Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  Marian caught her eye and made a beeline for Jennifer. “I have to go; Marian spotted me.”

  “Run!” Kirke warned jokingly.

  She said a quick goodbye and stuffed the phone into her chevron purse. The opportunity to meet an honest-to-goodness author whose books lined the library shelves was an event worth dress-up accessories.

  “Is that my book?” asked Marian, pointing to The Three Musketeers tucked into the crook of Jennifer’s elbow.

  No hello or how are you or it’s good to see you. Jennifer smiled politely. “No, it was a birthday gift.”

  Marian arched an eyebrow. In an uncharacteristic show of attention to something other than books, she asked, “From a boyfriend?”

  There were moments when Jennifer glimpsed a real person under Marian’s billy-goats-gruff exterior. Like prom night, when Jennifer had sequestered herself in the reading loft where she could let her tears fall and no one would notice. Marian had arrived with a box of tissues, a giant candy bar, and a stack of romances. She set them in Jennifer’s lap and left without a word, her face aflame with embarrassment for what would be considered an outpouring of affection from the reserved woman.

  From someone else, Jennifer would have felt the question intrusive. From Marian, she felt it was a gift and answered it honestly, albeit with a touch of disappointment. “He’s just a friend.”

  “A friend worth keeping.” Marian nodded as she pushed her heavy rimmed spectacles up her nose.

  I’m working on it. Jennifer smiled warmly. “Yes, he is.”

  “He?” Andrea, her adorable roommate with bubblegum-pink hair, plopped into the seat next to her, and Marian skittered away. Andrea was one of those who had come to hear the gorgeous Frenchman’s deep voice weave a spell over the room and otherwise provide fodder for daydreams of the Eiffel Tower, pastries, and whispered sweet nothings.

  “Kirke,” answered Jennifer.

  “Oh. So when is Mr. Handsome supposed to show up?” Andrea craned her neck to see around the older woman in front of them. She had white hair that had been teased to within an inch of its life. It was like trying to see around a beach umbrella.

  “Kirke isn’t coming,” replied Jennifer as she brushed her hand over the rough-cut pages of The Three Musketeers.

  Andrea cackled. “I was talking about the author.” She shoved Jennifer’s shoulder. “But since you’re blushing so bad, I’m going to ask about Kirke.”

  “Shhhh!” Jennifer put her hand over Andrea’s mouth. She checked the women around them, but no one seemed to be listening in. “People here know him.”

  Andrea rolled her eyes as Jennifer removed her hand. Leaning in, she said, “I take it things went well yesterday?”

  “Umm.” Jennifer stalled. “We had a moment.”

  She grabbed Jennifer’s free hand, crushing her fingers with excitement. “Like a kissing moment?”

  “More like a supercharged, hardly able to breathe, almost kissing moment.”

  Andrea nodded her head in slow motion. “It’s a start. Why don’t you— ”

  Whatever advice Andrea was about to dish out was cut off by Britta Klein as she called the group to attention. The blond head librarian had a determined look. “I know you’re all eager to see Armand, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Armand has had a terrible allergy attack and won’t be able to be here.”

  The woman next to Jennifer pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “My daughter is a huge fan. She lives in New Mexico, and I was going to send her an autographed copy of his latest release for her birthday.”

  Britta placated the distraught crowd with a promise to reschedule when Armand felt better. “And there is a bit of good news too. The resident photographer at Ruby Mountain Resort has agreed to come and sign some of his beautiful coffee table books. Benjamin Kettling has some gorgeous pictures, so I hope you’ll stay and take a look.” She then called for volunteers for the Harvest Hurrah. The fundraiser would provide a new area for children and young adults in the basement of the library as well as some much-needed white noise equipment for the main level. While vaulted ceilings were advantageous to a church choir, their ability to redistribute sound was not conducive to the library environment.

  Jennifer dithered over which section of the Harvest Hurrah to put her time into this year while Andrea made the rounds to catch up with her mom’s friends.

  Four years ago she worked in the children’s section monitoring those bobbing for apples. Not her favorite, as she’d had to fish two retainers out of the bins and replace the water. Yuck.

  Three years ago she helped Fay with food. Not bad, but she’d woken up the next morning with aches in places she didn’t know she had and a new respect for the business owner.

  Two years ago she’d judged the chili cook-off, and her taste buds still hadn’t grown back.

  Last year, she’d been on the decorating committee and had a great time. It had also freed her up to show Kirke around. They’d walked through the craft booths, and he’d bought an old typewriter to put on his bookshelf. He’d lugged it around for hours earning strange looks and the occasional joke about needing to upgrade his laptop.

  Maybe she’d sign up for the children’s events on Thursday so she could have Friday night free to dance. Dancing with Kirke could be a good thing— a very good thing.

  A papery hand on her forearm pulled her out of her dawdling. “What’s your name, deary?” asked the older woman with the umbrella hair who had sat in front of Jennifer and Andrea.

  “I’m Jennifer Solomon,” she replied. The woman’s brown slacks and pastel-blue sweater were accompanied by a simple strand of pearls and a delicate gold watch. She held herself with poise that defied the slight osteoporotic stoop in her shoulders.

  “I always see you at library functions, and I think it’s wonderful how you help out.”

  Slightly out of their space and yet close enough not to ignore, Bitty Betty snorted. “Not like she has anywhere else to be.” Betty was over the decorations this year, and Jennifer mentally crossed that committee off her list.

  Lifting her chin, Jennifer replied, “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The library is a treasure for the community, and I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  Betty shrugged. “I’m needed,” she said, before squaring her shoulders and bustling across the room. Jennifer wasn’t put off by her abrupt departure. That was just Betty. She’d always been that way and probably always would be.

  The older woman patted Jennifer’s arm. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” said Jennifer. Even as the woman left, she realized she hadn’t gotten her name. Not much of an introduction, but she seemed sincere.

  Andrea appeared. “I heard that. You don’t have to be nice to Betty.” She crossed her arms.

  Jennifer adjusted her purse strap. “According to Pastor Louis, I do.”

  “I doubt even Pastor Louis would condemn you if you got a good jab in now and again. I know I’d like to.” Andrea mimed a couple boxing moves.

  “It’s not worth the effort.”

  Andrea dropped her arms. “No, but you are. It’s just like with the library board. If you would have asserted yourself a little more, they might have appointed you instead of Kirke.”

  Jennifer had coveted the last open spot in the board, only to have it offered to Kirke. And of course, it should go to him. He was college educated and a playwright, for heaven’s sake. He made his living using words, and she made her living selling trinkets at bargain prices. If she’d had to choose between them, Kirke would have won, hands down.

  “No, they want someone with a college degree, and I’m not that person. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I think they’d be lucky to have you now.” Andrea’s eyes lifted to the clock. “Oh, jeez, is that the time? I’d better get back to the salon.” She donned her jacket and knit hat. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye.” Jennifer made her way to the front of the room, wher
e she signed up to help with the children’s day to make sure she was free for the dance. She had pushed herself into flirting over the phone and had gotten a favorable response. Of course, if Kirke didn’t want to go to the dance, she’d end up back here in the library loft. Perhaps she should make sure she had a good romance on hand, just in case.

  KIRKE SHOVED HIS LAPTOP AWAY in disgust. His work in progress was more like an exercise in frustration than playwriting. The romantic comedy with a Cinderella twist was as elusive as a wisp in the autumn wind. Each time he felt like he was getting close to something magical, it flitted away, only to tease him in the distance. His characters were wooden, mere puppets instead of people, and try as he might to spark something between the fair maiden and the hero, he just couldn’t get them to cooperate. His most recent attempt, strained and lacking, mocked him from the laptop screen.

  Pulling the computer towards him once again, he clicked out of his manuscript and into Amazon, where he looked for a copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for Marian’s collection. She’d warned him away from Amazon, but he had to check. Who knew when or where people were supposed to find old books if they didn’t start there.

  Over a hundred pages of options loaded, and he spent the next fifteen minutes combing through them. Most were paperbacks with colorful Hollywood images on the front and not at all what Marian so clearly specified. Deciding it would be more fun to search with Jennifer, he clicked out of the page as his phone beeped.

  Tapping on the text icon, he was pleased to see a message from Bay.

  I’m coming to town in two days, will you be around?

  His grip on the phone fumbled and it hit the floor. She’s coming! What could he say that wouldn’t sound too forward and yet express interest? Scrambling for the phone, he forced himself not to type until he had a plan. Bay often had to go just when their conversation turned from flirty and fun to more serious matters. He figured she had some trust issues— he’d seen the show. After several minutes, he finally typed, Working hard. Should be here. Confirmation without a commitment. Perfect.

  All work and no play make a boring life.

  He grinned. Not sure I remember how to play.

  I’ll remind you.

  I’ll look forward to it.

  You’d better.

  Kirke set his phone aside. He liked Bay to have the last text as if she were waiting for him to respond. In real life, she was the one with the busy filming schedule, the publicity appearances, the meetings with Hollywood executives, and the like. And he was the one who built a nest around his computer and took vows of electronic silence in order to work. Bay didn’t need to know that he spent the majority of his days in his pajamas in the sunroom off his small cottage wrapped up in his latest imaginary world and talking to people who existed only in his head. Well, until an actor brought them to life on stage. Then the whole world entered his imagination, and it was thrilling to invite them in.

  He and Jennifer had planned to search Second Chances this weekend, but with Bay coming, he’d need to move things up.

  A tumble of excited nerves hit his system at the thought of seeing Jennifer again. Hopefully she wouldn’t hold his embarrassingly long embrace in the front seat of his car against him. It wasn’t that he’d planned to almost kiss her. She’d taken him by surprise.

  He checked the clock. She should be done with the book signing by now; unless things had gone exceptionally well between her and Armand. Of course the novelist would notice a woman like Jennifer. She had qualities that set her apart from other women. Qualities that made it easy to find her in the library or a crowded high school gym— or just about anywhere.

  He tapped her number on speed dial, and she answered with a smile in her voice. “Hello?”

  For a moment, Kirke wondered if Armand had put that smile there, and he wanted to march down to the library and tell the Frenchman to fly away. He had nothing personal against the guy, yet. “Hi, having a good time?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you meet your writer?” he ground out. Rubbing his forehead, he reminded himself that Jennifer was free to date whomever she pleased. He just hadn’t pictured her with an author or a banker or a construction worker or anyone— other than him. He began massaging his temples. Envying Armand was ridiculous. Especially considering that Bay was coming to town to see him.

  “He bailed— something about an allergy. But I’m brainstorming ideas for the children’s carnival with Brooklyn. Did you need something?”

  Was she brushing him off? “Yeah. I wondered if we could reschedule our trip to Eddie’s shop for tonight.”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Bay Barington is coming into town this weekend.”

  “Are you planning on stalking her again?” Jennifer asked in mock horror.

  “No! She texted me.”

  Jennifer made a choking noise as if he’d said something shocking.

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “I thought you worked with Broadway, not Hollywood.”

  “I do. I think it’s a social thing.” At least, he hoped it was. He couldn’t imagine Bay on stage. She was great in reality shows, but he wasn’t sure her talent would transfer over to live performances.

  “Oh.”

  The conversation fell flat. Kirke wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut. “So, I’ll pick you up at six?”

  “Sure.” Jennifer’s voice had lost the smile, and Kirke suddenly felt like he was in a lone canoe in the middle of Chickadee Lake. He should be ecstatic about this weekend, but instead he was worried about what Jennifer thought of him spending time with Bay.

  “Bye.” She hung up.

  Kirke set the phone down and stared at it for several minutes. Women were puzzles that made his head ache. Bay was vague and mysterious for months, and then out of the blue she shows up on his doorstep. Jennifer was around almost every day, and out of the blue she becomes vague and mysterious. How was he ever supposed to write a female character that made sense to the audience when he couldn’t make sense out of the women in his life?

  “IS IT TOO MUCH?” Jennifer stared at herself in the mirror while Andrea worked the flat iron.

  After talking with Kirke, she’d promised the sun, the moon, and a half day of doing inventory to her boss in order to take the evening off. How could she say no to Kirke with Bay Barington coming into town this weekend?

  Jennifer had been at the Kenworths’ auction last Christmas when Bay appeared out of nowhere. Someone had to pick Kirke’s jaw up off the floor when the paparazzi flooded the air with flashes and camera clicks.

  Well, Bay wasn’t the only one with mad female skills. Andrea was a registered aesthetician and loved to use her talents on Jennifer. Which was a blessing times three, because Jennifer’s mom, though quite the stunner herself, had been too preoccupied trying to steal her husband back from the other woman to pass on her beauty tips. What Jennifer had learned of mousse and lipstick came from books and YouTube videos until Andrea moved in.

  “It’s too much. I should have gone with the wild rose lipstick, not this hot pink.” She snagged a tissue and began wiping.

  “It’s perfect. You look amazing,” said Andrea as she ripped the tissue out of Jennifer’s hands. “Bay what’s-her-name doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

  “Are you sure about straight hair?” Jennifer stared at her face. Normally she enjoyed bounce in her locks, but Andrea had talked her into going with an ultra-sleek look. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, and her eyes looked bigger. Or maybe that was the swoop Andrea had done with the eyeliner.

  Andrea’s violet eyes sparkled. “It makes it soooo much easier for a man to run his fingers through your hair.”

  Jennifer giggled nervously, the thought of Kirke’s hands in her hair making her scalp tingle. “You know this from experience?”

  “A stylist never kisses and tells.” Andrea clicked the top on the mascara.

  Jennifer smacked her
arm. “Ack! Now you have to spill.”

  Shaking her head, Andrea said, “Later. This is about you. Now pucker up.” She reapplied the bright lipstick, had Jennifer blot, and then added a glossy shine. “Whatever you do, do not ask him about the kiss.”

  “Why not?” Jennifer asked incredulously. “What if he’s just waiting for me to bring it up and then he will proclaim his undying love and we’ll get to move past the whole almost part and get right to the kissing— not that I would tell you about it.” Jennifer smirked.

  Andrea smiled, but shook her head. “If you bring it up first, then you look desperate.”

  “Or like a grown-up who can have a conversation.”

  “Or you’ll be embarrassed that he doesn’t proclaim his love, and your whole friendship will be ruined.”

  “I hate it when you voice my fears.” Jennifer slipped in a pair of silver hoops.

  “Trust me, it’s his move.”

  Jennifer decided to trust Andrea’s recommendation for lipstick and silence. After all, if you could trust a gal with your eyebrows, you should be able to trust her with your lipstick and your relationship. Andrea had more experience with men; like a cool older sister, she parceled out her knowledge on a need-to-know basis. Jennifer really needed to know tonight.

  There was a knock at the door, and both women scrambled to put away the trove of makeup on the coffee table. Heroines may spend hours getting ready for a date— or non-date? Let’s just call it an outing with their beau— but they never let the man know the monumental effort they procured on his behalf.

  “Coming!” called Jennifer. She stood and adjusted her cowl neck sweater before pulling her hair over her shoulders to frame her face and getting a thumbs-up from Andrea. Breathless with anticipation, she swung the door open. “Hi.”

  Kirke stared, his admiring look wandering over her flowing hair and landing on her lips. Jennifer’s mind went directly to their embrace. The air between them hummed and tingled with a sense of possibility. She wondered if Kirke felt it as strongly as she did.