emma, but they both had appointments afterward in different directions.
“Thanks, Nicole.” They exchanged a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re going to see me through this whole process—whether it turns out to be this mall or somewhere else.”
Emma wasn’t done yet. She had to keep her business afloat, whatever it took.
CHAPTER FIVE
THAT AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN WAS staring at the papers in front of him without understanding what he was seeing. He sat back in his desk chair and, instead, stared out his office window. It looked onto the parking lot in front of Mallory Trucking so there wasn’t much of a view unless he got up and walked closer to the glass so he could see across the road and up the hill where the mountains began. Today they were shrouded in fog.
Christian rubbed his eyes and sighed. There’d been a definite fog between him and Emma this morning, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Last night he’d said things he probably shouldn’t have. If he didn’t watch himself, one day he’d really lash out—blame Emma for the accident.
And then where would they be?
Earlier he’d grabbed a cup of coffee in his stainless steel to-go mug, then headed out the door before she started fixing breakfast. She would have, too. Even after their quarrel about the playroom, Emma would bustle about the kitchen making eggs and toast, pouring fresh orange juice, slipping a piece of bacon to Bob. She’d act as if everything was normal when it wasn’t. He might wish for that, but he knew it wasn’t possible. If they couldn’t work through this...
Christian tossed his pen onto the pile of forms. Another day, another dozen files. He’d become a paper pusher. Sometimes he wished he was on the road, putting in his time again like a trainee behind the wheel of one of his father’s trucks. Instead, he was here looking out the window, woolgathering.
Or what if he’d stuck to his guns in college, stayed in Fine Arts rather than switching to Business to please his parents? What if he’d taken better care with Melanie so they hadn’t ended up married with a baby when they were both barely nineteen? Not that he didn’t love Grace with all his heart.
She worried him. She’d quit college and gotten married at the same age he had. At least she wasn’t expecting a baby.
One of the pictures on his desk drew his gaze—Emma with Owen when he was two years old, his eyes bright and clear with a hint of the imp he’d always been. Emma looking down at him with such obvious love. They’d thought they had all the time in the world then.
Emma had been his second chance at happiness. The day he’d walked into No More Clutter and seen her for the first time, he’d been lost. It wasn’t only her blond hair and blue eyes and her smile. Christian had seen something more in her, an insecurity she tried to hide that made him want to protect her. He’d hired her on the spot to redo his apartment’s walk-in closet, but a month later he’d moved into Emma’s town house. A few months after that, they’d married. Fast, he thought, like him and Melanie. Like Grace with Rafe.
“Christian.” His administrative assistant stood in the doorway with another stack of papers in her hand. “Lanier wants you to see these, too.”
“Bring it on,” he said, and swiped a hand down his face.
“The coffee wagon’s here,” she said, apparently knowing better than to ask him if he was okay. “You want anything?”
Escape.
The thought came out of nowhere. But he was the heir apparent to the Mallory throne, his father’s only son, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Other men, especially Chet Berglund, would give an arm to be in his position. Why feel so trapped?
“A coffee, maybe,” he said.
“You’ve looked off-kilter all day.”
“Bad night,” he murmured, wanting to say bad year. “I’ve got a headache that won’t quit.”
She turned toward the door. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”
“Becky. No, but thanks,” he said.
She circled back. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll tell Lanier you’ll go over these tomorrow.”
He sighed. “He probably needs them today. An hour ago,” he said.
Her frown deepened. “I’m worried about you.”
“I appreciate that but I’m just bleary-eyed from looking at all these purchase orders.”
“Those are a good thing,” she said with a quick smile. “Business is great.”
That only reminded him of Emma and her concerns about No More Clutter. He glanced again at the photo, then at the phone.
“Would you get me the O’Leary office in Cincinnati? I need to change their mind about how much they want to pay us to haul freight.”
Without a word she disappeared into the anteroom. A minute later he heard her on the phone. Christian added the papers she’d given him to the stack on his desk, then straightened his tie. Ready for business.
At least, that’s what he needed everyone to think.
* * *
EMMA WAS HAVING a very bad day. Yes, she’d loved the space at Hamilton Place and hoped Nicole could negotiate a more affordable rent, but she wasn’t that confident. Since her return to the shop, she and Grace were barely speaking to each other, and every phone call proved to be another disaster in the making.
To make matters worse, neither of the customers she’d expected yesterday had shown up. Emma had stayed until the last minute waiting for them. At least that had given her time to work up her estimate for Melanie.
“Grace,” she said. “Have you reached Mrs. Belkin yet?”
“I’ve tried. If you want to know the truth, I think she’s screening you out.”
“We promised to redo her closet. That’s all I can offer.”
“She’s probably told everyone in town she’s not happy by now.”
“How could you possibly know?”
“I hear things,” Grace murmured.
“What things?”
She made a scoffing sound. “You were at Coolidge Park. Didn’t you notice? Every time someone came up to me, they were like ‘oh, Grace. It must be hard to come to a party like this...’” Her gaze snapped up to meet Emma’s. “They’re all so sympathetic when what they’re really thinking—saying—is we’re outcasts in this community.”
All the blood seemed to leach from Emma’s limbs and for an instant the world around her spun. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
Emma didn’t want to talk about that. We, Grace had said.
“You never want to deal with this,” Grace said. “The morning after Owen’s funeral you were right here at your desk. You didn’t even miss a day of work after the accident.” She swiped at her eyes. “And why do people call it that, when it wasn’t an accident? We were both there,” she reminded Emma. “So how could it be an accident?”
Oh, no. Emma rose from her desk. She walked toward Grace and tried to take her in her arms but Grace shrank from her touch. “How long have you felt like this?” As if she couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment.
“Ever since I saw Rafe running toward the stalls. Then I was running, too,” Grace went on. “I saw Owen lying there, so still. And you and I were both screaming.”
And there, on the ground all around him, lay the scattered gummy bears.
Despite Grace’s resistance, Emma managed to pull her close but of course the words didn’t help. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
“You must blame me,” Grace said, her voice trembling. “I know I blame you.”
Emma could hardly argue with that. But her heart hurt anyway.
She’d have to find some way to atone. With Grace now, too.
* * *
EMMA HAD ONCE looked forward to Sunday afternoons, when her family gathered to share dinner and any news of the week. This time she didn’t know what to expect. She checked the lasagna, then shut the oven door.
There was no predicting anything. As soon as Grace had said those words the other day, the phone on Emma’s desk had rung. Mrs. Belkin had decided to hire another firm to remake her closet. No surprise.
Emma tried to put this newest disappointment out of her mind. But if she didn’t succeed with Melanie’s project, there would certainly be more. Besides, Emma really wanted to help her.
Maybe today she could even make amends with Grace.
Emma turned from the stove. Bob’s tail had started to wag full speed. She must have heard a car in the drive. The dog’s ears pricked and now Emma could hear the sounds of doors closing, voices murmuring. By the time Grace and Rafe walked in, Bob’s whole body was quivering with joy.
Grace fell to her knees and hugged the dog. Both faces were shining, and Emma smiled at what appeared to be a good start to the afternoon.
