The room was full of tittering ladies, adoring fans of all ages dying to meet the famous French author. Britta kept going back and forth between her office and the main room of the library to check on Armand’s arrival. Every time she approached, she was accosted with questions and requests.
“He had a busy day,” she told one of the women. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Britta walked around one of the stacks and checked her phone, still nothing.
“He was supposed to be here at six-thirty, wasn’t he?” Marian asked.
“Yes, Lindy has been trying to reach him, and I’ve called several times and can’t get through,” Britta replied. “I hope nothing happened to him.”
“Maybe he’s not very punctual,” Marian said.
“Obviously.”
She looked out the window, praying Armand would be striding toward the glass doors. But she didn’t see Armand; she saw Milo. What was he doing here? She watched him easily open the heavy door as if it were a piece of paper and step inside. His eyes roved the crowd and, like a magnet, found hers, the surprising emotional connection pulling them toward each other.
Britta took one step forward— and her cell phone rang. “It’s Lindy,” she whispered to Marian. “I’ll take this in my office.”
Britta answered the phone and shut the door to her office simultaneously. “Please tell me you’re on your way.”
She heard Lindy clear her throat. “Armand’s not coming.”
“What?” Britta held onto the edge of her desk as dots appeared in her vision. She must have heard wrong. The stress was really doing a number on her today. “I’m sorry, I thought you said he’s not coming.” Britta chuckled.
Lindy didn’t laugh. “You heard right. He’s sick. He had some sort of allergic reaction to your cat.”
“To Norman? But he didn’t say he was allergic to cats.” Britta’s voice rose a notch. “Is he canceling? Please say this isn’t happening.”
“But it is,” Lindy replied. “Armand won’t be there tonight.”
“He canceled?” Britta’s shoulders were like a trip wire connected to a bomb— the kind that blew up whole cities.
“I’m so sorry,” Lindy said. “Do you want me to come down there?”
Britta held her breath for three counts and then exhaled. “No, I’ll handle it. I’m sure we can think of something.”
Lindy sighed. “Are there any other authors in the area you could get to come in a pinch?”
“I really don’t know if that’s possible, but it might be worth a try. Thanks for the idea, and tell Armand I hope he gets better soon.”
Britta hung up the phone. She felt like the bomb had just detonated inside her chest. The rubble came crashing down on her, and she slumped to the ground, resting her head on her knees. All of those people. She could hear the murmurs of excitement. How long would they wait before they realized Armand wasn’t coming? It was up to her to break the news.
She stood strong, fighting against the stinging in her eyes that threatened tears. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her office and ran into Milo.
“Oh, what are you doing here?” She winced at the high pitch of her voice.
Milo tilted his head to one side, watching her carefully. “He’s not coming, is he?”
Britta’s bottom lip trembled. Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.
He straightened. “We can fix this. You’ll think of something. You always do.”
How could he have figured out just by looking at her that Armand had canceled? Britta raised her head. “I have to go out there and tell everyone that he’s not coming.”
“Spin it to your favor. Tell them that Armand will reschedule and he’s interested in helping the library succeed and wants everyone to gather books for the book drive, or something?” The way his voice tipped up at the end brought a ghost of a smile to Britta’s lips.
“That’s a really good idea.” Britta said. “I still can’t believe Armand had an allergic reaction to my cat.”
“That’s bad news,” Milo said.
“Lindy mentioned trying to get another author to come here and do an impromptu signing. I’m trying to think of someone.” Britta rubbed the back of her neck. “Kirke Staples comes to the board meeting. He’s a writer— actually a playwright. I wonder if he knows anyone who has a book out.”
“That would be a good idea, to bring someone else in,” Milo said. “I’ve heard of famous people staying up at the Ruby Mountain Resort— I think they have a resident photographer or something.”
Britta paused, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. She’d met the photographer once, and Benjamin was handsome, mysterious, and debonair— maybe with just enough charm to satisfy some of Armand’s adoring fans. “That’s a wonderful idea. We have Benjamin Kettling’s coffee table book in the library and I have his contact information.”
Milo nodded. “Make the call. I’ll keep a lookout.”
Britta laughed and hurried back inside her office. Five minutes later, she emerged and almost hugged Milo. “He’s coming! He wasn’t super excited about it— not sure it was worth his time— but at least he’s coming. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“That’s good, but you’ll need to break the news before he gets here.” Milo thumbed behind him to the group of ladies, and she saw Bitty Betty Harmon, the town gossip, peering around the corner.
“You’re right.” She rolled her shoulders back, ready to face the crowd.
Before she entered the main room, Milo grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The movement sent a jolt of sparking electricity through Britta’s veins. She turned to him and studied his smile, full of understanding and sympathy for what she was about to do.
In that moment, it hit her that Milo was there, right by her side. He had come even though he thought she might have been dating Armand. Her backbone zinged with a current of excitement. Why did he have to be so good-looking, and why did she have the sudden urge to be cradled in his arms?
Britta decided it was time to set the record straight. She looked down at his long, slender fingers, clasping her hand and felt a zing of current again. She licked her lips and pulled her foot along the carpet. “Milo, I just wanted you to know that I’m not interested in Armand— well, I am because he’s a fantastic writer, but nothing beyond that.”
“It’s okay. I understood what I was up against when I saw him at your house.” He shrugged. “I guess I was just hopeful …”
“Armand is my relative, some kind of second cousin once removed or … I don’t know. But anyway, we’re related.”
Milo turned to look at her. “Wait, you’re not making this up?”
Britta laughed. “No, silly. How else do you think we could get a big name like him to come to Echo Ridge? I had to pull the family strings.”
Britta turned back toward the group. Now was not the time to go all mushy and spineless. She stepped forward, letting her hand slip from Milo’s grasp.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” Britta began. There were only about five gentlemen, but she noted their anxious faces as well. “I know you’re all eager to see Armand tonight, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.” The room grew immediately still; all eyes were on her. “Armand has had a terrible allergy attack and won’t be able to do the reading and book signing tonight.”
Groans erupted all over the room. One middle-aged woman actually pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“He sends his sincerest apologies and has promised to make it up to us,” Britta lied. “He has asked that you each gather twenty books for our book drive and be ready to bring them to the Hurrah before his rescheduled appearance.”
“When will that be?” a young woman asked.
“We’ll post the details at the library as soon as we can,” Britta replied. “We do have the photographer in residence at Ruby Mountain Resort on his way right now to sign his exclusive new coffee table book. In the meantime, Armand suggested that we use th
is time to discuss how we can work together to benefit the library. He told me that the people here definitely have good taste and great ideas, and we shouldn’t let that go to waste.” Britta winked, and some of the ladies giggled. She could feel Milo listening in on her web of lies and wondered if he would ever trust her again. “Each of you has unique talents that you might be able to offer for this fundraiser in conjunction with the Harvest Hurrah. Why don’t we take a few minutes to go over some of the events, and I’ll tell you what the library needs.”
Some people left while they went over the schedule, but by the time Benjamin arrived with a box of books, most of the signup sheets were filled with volunteer names. Milo had helped create and then pass out the forms, and encouraged people to take part in the festivities. He helped Benjamin stack up his books and acted overly interested in the photography as he flipped through the pages. Benjamin’s work was good, and Britta was so thankful for his filling in that she purchased ten books for “Christmas gifts”. Some of the guests were obviously underwhelmed at the change of venue, but a few purchased books and had them signed.
Through it all, Britta felt Milo’s quiet strength and support. He understood what she was going through and stayed until the last patron left, helping Benjamin pack up. When it was over, Britta stood and surveyed the room. The cookies Fay had baked were gone, a bit of pink lemonade trickled down the tablecloth onto the floor, and the chairs were haphazardly set around the room. But the feeling of impending doom had passed.
“Looks like you survived,” Milo said, voicing the exact thought Britta was having. “And made lemonade out of lemons.” He pointed to the mess of napkins and spilled drinks.
Britta laughed. “I’ll never be able to face Pastor Louis again after all the lies I told tonight.”
Milo lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I wouldn’t call them lies … maybe stretching the truth a little. But as long as everything actually happens, it won’t be a lie, right?”
Britta pursed her lips together and nodded. “That’s one thing that could be true.”
“I have an idea that might help with Pastor Louis,” Milo said.
“What’s that?”
“Come with me to church tomorrow.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Britta couldn’t help but laugh.
Britta hesitated, letting his request sink in. She wanted to go with him. His face was open and honest, and he’d stayed all evening to help her. She licked her lips. His offer was tempting, but she wasn’t ready to let go of her resolve just yet. “I’m not sure I’m up to it. Most of the ladies who were here tonight will be there.”
“All the more reason to come with me,” he said.
“No, I just don’t think that would be a good idea,” Britta said, almost cringing at the stiffness in her voice. She liked Milo, and that’s why she needed to run far away from him. She reminded herself of that, even as her heart rate sped up.
Milo wasn’t deterred, though. “Then come to the potluck with me next week,” Milo said. “Pastor Louis will be giving a wonderful sermon on the harvest.” He lifted his hand before she could speak. “Just think about it.”
Britta did think about it. The next day her mind kept wandering to Milo’s invitation, and every time she thought of him her stomach did a little flip. She relived the moment where he took her hand and squeezed it, his blue eyes imbuing her with the strength to stand up to the crowded room and make a bad situation into something good.
BRITTA SLEPT LATE SUNDAY morning, purposely skipping church so she wouldn’t have to face Milo or anyone else. She texted Lindy a few times to try to figure out when to reschedule with Armand, but only received vague answers as Lindy didn’t know either. Then she tried calling Armand again, texting, waiting, and repeating both a few hours later. Instead of wallowing in despair, Britta made plans, hoping Armand would come through for Echo Ridge.
On Monday, Britta stopped by the bookstore to see if they had a copy of The Book Thief. Marian was relentless about her list. She carried her clipboard with her everywhere, and at last count she’d assigned nearly one hundred titles to various patrons of the Echo Ridge Library. The bookstore didn’t have a copy, but they said they could order one in. Britta decided to check online to see if she could find a used copy first.
She walked past Kenworth’s and stopped to admire the window display. It was a cheery festival of autumn colors, tying in all the goodness of books for the Harvest Hurrah. There were Dutch oven cookbooks in one corner, Armand’s books in another, and the theme was punctuated by bright orange pumpkins, crisp brown and red leaves, and a scarecrow in the middle. He held a sign that announced a twenty-percent-off sale with a reminder about the upcoming events for the library fundraiser.
Britta’s shoulders tightened when she thought of the celebration and fundraiser. The last-minute cancellation of their first event had put a damper on things, and she wasn’t sure how to recapture that energy and redirect it back into the library’s events. Thankfully, Milo had salvaged that evening. Britta smiled when she thought of how he’d gathered dozens of names for volunteer work on the Harvest Hurrah. Then she frowned. She didn’t want to be smiling about Milo. Somehow he kept working his way past her defenses.
If she was honest with herself, she was attracted to him, but she wasn’t in the mood to be honest. All Britta had to do was recall the phone conversation where her mother embarrassed her by playing matchmaker with Milo and thoughts of attraction fled like water in the Mojave Desert. Maybe Milo was just a really nice guy— the kind who helped people just because. Britta sighed. If only she could let her heart leap in her chest when she thought of the way Milo showed up to help her at the library … but it was dangerous to trust her heart. Safer to keep her feelings schooled, organized, and efficient.
Nodding, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. She was scowling again. She smoothed the line in between her eyebrows that popped up whenever she was thinking too hard about something, and refocused on the harvest display in front of her.
While staring at the display, Britta remembered that she was supposed to take her niece, Lila, to the lacrosse game on Saturday night. Lila loved the lemon crème chocolates from The Candy Counter, and they made Britta’s mouth water. She decided that maybe she could splurge and get Lila a happy Monday treat. Britta hurried in and bought a small bag of candy from Reese.
“You know what I heard the other day on the radio?” Reese asked as she rang up the purchase. “A German man named Hans Riegel invented gummi bears. Isn’t that the coolest thing? I thought of you when I heard that.”
Britta shrugged. “I guess so, but I can’t take any credit for it.”
“But they’re gummi bears, Britta.” Reese pointed to the cellophane packets of gummi bears on the counter. “You should be proud. All the good chocolates, even marzipan, comes from Germany. I think it’s fantastic that you have such a rich heritage.”
“I suppose we all have a rich heritage if we know where to look,” Britta replied.
“That’s true,” Reese replied. “But my stories seem sort of boring, and I definitely don’t have a darling accent like you.”
Britta covered her mouth, then immediately pulled her hand to her side. “Thanks, Reese.”
Reese waved goodbye, her cheerful demeanor untouched by Britta’s sour attitude. She had wanted to say, What accent? But she bit her tongue and forced a smile. She knew there were still a few words where remnants of her accent betrayed her, but she thought it was only noticeable if someone knew what to listen for. Maybe Reese was only hearing an accent because she was enamored of the idea of Britta’s German heritage.
Britta walked briskly through the store and almost ran into Anika. The single mom, who worked in women’s clothing, had become friends with Britta after she hired Britta’s niece, Lila, to babysit. Lila loved taking care of Megan, and Britta was pleased to see the change that had come over Anika in the past year.
“Whoa, where are you going in such a hurry?” Anika sidestepped Br
itta’s trajectory. She smoothed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
“Sorry. I’ve got so much on my mind with the library fundraiser.” Britta sighed. “I think I’m going crazy.”
Anika patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I don’t have much extra time lately.”
Britta raised her eyebrows. “With Carlos taking up every spare minute?” She noticed that Anika was wearing red lipstick and mascara with eyeliner. She looked pretty, and happy.
“Megan and I are in love with him. What can I say?” Anika beamed. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
“Milo asked me out again. This time to go to the Harvest Potluck to listen to Pastor Louis,” Britta said. “I told him I’d check my schedule.”
Anika groaned. “Britta, you should be at the church anyway. You don’t want to miss the potluck.”
“Actually, I do,” Britta responded. Her friendship with Anika had helped her see that there were good reasons to give people a second chance, but Britta wasn’t ready to hand out her heart yet.
“Why don’t you just go out with him?” Anika asked.
“Because it’s the principle of the thing,” Britta said. “If only I’d met him before my mother. I don’t want a pity date or someone to feel pressured to take me out because I’m German.”
“That’s a choice of the heart,” Anika said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with principle. It’s obvious Milo likes you, and you’re definitely interested in him. I’m pretty sure your mother doesn’t have anything to do with his interest in you.”
“Well, we’ll never know, will we?” Britta couldn’t keep the edge out of her tone.
Anika sighed and shook her head. “Just give him a chance, won’t you?”
Britta decided to change the subject. “How are things going with Lila and Megan?”
“Great.” Anika brightened. “I’m so glad that they get along so well. And I’ve given her a few extra hours so that Carlos and I can go out on a few dates.”
Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2) Page 4
