“He helped you, didn’t he?” Rory asked as he slowed for a stoplight.
“More than I can ever say.”
“Any chance he’ll make it back from Europe in time for Christmas?”
She shrugged. “He’s going to try. But I’m not sure I’m ready.”
Rory turned right and then left, the view of the lake now obstructed by trees and occasional homes and businesses. “Ready? For what?”
“I want to be in a better place when he comes. I want to have taken some of the steps I promised I would take.”
“And what, exactly, did you tell him you’d do?” Rory slowed as the truck moved from asphalt onto cobblestone, the bumpy feel beneath the tires taking her by surprise.
“That I’d find the strength he seems to think I have.” She glanced at the historic brick buildings and whimsical storefronts that lined both sides of the unfamiliar street. “What is this?”
He pulled into a parking spot in front of a gourmet pet store, a mischievous smile lighting his face. “This is Lake Shire Square. When you were a kid, this was just a run-down section of the downtown area that everyone avoided. Until about five years ago that is, when your uncle spearheaded a committee to oversee some much-needed changes. And—” he gestured toward the windshield “—voilà!”
“I don’t know what to say. I had no idea Uncle Doug was involved in something like this.”
Grabbing hold of the door handle on his side of the truck, Rory winked in her direction. “So? Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“I want to show you something.”
“And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that something is?”
“You suppose right.” With a laugh, he hopped out of the truck.
Giving up, she zipped her jacket to the top and stepped out, finding Rory’s hand on her arm before she’d even reached the walkway. “Did you work for the government at some point? FBI? CIA?”
“Nope.” He dropped back a step and guided her around a patch of ice, still grasping her arm. “Some surprises can be good, you know.”
“Maybe for someone else they can be,” she said, regretting the words as soon as she’d said them. Today was about having fun. And fun she was determined to have. She owed Rory that much.
Shaking her head free of the thoughts that threatened to zap her energy and send her running for home, she forced herself to focus on the various shops they passed on their way to their mystery destination. There was a bakery, a café, a salon, an antiques shop, an upscale clothing store, a gently used children’s resale shop and—
“Oooh, Rory, look.” She stopped under the shingled sign for Lake Shire Gifts & Things and pointed toward the window display. It didn’t take long to see that the shop had a very upscale, almost untouchable feel to its inventory, a fact that surprised her. In a town like Lake Shire, where so many people opted to live because of the rustic surroundings, items like china statues and glass sculptures didn’t really fit. Vacationers to the area weren’t likely to go home with those kinds of items, either.
Rory tugged the door open and gestured her inside the shop, an unreadable expression an his face.
“We don’t have to go in now. Not if it’s going to make us late for wherever it is we’re going.”
“We’re here.”
She stopped halfway through the door. “We’re here?”
Before he could answer, a woman in her mid-fifties approached them. “Mr. O’Brien, I assume?”
Maggie glanced back at Rory, watched him extend his hand toward the woman. “Yes. And you must be Ms. Johansen?”
“Please. Call me Iris.” The woman’s blue-gray eyes turned in her direction. “And you must be Maggie, yes?”
She nodded automatically, Iris’s warm hand on hers doing little to ease the confusion she knew was furrowing her brow.
“Feel free to look around. As you can see, the showroom space is ample for a shop like this.” Iris motioned toward a door at the far side of the room. “There’s also a small office in back, as well as a room that I use for unpacking items when they come in. Right now it’s furnished with a series of shelving units—all of which I could leave behind if that would be helpful.”
“Thank you, Iris,” Rory said. “Maggie, shall we?”
“Shall we what?” she whispered as the shop owner headed back to her post behind the register. “Rory, what’s going on? Why are we here?”
“To see what you think.”
Maggie looked around at the various shelves and the breakable items they held. “It’s nice but—” looking toward the counter, she lowered her voice still further “—it doesn’t really invite leisurely browsing. Not the kind that lulls people into buying, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, there’s the merchandise. It’s more suitable to city people.”
He leaned against a nearby wall. “How so?”
“Take these statues. Do they really seem like the kind of things people are going to use to decorate their second homes? Or the kind of souvenirs people would want to buy to remember their vacation to Lake Shire?” Lifting a china figure, she continued. “A wooden rowboat or a plaque about fishing would sell better. At least in a town like this.
“And…and where are the postcards for the vacationers? And the cutesy refrigerator magnets that people can bring home when their trip is over?” she asked, as much to herself as Rory.
“And what about the hand-decorated picture frames for displaying their favorite vacation pictures?” he offered. “Or the one-of-a-kind Christmas ornaments for decorating their trees?”
“Exactly.” She set the figurine down, Rory’s words registering in her mind. “Whoa. Wait a minute. What’s going on here? What, exactly, are you up to, mister?”
He folded his arms across his muscled chest, visible through the opening of his leather jacket. “Iris is moving.”
Maggie stared at him, waiting for further clarification.
When none came, she stepped closer. “What does her moving have to do with me?”
“She’s looking to lease this place.”
“She’s looking to lease this…” The words trailed from Maggie’s mouth as reality dawned. “Wait. You think I should rent it?”
“It’s a dream, isn’t it?”
She swallowed over the lump that sprang up in her throat.
Was it? Was it really her dream to run a gift shop of her own?
It has been for years….
“I…”
Dropping his hands to his sides, Rory stepped close, his gaze pinning hers with a fire she couldn’t ignore. “Think about it, Maggie. This is the perfect place. The perfect setting to sell the kinds of things you make—things you just said would be a better fit for a place like Lake Shire.”
“But that was before.” She glanced around the room once again. “Before I knew why you were showing it to me. When I thought it was just a…just a—” She stopped, unsure of how best to finish her thought.
“When you thought it was just a regular store with no connection to you and your dreams.”
“It is.”
He took hold of her upper arms gently, his eyes pleading with hers. “But it doesn’t have to be, Maggie. Don’t you see that? You have talent. I could see that right away. And it’s not just me, Maggie. Delilah and Virginia saw it with your frame. You’re good. Really good. So why not give it a whirl? See how it goes?”
Was Rory right? Could she really make something like this work?
“I don’t know, Rory. I just don’t know.”
He dropped his hand to the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Let’s just look at the rest of the place. After all, it doesn’t hurt to imagine, does it?”
He was right. It didn’t.
Slowly but surely, they made their way through the rest of the store. “This must be the office Iris mentioned,” he said, pointing toward an open doorway.
“Hmm.” Maggie peeked into
the tiny room, which was just large enough to house a desk, but had a small window overlooking the trendy café next door. “It is an appealing location.”
“And this is where she unpacks her items….”
Maggie followed him back out of the office, only to stop in her tracks. “Oh, Rory, this is perfect!”
“What? You like the shelves?”
Shaking her head, she rushed to explain. “No. The space.” She walked into the center of the room and spun around. “If you got rid of the shelves, there’d be room for a worktable. A big one. Perfect for painting and gluing and whatever else I’m working on at the time.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re right. It would make a perfect workroom.”
A workroom. For making her frames…and her ornaments…and her wall decorations…and—
“Oh, Rory, I just don’t know. I mean, it’s something I used to think about. But to actually do it?”
“I think you’d be a hit around here.”
She glanced up at him to find the heartfelt belief he had in her etched across every inch of his face. It was almost more than she could take at that moment. “There’s so much to think about. I wasn’t planning on staying in Lake Shire. This was just supposed to be a place to—” She stopped, unable to produce the words.
“To get back on your feet?” he offered, his husky tone making her look at him closely. Rory O’Brien, with his heart-stopping smile and kindhearted ways, believed in her. Truly believed in her. Why, she didn’t know, but he did.
She nodded.
“Reaching for one of your dreams sounds like a mighty good way to do that, don’t you think?”
Chapter Fourteen
It was almost too much to take in at one time. She’d come to Lake Shire for a change—a place to start doing all the basics she’d neglected, like eating and sleeping. And now, less than a week later, she was actually contemplating plans for a future.
Her future.
Maggie stopped just outside her door and turned, her breath catching at the sight of the man not more than two steps behind. As well as being handsome and charming and fun to spend time with, Rory was the kind of man that made her believe.
In second chances…
In dreams…
And in herself.
“You’ve got a lot to think about. And I suppose I better do something to earn that paycheck your uncle keeps sending me every two weeks.” He clasped his hands in front of his mouth and blew, the angry pink of his skin a reminder he’d left his gloves in the truck. “But if you want to talk or to bounce ideas around, you know where to find me. I like that kind of stuff. It’s fun, you know?
Reaching out, she took hold of his hands, rubbed them gently. “So your hint—about Jeannie? You meant the kind that grants wishes, didn’t you?”
A sly smile crept across his face. “You found me out.”
She tilted her head to the side and studied the way the hallway light seemed to pick out both dark and pale hues in his ocean-blue eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do my wishes mean so much to you?”
For a moment she didn’t think he was going to respond. But finally he did, the words coming hesitantly as he looked into her eyes. “Because you do.”
She closed her eyes momentarily as his hands touched her face, the feel of his skin against hers setting off a slew of emotions she wasn’t ready to analyze. Not yet, anyway.
“Maggie, I can’t stop thinking about you—”
Rising up on tiptoe, she stopped him with a kiss. “Go on. Get back to work.”
A soft groan rumbled from his lips, tickling hers in the process. “I think this is the first time in months the notion of work has been utterly distasteful.”
She stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
He raised her hand to his mouth. “Don’t be.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the center hallway of Lake Shire Inn, his happy whistle trailing behind.
Blowing a wisp of hair from her forehead, Maggie inserted the key into the lock and turned it, a faint aroma of paint beckoning her inside and reminding her of the decision she had to make.
There was so much to take in. So much to consider.
Could she really do it? Could she really run her own gift shop—making virtually all of the items herself?
She glanced toward the heart-shaped ornament she’d made the night before. It was good. She knew that. Any hesitation she might have had about that had been wiped away by Rory’s positive words.
With careful fingers, she lifted the ornament off the table and carried it toward the tree. If she hung it on a branch to the left, the light shining in from the window would make the silver inscription leap out.
Perhaps a small shelf light would create the same effect in the shop?
The thought caught her up short. Unsure of what to think or do, she shifted, trying to get a better look at her uncle’s gift. As it did with the hand-painted heart, the light streaming in from the window made the wishing ball sparkle.
“Wishes,” she whispered. “Wishes…”
She’d wished for a knitting lesson and Rory had made it happen.
She’d wished to find new ways to remember her family and Rory had made it happen.
She’d wished for her own gift shop and Rory had put her on track to make it happen.
If Maggie did this, it would change everything. She would have a reason to get up each morning…an excuse to craft the hours away…a reason to stay in Lake Shire, closer to her uncle…
And Rory.
IT FELT GOOD TO STRETCH out his legs, to walk a distance greater than the two or three feet he’d crossed from ladder to wall and back again all afternoon. Sure, he’d made good progress on the corner room, but still…
He stopped outside Maggie’s door, thoughts of a late-night skating excursion tugging his mouth into a smile. It would be good for both of them. He needed the exercise; she needed the fresh air and an opportunity to laugh. And then maybe, over a hot chocolate, they could talk more about her shop.
Buying that store was the ticket. Of that he was sure.
Since they’d met, the only thing that had put a lasting smile on her face and hope in her eyes was her crafts. If Maggie could surround herself with that every day, maybe she’d begin to heal.
Really heal.
His mind made up, he knocked, the sound of his fist echoing through the empty hallway.
Nothing.
He stepped back. A shaft of light from beneath the door created a shadow of his boots on the wood-planked floor. Perhaps she was busy working on a frame or another ornament? He held his ear to the door and listened.
Again, there was nothing. Maybe she’d gone to dinner?
Disappointment weighed down his tired shoulders and propelled him toward the picture window at the end of the hallway. He knew he should be glad she’d left her room. It was, after all, progress. But the thought of spending the evening with her—skating, hanging out, dreaming—had been more than a little appealing.
He looked down into the parking lot and noted the two lone cars.
His hunter-green pickup truck. And her little white Taurus.
Confused, he retraced his steps to her door and knocked again, this time straining to make out any semblance of life on the other side. And that’s when he heard it.
Maggie was crying.
Not the gut-wrenching sobs that had torn at his heart just the other day. No, these were much more muted. As if she’d been crying for hours.
He knocked again. “Maggie, it’s Rory. Are you okay?”
There was no answer.
“I’m not going to let myself in this time. But if you need something…if you need anything…I’m here.”
He leaned his forehead against the door as the muted cries continued, his words, his offer, having no discernible impact whatsoever.
Chapter Fifteen
He was later than he’d intended, but tracking down a spr
ig of mistletoe wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined. Lake Shire’s lone Christmas shop had only plastic versions—an unacceptable choice when trying to fulfill a childhood dream.
Fortunately for Rory, the shop owner had recommended a florist on the edge of town. The location, however, had entailed a long drive.
It wasn’t that he had to punch a clock at the inn, because he didn’t. Doug didn’t care if Rory worked during the day or the night, as long as he got the work done. But he’d hoped to catch Maggie early enough to talk her into having breakfast with him. Showing up at her door at nearly eleven o’clock made breakfast a little tough.
He tucked the mistletoe under his left arm while he held tight to the bag of penny candy he’d purchased at Russ’s shop downtown. Not knowing exactly what kind of candy she liked, Rory had taken a little from every barrel in the store. This way, he was sure to cover both wishes at one time—even if her childhood wish for an unlimited supply of candy had been pushed out of first place by the sight of her parents kissing under the mistletoe.
Who said she had to choose one over the other?
A wish was a wish, after all, wasn’t it?
“Maggie? You home?” He knew it was a stupid question. Her car was in the parking lot, just as it had been the night before. Same spot. Same turn to the wheel. He leaned forward, pressed his ear to the door and listened.
Nothing.
“Maggie…I have something for you. Two things, actually.” But even as the words left his mouth he knew she wasn’t going to answer. He could feel it.
Why, though, was what he didn’t get. She’d been fine yesterday—happy, even. Her eyes had absolutely lit up at the notion of running her own gift shop. He’d have had to be blind not to see it.
So why wasn’t she answering the door?
You know why. Depression does that. It did it to Reardon, too.
Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) Page 11
