by Lisa Plumley
She opened the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of ketchup for Hannah. The conversation turned to talk of Jenna’s upcoming salsa dancing night—a surprise she’d planned for David now that Josie’s lessons with her were finished.
Luke still couldn’t believe he’d participated in them as the requisite David standin. He’d felt as if he’d been drafted into a boy band—minus the gelled hair and animatronic moves—but Josie had insisted he’d done well. Her thank-you kiss had almost made him believe it.
Amid the murmurs, Nancy gave Luke an appraising look.
“Your ‘neutral’ decorating would make this place a cinch to pitch to buyers,” she remarked in an undertone. “Sure you don’t want to list it? I’ll bet it would rake in a bundle.”
“Save the sales talk.” He frowned at her, irritated at having nearly blurted out his plans for Blue Moon—and, upon hearing Nancy’s offer, feeling pissed off on Josie’s behalf. It would only hurt her feelings to know her mother was shilling for sales. “I thought you were here to see Josie.”
“I’m here to see what you three have done here. Professional Realtor’s interest.” She said the words loudly, surveying the room with a regal tilt to her chin. To Luke alone, she added, “Cut me some slack, you big galoot. A mother’s got to have her excuses. If Josie thought I was visiting her on purpose she’d hide in a closet, and you know it.”
He couldn’t help but grin. In the past, Josie had done exactly that in an attempt to evade her family. Having met them, he understood why. But now, for some weird reason, he found himself warming up to Nancy. He was beginning to believe her flashy suits hid a tender heart.
He tuned back into the conversation.
“As soon as we get the mirrors and the ballet barre and the sound system,” Josie was saying, “we’ll be all set to launch the dance school.”
Damn. That again. The enthusiasm in her voice was plain as she went on discussing her dance school plans. Charitably, no one mentioned that she still needed a lot more students, too.
“I can manage without some of the equipment for a while,” she continued, waving her arm blithely, “but—wait, all that stuff is on back-order, right, Luke?”
Pretending not to hear, he grabbed several mugs and headed to the gurgling coffeemaker. He felt like a jerk the whole time. Damn it. How had he gotten into this mess?
Josie shrugged, cheerfully overlooking his silence. “I’m not worried,” she told the others. “It’ll all come together somehow, I just know it. It’s only a matter of time.”
Luke hoped so.
“Well, the ballroom’s well on its way, and the rest of the place looks completely shipshape,” Jenna volunteered, visibly impressed as she surveyed the changes. “It looks like you’ll be ready for your opening day.”
“Good thing, too,” Nancy said. “That means all those dance school advertisements your dad cooked up through Donovan’s Corner SuperCable won’t go to waste. They’ve been airing for a solid week.”
Everyone stilled. Josie’s mouth dropped open.
“Of course, they’re mostly on in the middle of the night,” Nancy continued merrily, oblivious to the astonishment in the room, “when rates are cheaper. So you might wind up with a dance school full of insomniacs.” She rubbed the countertop. “Oooh, is this granite? Granite has great resale value.”
More staring.
Jenna recovered first. “Forget the countertops, Mom! Dad’s been advertising Josie’s dance school?”
Carelessly, Nancy nodded. “Yes, to recruit students. He’s buddies with the guy who books ad space, so he called in a few favors. You mean none of you have seen the ads?”
“We put our TV in storage,” Jenna said, shooting a pointed look at her hot dog-munching daughter. “After certain people took it upon themselves to start watching MTV.”
“Whoa. No TV? That’s harsh,” TJ said.
“No, it’s not. It’s sensible. Watching less TV is supposed to bring families together.” Jenna jiggled Emily on her lap. “At least that’s what Parents magazine says.”
“Jenna’s bible,” Josie explained, smiling affectionately at her sister. To her mother, she added, “I’d love to see Dad’s ads, but I don’t have cable out here.”
Luke shrugged. “I mostly watch ESPN.”
“Humph. All that effort gone to waste.” Nancy shook her head. “I’d better not tell Warren.”
A moment slipped past. Tentatively, Josie spoke up.
“What…what made Dad want to do that? The ads?”
The hopefulness in her eyes pained Luke to see. He frowned. Josie didn’t deserve to be given the runaround this way. After everything TJ had told him about the argument she’d had with her father, he didn’t have high expectations.
Remarkably, Josie still seemed to.
“Mom?” she prompted. “Was this your idea? Did you make Dad place those ads?”
Nancy scoffed. “I can’t ‘make’ your father do anything.”
Both sisters snorted.
“Yeah, right. Tell us another one,” Jenna said.
“Fine.” Tilting her chin, Nancy went on. “The truth is, your father just did it. He didn’t ask me, he didn’t tell me. I didn’t even find out what he was up to until I saw one of the ads myself. Believe me, I don’t enjoy being kept out of the loop.”
Now it was Josie’s and Jenna’s turn to smile.
“When I asked him about it, he said something strange, too.” Nancy hesitated, as though unsure whether or not to confide the rest. Then, prodded by her daughters’ expectant faces, she relented.
“He said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Josie. She’ll yell at me about boobies again.’” Nancy looked puzzled. “Which doesn’t even make sense. Discussing ‘boobies’ with me, his wife. Me! Humph. Your father must have been having a break with reality when he said that.”
“I know what he meant.” Josie’s eyes shone. “He meant I got through to him.”
“Got through to him? About what?”
“About me. At least a little bit. It’s not everything, but it’s definitely a first step.”
Skipping across the room, Josie hugged her startled mother. Next she hugged Jenna and Hannah and Emily in turn. She hugged Luke, squeezing him with what he’d swear was special enthusiasm. She stepped sideways to hug TJ, but he warded her off with both hands.
“Hang on. I don’t even understand what’s going on here.”
“You don’t have to,” she blurted happily. “C’mere!”
“Uhhh—”
But Josie crushed his lanky body in her arms anyway, shaking him from side to side with enthusiasm. Any minute now, she’d just plain pop with happiness, Luke was sure. He’d have been thrilled to see it—if he trusted it. But he didn’t. As far as he was concerned, fathers couldn’t be depended on.
Josie stopped, then surveyed them all with a wide grin. She paused in the kitchen’s arched doorway, her face joyful.
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
Mutely, Luke shook his head. Given the energy radiating from her, he was almost afraid to wonder. So was everyone else, apparently. They remained mum.
“It means I’m going to visit my dad, for one thing! And it means that from here on out, I’m trying harder than ever to start my dance school!”
Then she chortled with glee and pounded upstairs, ready for her next assault on Donovan’s Corner.
Chapter Sixteen
Treading across the grassy expanse of Donovan’s Corner City Park, Josie carefully balanced a tray of a dozen cupcakes. They were part of her contribution to the annual Founder’s Day festivities—an afternoon’s worth of picnicking, parades, vendor booths, a 10K run, covered wagon rides, and more. Most of the town usually attended the event, making it an ideal opportunity to drum up business for her dance school.
Feeling proud of herself for wrangling an invitation to participate and for actually producing the cupcakes she’d promised for the bake sale fundraiser, Josie strode through the park
with Luke at her side. Her prim outfit for the day consisted of Jenna’s castoff green gingham dress, combined with a matching headband and white Keds.
She sure hoped this getup was making the right impression. She couldn’t be certain, since the headband cut off airflow to her brain. But at least the shoes weren’t orthopedic look-alikes, and although the dowdy dress hung all the way to her ankles, it did allow freedom of movement. Josie had to keep reminding herself not to wiggle too much when she walked. Or, God forbid, to accidentally lapse into a showgirl strut. Her nervousness made that a distinct possibility.
All this is necessary, she reminded herself. It’s necessary to convince these people you’re serious.
Now that she was getting closer to her goals—thanks partly to her dad’s advertising help and partly to Jenna and her friend Sophie, who’d enrolled her twin daughters in dance classes two days ago—Josie felt more determined than ever. But determination alone wasn’t enough to erase the memory of Luke’s disheartening reaction to her ensemble when she’d descended the stairs this morning.
He’d folded his arms over his chest and looked her up and down, an expression of disappointment on his face. Then, “I don’t think that’s really you.”
“What’s not really me?”
“This whole thing.” The sweep of his muscular arm indicated the prim outfit she’d shoehorned herself into. “It’s crazy. It’s not you. Where are your false eyelashes? Your ponytail hair extension, ‘Frank’?” He squinted. “Where are your breasts?”
Affronted, Josie clapped her hands over her chest. She guessed her new “minimizer” bra was working. “This is my new, serious look, remember? This is me.”
Although she did, she admitted silently, miss Frank. They’d been through a lot together. And, she admitted further, she still thought her false eyelashes were fun. Plus, this stupid new bra squashed her like an overly enthusiastic date.
She frowned.
“It’s not you,” Luke insisted, his voice gentling. “I know you’re determined to tackle Donovan’s Corner. Hell, I admire that! But I don’t think changing yourself into someone else is the way to go.”
There was only one answer to that.
“The old me wasn’t working,” she said tartly, then flounced toward the kitchen to pack up the cupcakes.
Looking at them now, Josie smiled to herself, despite her morning’s rocky start. It had taken her six hours to bake those chocolate-frosted goodies yesterday. Six long, floury, batter-spackled hours, during which she’d used up all the swear words she knew and then invented new ones.
In her frustration, she’d forbidden Luke and TJ to enter the kitchen, for fear she’d hurl a spatula—or a cake mix box—at their heads. Somehow understanding, they’d complied. Hanging on through singed fingertips and a serious icing-licking high, Josie had finally emerged triumphant. Now she had four dozen chocolate treats, of which she carried a dozen herself. Luke chivalrously handled the additional three trays.
Josie figured she was on her way.
The baking problems hadn’t really been her fault, she reasoned as she nodded to some townspeople, then passed beside a fluttery-leafed stand of Aspens. She was pretty sure her new oven was possessed. It burned things willy-nilly, spewed smoke at the oddest moments, and had a major grudge against actually baking anything that contained butter. Or sugar. Or, pretty much, edible molecules of any kind.
After Jenna’s painstaking lessons and the whole “baking cookies for the Better Business Bureau” fiasco, she’d thought she’d gained valuable experience. It turned out she hadn’t. But that didn’t matter. Multicolored icing and sprinkles could hide a multitude of sins, if applied creatively enough.
Showgirls definitely knew about creative embellishments.
Also, Josie knew she had other things to offer besides culinary skills—things like dancing expertise, a good heart, and a full assortment of jokes. Speaking of which….
“Hey, Luke. Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Twain.”
“Twain who?”
“Twains are what wabbits take twips on.”
A grin spread over his face. He chuckled. Of all her joke recipients, Luke and Parker were the only ones who never let her down.
Josie laughed, too. There. That was better. Now she could face the inevitable barrage of judgmental Donovan’s Corner residents with a positive attitude.
Dodging face-painted kids and tail-wagging entrants in the Founder’s Day Costumed Dog Show, they dropped off the cupcakes at the appropriate booth. Luke manhandled his three trays on to a prominent corner. Josie set down hers with utmost care, sliding it between a plastic-wrapped platter of brownies and a towering pile of oatmeal cookies. Her cupcakes, with their swirls of icing and generous sprinkles, definitely looked the fanciest. She was pleased.
“I know this sounds silly,” she said as her fingers skimmed the tray, “but I wish I didn’t have to leave them.”
Luke took one look at her downcast face and pulled out his wallet. He glanced at the booth’s elderly attendant. “How much for the cupcakes?”
“Fifty cents each, young man.”
“I mean for all of them. How much?”
“All of them? All four dozen?”
He nodded.
“Well, you get a discount if you buy more than one.” She put on the eyeglasses strung on a chain around her neck and squinted at the handwritten price sheet. “Says here they’re supposed to be four-fifty a dozen, so that makes….”
Josie realized what he was up to and made a grab for his open wallet. She missed.
“No, Luke.” She tried again. “I was only kidding!”
“You want to keep them,” he said, setting his jaw. He went on counting bills, holding his wallet too high for her to reach. “I’m making sure you can.”
That was sweet of him. The big lummox. But she couldn’t let Luke spend his hard-earned money on her. Especially while he was still saving up for his secret motorcycle mechanic’s garage. When a person needed cash, every penny counted. Josie knew that.
“Don’t you want to…save your money?” she asked.
A crooked grin. “I can afford twenty bucks.”
“Eighteen. And maybe you can’t afford it.”
“I’m not destitute. Don’t worry about it.” He faced the attendant. “I’ll take all four dozen, please.”
“No, you won’t!”
Josie wiggled her way between Luke and the woman in the booth, intercepting the money before it changed hands. She was a showgirl, not a fiscal genius. But if growing up in a trailer park on the wrong side of Donovan’s Corner had taught her anything, it had taught her the value of a dollar. She knew what needing money could do to a person’s future.
“Stop it. I refuse to contribute to your financial downfall.”
“‘Financial downfall’? Be serious.”
“I am. Please don’t spend your money on me.”
“Josie.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking confused. “I’m buying the damned cupcakes!”
She couldn’t believe it. He was even more stubborn than she was. Gazing into his determined, handsome face, Josie decided there was only one thing to do.
Make something up.
“Okay, fine. I didn’t want to tell you this, but….” Putting on her most reluctant expression, she bit her lip. She batted her eyelashes—a less effective move without her falsies, she had to admit. “But the truth is, I worked really hard on those cupcakes. All that baking, all those sprinkles. I want other people to see them, too.”
He looked puzzled. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to keep them.”
Helplessly, she nodded.
Luke’s expression turned savvy. “This is one of those ‘I want to see you dance naked and I don’t want to see you dance naked’ things, isn’t it? Girl logic. Right?”
Sure. Why not? Whatever preserved Luke’s cash flow. And his pride.
�
�Right. So I don’t really need you to buy all those for me, as nice at that would be. I’d only want to leave them here for people to admire anyway.”
“You’re crazy,” Luke said. “Absolutely crazy.”
But in his warm, husky voice, you’re crazy sounded a lot like that’s okay. And paired with the warm, loving look in his eyes, absolutely crazy somehow sounded very much like I care about you, no matter how nuts you might be.
Amazed, Josie smiled at him. In that moment, the whole world narrowed to just her and Luke. He smiled back, and her heart turned over. She didn’t know how she’d set out to help him and wound up being treated to all these good feelings herself. But she did know that when Luke put away his wallet, the coast was clear.
Happy in her crazy-love haze, she turned again to admire her cupcakes. “They do look nice, don’t you think so?”
Luke nodded. Funnily enough, his attention stayed fixed on her instead of her cupcakes. Josie gave a dreamy sigh.
“Those cupcakes look gaudy,” the attendant volunteered, clearly growing impatient with them. “Showy. Too many sprinkles, that’s what I say. Way too many sprinkles.”
The good mood between Josie and Luke fizzled.
“That doesn’t mean they won’t taste good,” she said.
She ought to know. She’d nearly made herself queasy sampling the leftover cupcakes that had gotten welded to the pans yesterday. Putting her money where her mouth was, Josie dug in her purse for fifty cents and slapped it on the counter. Then she chose the flashiest, most chocolaty, most sprinkle-bedazzled cupcake of the lot. She set it in front of the attendant, meeting the woman’s accusing glare with a tinfoil-bright smile.
“Here you go! My treat. Try it. You might like it.”
Skeptically, the attendant examined the cupcake. She looked as if she expected it to grow legs and do a rumba.
“Just one nibble,” Josie coaxed. “You can’t judge a cupcake by its sprinkles, you know.”
If anything, the woman’s look of sprinkle mistrust grew. But she did pick up the cupcake and sniff it. Gingerly, she took a bite. She chewed.
