by Myra Johnson
She didn’t normally whoop in public, but she did now. Nobody was around to hear anyway at this early hour. The other shops didn’t open until ten o’clock.
She hadn’t gone more than a few steps when she paused to peer through the dusty window next door, cupping her hands around her eyes to block the glare. Her brief touch left a thick layer of sooty grime on her hands. Ugh. She couldn’t submit her rental application with smudges, now could she? Thankfully she always carried moistened wipes in her purse.
Mid-scrub, Faith noticed a black SUV pull into one of the parking spots right in front of her.
At quarter after nine, it was early in the day for tourists, so she stayed put in case they wanted into her store. She’d direct them to the café or bakery down the street and invite them to come back at ten o’clock.
A man in dark rinse jeans and a well-worn leather jacket emerged from the driver’s side, only to turn around and open the back door behind him. He reached in, as if retrieving packages.
Or a child. A small boy with dark hair ducked under the man’s arm and hopped up to the sidewalk. The man stood to his full height and backed away, allowing a second child, a girl this time, out of the vehicle. A large yellow dog leaped out after her.
It was always good to see families spending time together in town, but when a woman appeared from the passenger seat, it became obvious this was no family of four. The shade of platinum blond hair and fashionable cut of her periwinkle blue blazer could belong to no one but Judy Hughes, mayor of Widow’s Peak Creek. Stepping around the large dog as if afraid to touch it, Mayor Hughes withdrew a key.
Faith’s stomach sank to her ballet flats.
“Oh, hello, Faith.” Mayor Hughes’s stiffening shoulders caused her blazer’s shoulder pads to rise.
“Good morning, Mayor.” Faith was about to extend an obligatory greeting for the tall man alongside her when his dark gaze met hers and recognition hit her square in the solar plexus. His black wavy hair was longer now, tousled and pushed away from his face, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a few days. The overall look wasn’t the least bit disheveled, though. On the contrary, the scruffy look suited him. He was as handsome as he’d been back in high school when she, a lanky, gawky nerd then, noticed him from afar.
She might forever be a nerd, in some people’s minds anyway, but she was no longer an awkward adolescent. She thrust out her hand. “Tomás Santos? It’s good to see you again.”
“I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage.” His hand was warm, enveloping hers in a firm shake. “But we’ve obviously met. Call me Tom.”
“We attended high school together. Faith Latham.”
“Latham.” Now that the handshake was over, he snapped his fingers. “Chloe’s little sister.”
Yep. That was Faith, all through her growing-up years. Sister to the far more outgoing Chloe, the cheerleader. Or she was sometimes Chloe’s “smarter” sister, when smart was the total opposite of being in, because Faith aced all the history quizzes.
Tom Santos, however, had been a whiz at everything from soccer to art. Two years older than Faith, he’d left for college, married and then been widowed, according to town chatter. Apparently, he returned on occasion to visit his parents. But if he was here with the mayor, looking at a vacant storefront, he was in Widow’s Peak Creek for something more permanent.
Which was fine, of course. Just not in this building. It was hers.
Unless he was a contractor or architect or something here to evaluate the historic building’s integrity. That would be okay. Nevertheless, Faith stayed fixed in her position, guarding the doors while the mayor withdrew a key. “Looking at the old livery, Mayor Hughes?”
“Is that what this place used to be?” Tom leaned back, taking in the story-and-a-half height, the pale yellow siding and the white-trimmed windows. “Okay, I can see it now. The wide doors, high ceilings to accommodate carriages and a hayloft back in the old days, right? It’ll be perfect for my outdoor gear store.”
Oh, no, it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be good for anything but her museum, and it was too bad he wasn’t a contractor like she’d hoped, because she was about to wreck his day.
Faith dug the rental application out of her purse. “Here you go, Mrs. Hughes. As we discussed.”
The mayor couldn’t possibly have forgotten those discussions, right? About Faith waiting for Leonard, the proprietor of the knickknack store that used to be here, to retire so she could rent the space? And then they’d talked again after Leonard announced his retirement and bought a house in Oregon. Faith had informed the mayor she’d be ready with the rental application on the first day the store was deemed available. Faith had been clear as the sweet water that flowed through the creek about her intentions, so why on earth was the mayor showing the property to someone else as if she were a real estate agent?
Faith’s stomach soured. The rumors about the mayor were true. Judy Hughes wanted to shift the town’s focus in a different direction, from a historic district to something she deemed more lucrative. She didn’t want Faith’s museum in this storefront. She wanted something like Tom’s store—outdoor gear, he’d said. That would certainly explain why she studiously avoided taking the paperwork from Faith.
Tom’s gaze caught on the black-lettered sign hanging from the underside of the white wood balcony next door. Her balcony, attached to the apartment above the store that she shared with her cat.
“Faith’s Finds. That’s you? Antiques store?” At her nod, he smiled and took another look at the facade, white paint, seafoam green wood chairs set outside with a wrought iron café table between them. “Looks like we’ll be neighbors.”
Faith glanced at his kids. The boy clung to Tom’s knee, and the girl kept her hand on the dog as it sniffed the concrete sidewalk. They might not be listening, but the last thing she wanted was to upset them, so she’d need to choose her words and tone with care.
“Actually, Tom, I’ll be renting this storefront and expanding my business. It’s arranged.”
“The building isn’t available?” His head snapped back as if he’d been slapped.
“No, and I’m sorry for the waste of your time.” She truly was. This wasn’t his fault. But it wasn’t Faith’s, either, and she’d do well not to take responsibility for things that weren’t her doing. She’d had a bad habit of doing that when she was younger, and she’d worked hard to find a healthier balance. She gestured at the large doors of the old livery. “This is going to be the Widow’s Peak Creek Museum, and this is the rental paperwork,” she said, holding it up.
A warm, wet nudge to her hand tugged her gaze downward. The yellow dog bumped her fingers, an invitation to scratch his ears. His fur was soft but not as silky as her cat’s. Then again, her cat didn’t nuzzle quite like this.
“That’s Roscoe,” the girl said. “He’s seven. And I’m six.”
“I’m six, too.” The boy’s brown eyes stared up at Faith, his expression as cautious as his quiet voice.
The girl spun in a circle. “But I’m the little sister.”
Tom’s grin quirked up higher on the right than the left. “You’re twins, Nora. You’re younger than Logan by eight minutes.”
“I’m still the baby.” Nora continued twirling, making her pink-and-white-striped skirt swirl about her knees.
“At any rate.” Mayor Hughes’s tight tone indicated she was finished with pleasantries. “That paperwork is a request to rent a historic building, Faith, not a guarantee. You haven’t even submitted it.”
Faith’s fingers chilled. She was en route to submitting it, on the very day the mayor had told her the rental application would be accepted. Arguing the point here in front of the kids wouldn’t help anything, though, so she zipped her lips for the time being.
Tom’s heavy brows knit. “You didn’t mention there were any other interested parties, Mayor. Not this morning and no
t two weeks ago when you first mentioned the space.”
Oh, so the mayor had been the one to tell Tom about it and had not said a word to Faith? This was getting worse and worse.
“Two weeks ago we lived in our old house,” the little girl interrupted, doing some sort of dance move. “But now we have a new house on the river.”
“It’s a creek, not a river.” Logan’s voice rose, but then he glanced at Faith again and scooched behind his dad’s legs.
“Anyway,” the mayor said, glancing at her watch. “I didn’t mislead either of you. Anyone interested in renting the property may look at it. If you both determine you want the building and file your applications within forty-eight hours of one another, you’ll be invited to present your cases to the council at our next meeting if you desire.”
Of course, she desired. This town needed a museum—no, it deserved one. Faith tipped up her chin. “I intend to file my application today. You should know that, Tom.”
“I appreciate the heads-up, Faith. That said, this place seems perfect for my needs. If I like what I see inside, I’m going to submit an application as well, and you and I will be competing for the space.”
Then he’d better be prepared to lose. She’d waited a long time for this building. She wasn’t about to give up now.
The Labrador’s loud snort startled Faith, and he ran past her. Tom groaned and dashed after him. Clutching her application to her chest, Faith spun around.
Her gray cat, Bettina, had somehow slipped outside, and was perching casually on one of the two seafoam green chairs she’d set in front of her store, licking a front paw. And the Santos family dog was headed straight for her.
* * *
Tom lunged for Roscoe’s collar and missed. He should’ve leashed him. Should’ve—well, it didn’t matter now, since his dog was this close to fighting with someone’s cat.
“Bettina!” Faith ran past him, reaching toward the cat.
Great. Her cat.
The situation between them was tenuous already without his dog going after her pet. Roscoe had never bitten anything more lively than a chew toy, but there was a first time for everything.
Lord, don’t let him give chase.
Tom’s second attempt at gripping Roscoe’s collar was successful, mainly because Roscoe had stopped a few feet short of Faith’s cat, jaw thankfully shut. The cat, to his shock, was not freaking out.
Huh.
Faith scooped up the gray fur ball. “She must have followed me outside. I usually see her if she tries to slip out but I—was in a hurry to get to city hall.”
“I’m just glad there wasn’t an altercation.” Tom urged Roscoe back a few feet. “I’m sorry if we scared you.”
“Bettina doesn’t seem scared, but she’s sure watching your dog.”
And Roscoe was watching her back, with a gentle gaze and his tongue lolling out.
Nora, a lover of all things fluffy, materialized at Faith’s side. “May I pet your cat?”
“Her name’s Bettina. She likes gentle strokes on top of her head, here between her ears.” Faith bent at the knees so Nora could reach easier. “You’re doing a great job.”
Logan, far more cautious than his sister, patted Tom’s pant leg. “Is the cat purring?”
It was practically a whisper, but Logan was shy when it came to being around new people. At least, he had been since his mom died. Trying to encourage Logan to join his sister, Tom tipped his chin at the cat. “I can’t tell from here.”
As if she understood, Faith carried the cat to Logan. “She’s not purring right now, but she’s probably feeling a little cautious. You can still pet her if you want.”
Logan’s hand snaked out and patted the cat’s sleek back.
“Maybe later when she’s comfortable, you can pet her and I’m sure she’ll purr for you. Sometimes she sounds like a motorboat.”
The kids giggled. Faith might be put out with the mayor—and him, probably—but at least she was nice to his kids.
Odd he hadn’t remembered her on sight, but her hair was different, shorter now with loose dark blond waves that fell to her shoulders. Her bearing seemed different, too. He recalled a shy skinny kid back in high school burdened by a stuffed backpack and carrying even more books in her arms. But now she stood straight and tall—and not just because she held a cat instead of half a library. Something had certainly changed with Faith Latham since he’d seen her last. Like she’d come into her own somehow.
“Folks?” Mayor Hughes called their attention back to the vacant business. She waved her cell phone in the air. “I’ve got to get back to city hall, so if you want to look inside, Mr. Santos?”
“Let me get a leash on this guy first. Kids, stay on the sidewalk.” He guided Roscoe to the back of the car, pressing buttons on his key fob. The hatchback lifted and Tom yanked the red leash from a mesh bag in the back. By the time he finished clipping it to Roscoe’s collar, the mayor had pushed the door open and Faith was striding inside, Nora’s hand practically glued to the cat’s head as she walked alongside.
Why did Faith have to come in now, when he wanted to see things for himself? Was she trying to further her nonexistent claim on the place?
A place that a few months ago he’d never considered occupying to run a store. In a town he never thought he’d live in again, after he’d left twelve years ago.
Was he really doing this? Returning to the Sierra Nevada Foothills to start over?
As a kid, he wanted to escape small-town life. He attended college in San Francisco and loved the change of pace. He met Lourdes, married her and started a career in advertising. He’d been so good at his job he’d been given extra responsibilities—which paid well but kept him working many evenings and weekends. Most wives would have complained, but not Lourdes. She’d appreciated the financial security he provided. It was her priority as much as it was his.
He’d thought their life was ideal. Until last year, when Lourdes suffered an aneurysm one morning after dropping the kids off at preschool. No warning, nothing anyone could have done. Yet, it threw their lives into a tailspin.
Stop it. Not now, not here.
Tom swallowed down the all too familiar lump in his throat and stepped inside the vacant building, forcing his attention to focus on the moment...and the future. He had kids to provide for, and this was the best way to do it. So would this building work for his store?
The dimensions seemed right. He liked the airiness of it, as well as the look, with rustic wooden beams on the ceiling, and the north wall made up of exposed river rock.
The mayor flipped on the lights, setting overhead fluorescents flickering. They would definitely need replacing with LEDs. Maybe brushed nickel track lighting, mounted in such a way as to complement the ceiling beams rather than compete with them.
The mayor noted the direction of his gaze and gestured at the beams as if she were a game show hostess showing off a prize display. “They’re original, but decorative now, of course. The twenty properties on this section of Main Street are original to the town’s founding in 1852 and by city charter must maintain their authenticity as historic sites, but that doesn’t mean the buildings are dilapidated or uncomfortable in any way. Everything is safe and sturdy, compliant with state and local codes.”
A touch of the building’s original charm balanced with modern conveniences and security. Perfect. “Flooring looks good.”
“Come see the rest,” the mayor invited.
Faith followed along, uninvited but quiet. They toured the office in the back and a larger space that would make an ideal break room for employees. The restrooms were clean, if not as modernized as he’d hoped. Perhaps he could make a few changes, but otherwise?
This place was perfect. Well, almost. “Smells a little musty in here. Mildew?”
“Assuredly not.” The mayor blinked at the suggestion.
Faith walked past them. “The building’s been closed up for a few weeks so the air is stagnant. Baking soda and vinegar will freshen up the place.” She paused to stare at the south-facing wall at—nothing that Tom could see.
What was she looking at? If there was a problem, an imperfection or issue, he needed to know. Immediately. “Is something wrong?”
Faith shifted her cat into the crook of her left arm so she had a free hand to trace a line on the wall. “See this crack here? It’s faint because it’s been painted over.”
Tom couldn’t see anything from ten feet away, but Nora stopped patting the cat’s head to rub the wall. Logan, who’d been by Tom’s side the entire tour, inched closer and stuck his fingernails into what must be a seam in the paint.
“I feel it, Dad.”
That didn’t sound good.
Faith was smiling, though. “This was—is, actually—a door connecting this building to the store next door. The owners of the original buildings were cousins, and this space was a livery, where horses and buggies were rented out. The store on the other side sold animal feed and seeds, but now it’s my store, Faith’s Finds. I’d like to open the door again to connect the buildings.”
“What’s in Faith’s Finds?” Nora poked the wall as if she could push through and enter the antiques store.
“Old things,” Tom answered before Faith could.
“That’s one way of looking at it.” She glanced back at him as if disappointed.
“I didn’t mean to sound dismissive of your business. Sorry.”
“But you don’t like antiques, I take it. That’s all right. Tastes differ.”
The last antique couch he’d sat on was lumpy and hard. Plop on that every day to watch sports? No, thanks. He preferred his year-old leather sofa and matching loveseat and recliners. But that wasn’t the point. As far as he was concerned, other people could enjoy vintage stuff all they wanted—in her store.
