by Tasha Black
After an extensive search of the home, during which Charley took copious notes they settled down at the kitchen table.
“Can I offer you some lemonade, Charley?”
“That sounds fantastic, thank you, Ainsley.”
Ainsley grabbed two mason jars from the cupboard and filled them with ice and deliciously tart lemonade. She set one in front of Charley.
“Charley, you’ve been doing this forever. Can you give me a ballpark today?”
“I know it seems like I should be able to do that, doesn’t it?”
Ainsley nodded.
“But I have learned after many mistakes to always do a full market analysis. I want you to have an accurate number, and, especially because you’ll understand it better than most – I want you to have hard comps along with it so we can dissect it together.”
Damn, he was more professional than she had given him credit for.
“Okay, I get it, Charley. How soon can you come back?”
“Very soon – I’ll try to call tomorrow.”
She walked him to the door.
“Thanks again for coming out. And for not making a big deal out of me going back to New York. I know my family was important here but you all will certainly be fine without me.”
Charley’s mouth opened and closed once or twice.
“Ainsley, I hope I haven’t offended you by asking you to join the firm,” he said “I was only kidding. I’d love to work with you, of course, but I know you’re well beyond what we do here. No one could really expect you to stay in Tarker’s Hollow.”
Jesus Christ, was it really possible that he didn’t know?
He wasn’t a wolf?
This town needed a program to keep the players straight.
“I’m sorry, Charley, you haven’t offended me at all,” Ainsley said, fumbling to cover her slip. “A few friends have been pressing me to stay, but of course I can’t. I guess I’m a little emotional.”
“Of course you are. You know, I get emotional myself whenever I pass by the hardware store. I can’t believe your mom’s not there. I used to see her almost every day. She was an optimist - saw the best in everyone. That’s not easy these days. And your dad was so generous. Not many of the professors can afford to give back much, but your dad made a priority of giving back – to Rotary and anyone else who ever asked.”
Ainsley smiled, looking over his shoulder at the stickers on the vestibule window. Her dad had given twenty dollars to anyone who bothered to show up with a worthy cause. He always agreed to put their free stickers on the door. Her mother had good-naturedly ribbed him that it was like leaving hobo marks out front and would only mean that more people would interrupt dinner asking for money. But Ainsley could see that she wasn’t really annoyed with him - there was pride in her eyes at knowing that her husband was a good man.
It meant a lot that Charley thought highly of her parents. He wasn’t part of the wolf stuff.
“Thank you, Charley,” she said with a catch in her voice.
He clapped her on the shoulder.
“I’ll call soon.”
Chapter 5
Ainsley had just finished emptying the third floor closets when her phone rang. She smoothed down her sweaty, dusty ponytail and fished it out of her pocket.
Tarker’s Hollow PD.
Must be Grace. Ainsley was anxious to talk to her friend again. She had so many questions.
“Hey,” Ainsley answered. “What’s up?”
“Um, hi Ainsley, it’s Clive.” His voice was deliberately gentle.
“Oh. Hi Clive, how’s it going?”
“I’m about done with your father’s office. Do you want to come down here and take a look in about half an hour?”
“Thank you, yes, I will.”
That was just time for a shower.
As Ainsley washed her hair she thought about Clive.
He was a nice guy, he really was. He could have gone on to play college football but he chose to stay and protect Tarker’s Hollow. It was amazing how many people chose to stick with this little town.
Was there something wrong with her for wanting to get out?
Clive would make a strong and loyal alpha. What would happen if she chose him, and then disappeared? Once the town had backed him, would they really kick him out if she went away?
She knew she was supposed to love the alpha, but there were lovable things about Clive, right? All the girls in high school seemed to think so. Even straight-laced Grace would watch him avidly as he passed in the hall, then fall back into her locker in a pretend faint when he passed, cracking Ainsley up. The time Clive turned around and caught her “fainting” he wasn’t even a jerk about it – he just gave her a warm smile.
Could Ainsley just love him as he was until it was too late for them to change things?
His blue eyes were lovable, the way he took care of the town was lovable, right? He already protected the town, which, after all, was the alpha’s job according to Erik.
Erik.
There were butterflies in her treacherous chest just thinking about him. She wanted to slap his arrogant mouth and melt in his strong arms all at once. In another universe she might have been grateful to her dad for encouraging her to choose a male she urgently wanted to mate with.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
If she mated with Erik she just might lose herself in him for real. And the last thing in the world Ainsley wanted was to give up her life to become a gigantic lapdog bossed around by a know-nothing know-it-all like Erik Jensen.
She rushed through her shower, towel dried her hair and threw on one of her new dresses and a pair of sandals. A quick look in the mirror told her she looked very nice.
She winked at herself, then scowled. This was not a campy spy mission. This required surgical precision. She got her mind in the game and headed out.
The outside air caressed her bare arms and she walked past Sadie Epstein-Walker, who was weeding again in her big sunhat.
“Hi, Sadie!” she called.
“Ainsley, hello!” Sadie shouted back cheerfully.
She rounded the corner onto Elm before she remembered that Erik could easily be on site right across Yale.
Instead of crossing and taking the path directly into the college woods, she hugged the town side of Yale and crossed at the train overpass. The walk to the woods was a bit longer this way, but well worth it to avoid another run-in.
The cool shade of the woods embraced her at last. She was at Scott Hall in moments, the marble floors clacking under her Jimmy Choos. By the time she got to the top of the stairs, Clive was there waiting.
“Hi, Ainsley.”
“Hello, Clive.”
They looked at each other carefully. Clive looked handsome as ever in his uniform, biceps straining at the blue fabric whenever he bent his arms. The steamy tension from their last meeting seemed to be making them both shy.
“I heard there was a commotion at your place last night. Are you okay?”
Oh god, had Grace told him details? What did he know?
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He led her into the office.
“I tried my best to organize the books for you.” His deep voice was soft.
She looked over the collection, which was spread across the floor in no apparent order.
“They’re alphabetized,” he said with a note of pride.
Christ, they were. By title, not by author.
Ainsley smiled up at his earnest blue eyes and looked the books over again. It was hard for her to deal without them being organized the proper way, but she resisted her compulsive urge to fix them, and scanned the piles.
The titles swam in her mind. This was exactly the sort of thing she was looking forward to having Julian’s help with. But that ship had sailed.
Well, not so much sailed as sunk.
After a few minutes she was finished.
“I can’t think of anything important that’s missing, Clive. I’m s
o sorry. There might have been something I didn’t know about.”
Whenever her dad located a rare book she and her mother had to hear every detail about it. The condition, the people it had belonged to, how much they were asking and how much it was worth. And of course, he longed to own them all. The hunt to bring the book home, unharmed, often meant a family trip to Boston, New York or even Chicago. It would be strange if there were a single rare volume she didn’t know intimately.
Of course, he would have added some new titles in the years she’d been away.
Her shoulders slumped as she pictured a future laid out in front of her without a single book being added to the collection. Suddenly, the reality of her loss seemed to press on her like a weight. She let out a sigh and put a hand on the desk for support.
Clive was next to her in a heartbeat.
He pulled her close and she rested her head on his massive chest as his meaty hand stroked her hair. She could hear his heartbeat pounding and smell his restrained excitement.
After a long moment she pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she said demurely, smoothing her hair down.
“No, I’m sorry for what you’re going through, Ainsley,” he said simply.
Before she could change her mind, Ainsley blurted out an invitation.
“Clive, would you please join me for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Yes!” he said, a little too quickly.
They both laughed nervously.
“Five o’clock?” Ainsley asked.
“Five o’clock,” he confirmed.
Ainsley impulsively reached up and pecked him on the cheek. He froze and she heard the jolt of his pulse as he waited to see what she would do next.
She squeezed his massive bicep, then sailed down the stairs before anything could go wrong.
Chapter 6
The late summer air pressed on Ainsley. No trace of a breeze stirred, and she thought she might be able to wring the moisture out of the humid air like a sponge if she tried. The scent of an approaching storm teased her with the promise of a cooling downpour.
Despite the heat, Ainsley savored the walk to Grace’s house. How many times had she taken this familiar trip over the years of their friendship? She looked down at her Jimmy Choos and remembered looking down at the same sandstone sidewalk blocks, slapped by the flip flops she’d skipped in at ten, and slouched over in the Uggs she’d worn at 17.
The tree canopy arched gracefully overhead. She loved the way the trees from either side of the street met in the middle, entwining their branches. Birds sang their last notes of the evening as the cicadas buzzed in the distance. The smell the of night jasmine opening filled the air.
Maybe it wasn’t so hard to imagine why someone would want to stay in Tarker’s Hollow.
The lights were on at the Cortez house on Harvard. Their wide front porch held several wooden rocking chairs and two gigantic wine barrels of tomato plants. In the fall, Grace’s mother would carve pumpkins and cover the porch with them.
“Ainsley!” Grace called. Just like old times, she was waiting on the porch swing where the front porch wrapped around to the side of the house.
“Hi!” Ainsley took the steps two at a time to join her friend on the swing.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, swinging lazily and looking over the Cortez’s yard into the neighboring trees and gardens. It was like no time had passed and they would soon hurry in for homework. For a few minutes, Ainsley lost herself in those carefree days.
“Come on,” Grace said, breaking the spell. “My mom is dying to see you.”
They entered the center hall. It was still covered stem to stern in ancient William Morris wallpaper depicting vines and fruit.
“Ainsley?” Eva Cortez embraced Ainsley in a warm hug. She still smelled like fresh baked bread.
“Hi, Mrs. Cortez!”
“Hi yourself! Where have you been? You went to New York, not the moon! You can come to visit, you know? Did you get my card?” Mrs. Cortez gently scolded her as she patted her on the arm and guided her to the kitchen.
Oh god, the card.
Ainsley reddened. Mrs. Cortez’s sympathy card had been handmade and absolutely lovely. And the message inside was so warm and loving it had made Ainsley want to disintegrate with unworthiness. So she had tucked it away and forgotten to even acknowledge it.
“Your card was…”
“Yes, yes, you got it. I meant what I said, Ainsley. You’re my daughter now. So I’m expecting phone calls. Okay? And visits. I made you a room here, just like I said I would. Gracie will show you. You can come home as often as you like, but I expect to see more of you.”
Home.
Ainsley was overwhelmed. Tears threatened to spring in her eyes. But Mrs. Cortez knew Ainsley too well to think that she would want to have a hug and a good cry.
“Right now, I need help with dinner, so we’ll talk more about that later. Ainsley, I assume you can still peel cucumbers for the salad?”
Ainsley nodded gratefully. The cucumbers were small and tender, obviously fresh from the garden out back. She settled into the bench seat and began to peel them onto the cutting board. Grace sat next to her and cut them up as fast as Ainsley could peel.
Mrs. Cortez kept up a steady stream of news and gossip as they worked.
She was part of a core group of women in town who had left their careers to have children and then decided to take on the town instead of returning to their previous fields once the kids were in school. Between them they ran the parent-teacher association, organized all the annual fairs and festivals, raised money to bring in and house exchange students from a nearby urban community, visited older people in the hospital, attended the boring (and not-so-boring) council meetings, and found the hidden skills and talents of their working sisters and urged them to give back what and when they could.
Without a doubt, indomitable women like Mrs. Cortez had been making Tarker’s Hollow what it was since it was incorporated in the 1800s. Anyone who thought of these women as “stay at home moms” was delusional.
Every year Mrs. Cortez used to convince Ainsley’s mother to run the annual plant sale to benefit the town improvement plan. Ainsley’s mom never did refuse her, though every time she swore it was too much work on top of the hardware store and that she wouldn’t do it again.
Finally, one year at about the time when her mom started dreading Eva’s visit asking for her help, Ainsley’s had asked her mom why she didn’t just say no. Sylvia Connor had looked horrified.
“When I had the flu and couldn’t take you to baseball for a week, who took you? Did Eva say ‘no’ when town council said they couldn’t fund the new fire engine unless she raised another $5,000 for the improvement plan? That woman has never driven her car five feet without another woman’s child in it, or made a meal for her own family without doubling it and taking a dish to the teachers’ luncheon or to some shut-in. How am I supposed to look her in the eye and tell her no?”
Of course none of them could think of an answer to that. So Sylvia grumbled her way through another spring of making vast spreadsheets and carting tiny plants to the Tarker’s Hollow town center to be sorted and sold. Mrs. Cortez made sure Sylvia had a steady stream of volunteer teenagers to assist her and Mrs. Cortez personally knocked on the doors of everyone she could think of, hinting that their front yards could use a little color and that it would be a shame to go to the Home Depot for flowers when Sylvia Connor was working so hard to bring in really nice plants and to help the firefighters.
Naturally, everyone came out and bought plants and had a fantastic time. Ainsley remembered the spring of the fire truck. She and some of the kids had made a booth and sold lemonade to the attendees to help raise money as well. It was terrific fun and they ended the day dizzy with cold sweet lemonade and laughing hysterically.
And wouldn’t you just know, that summer when the new fire truck was in the 4th of July parade, Eva Cortez told everyone in town that Ainsley’
s mom had personally saved the volunteer firefighters’ new engine with her heroic offer to run the plant sale.
It was easy to say that a few of the families could have easily just written a couple of checks for the fire engine with the same result and less hassle. But Mrs. Cortez knew instinctively that plant sales and their like are a way for neighbors to meet and for everyone to feel they have had a part in something important.
She always said good things came when the whole village worked together.
Ainsley was so busy reminiscing and laughing at Mrs. Cortez’s observations about a few choice residents of Tarker’s Hollow, that she was disappointed to realize there were no more cucumbers.
Chapter 7
Dinner was an amazing experience.
As Grace’s grandmother served her a plate, Ainsley tried to unravel the mystery of the entree. There were familiar smells, but somehow she couldn’t place the dish.
“This smells delicious,” Ainsley said. “Can you tell me about it?”
“This is a special dish to honor my granddaughter’s heritage.” Grace’s grandmother beamed with pride. “These are steamed Chinese dumplings stuffed with carnitas in an ancho chili sauce.”
“Thank you, Abuela,” Grace said quietly.
“Wow, fusion cooking,” Ainsley said with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
She tried a bite, expecting the worst.
It was delicious – spicy and soft, savory and sweet all at once.
“You could make a killing cooking this in New York, Mrs. Cortez.”
“Ainsley,” the old woman chided her.
“Sorry. Abuela,” Ainsley corrected.
“And no, I don’t think New York is the right place for me. But thank you. I’m so glad you like it!”
Silence enveloped the table like a blanket as they began the feast, but by the time the second round of wine was poured, everyone was laughing and chatting happily.
Ainsley was careful to steer clear of her issues with the pack, after Grace’s warning. But they did talk about just about everything else. In all her high-powered real estate dealings, she had almost forgotten what a genuine, friendly conversation felt like. A discussion of politics swiftly shifted to local opinion about the new construction project.
