When Jamie finally let up with the cocktail shaker, Terrence was studying her thoughtfully. “This means a lot to you,” he said.
“No. It means a lot to her.” Jamie jerked her head toward the doorway as Sarah returned from the bathroom.
“What did I miss?” Sarah asked.
Jamie handed over a frosty glass garnished with a curl of lemon rind. “Drink up and prepare to be amazed.”
Sarah reached over to touch her glass against Jamie’s and Terrence’s. “Here’s to love.”
By the time Anna arrived ten minutes later, Jamie and Terrence had retreated to opposite corners of the room and Sarah was too buzzed to notice.
“Dude! This really is the best Lemon Drop I’ve ever had in my life! It should be in, like, a martini museum!” She put down her drink and engulfed Anna in a big hug. “Hiii!”
“Um, hi there.” Anna patted Sarah’s shoulder in an unsuccessful bid to free herself. “I’m Anna McCauley, and I come bearing cake.”
“You’ll have to excuse her exuberance,” Terrence said. “She’s a bit tipsy at the moment.”
Anna glanced over at the half-consumed Lemon Drops, then shook her head at Jamie.
“Don’t you even look my way.” Jamie held up her hand. “She begged me to make them and they’re not even strong.”
“I can vouch for that,” Terry said. Somehow, his coming to her defense made Jamie resent him even more. “My future wife has many virtues, but she’s never been able to hold her liquor.”
“It’s true.” Sarah giggled. “I’m a lightweight. Half-a-drink drunk.”
Terrence put a steadying arm around her and kissed her on the temple.
“Okay.” Jamie clapped her hands together and tried to regain some semblance of control. “Let’s get a piece of cake into her before her blood turns to ethanol.”
Anna pushed aside the knickknacks on the coffee table and set down a platter of samples. “Spice cake, red velvet, chocolate, lemon, coconut, vanilla almond. Have at.”
Sarah bit into the white-frosted vanilla almond cake. Her eyes got huge. “Oh my God. I know I said I love chocolate, but this is seriously the best thing I’ve ever had in my life. Better than that Lemon Drop, even. Vanilla almond cake it is!” She turned to Terrence. “You do like vanilla, don’t you?”
“I live for vanilla,” Terrence assured her.
“Fantastic! And it’s super traditional, so my mom will approve. This whole thing is working out perfectly.” Sarah pounded back the remainder of her Lemon Drop, then beamed up at Terrence. “I love you.”
“I love you right back.”
Jamie’s entire being screamed for a cigarette.
“Congratulations,” Anna whispered to Jamie. “You’re a smashing success as a wedding consultant.”
“Don’t jinx me,” Jamie muttered. “It’s still early days.”
“Are you kidding me? Look at these two—you couldn’t screw this up if you tried.”
“There ought to be a room in every house to swear in.”
—Mark Twain
Son of a bitch!” Brooke threw down her cordless drill in disgust.
Anna, who had been trailing Brooke from outlet to outlet with a metal-caged utility light to better illuminate the tangles of wire within the living room walls, did a double take. “Do my ears deceive me, or did our delicate Stealth Magnolia just utter an obscenity?”
Jamie paused the TV midway through a recorded episode of My Big Amazing Renovation (Brooke’s request). “Yeah, I thought that went against your personal code of gentility.”
“That code doesn’t apply in the presence of power tools,” Brooke shot back before unleashing a fresh torrent of profanity. “This is the second drill bit that’s snapped this week. These beams must be made out of petrified hickory. Or titanium.” The other explanation, of course, was that she’d gotten careless while listening to HGTV and started drilling at a slight angle. But why blame herself when this stupid house was such an easy target? “It’s been over a week and I’ve barely finished rewiring one room. At this rate, it’ll be years before I get this place up to code.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Anna said. “We need to be up and running in time for Jamie’s wedding.”
“I’m not getting married,” Jamie pointed out.
“You know what I mean. Just think about all the revenue and word of mouth that weekend’s going to generate.”
“Assuming the wedding’s still on,” Jamie said.
“Of course the wedding will still be on.” Anna gave Jamie an exasperated look. “Why wouldn’t it be? You are so pessimistic sometimes.”
“I’m just saying, sometimes things happen after people get engaged. Exhibit A: me, me, and me.”
“You think they might call it off?” Brooke couldn’t hide her dismay. “Really? Should I not count on any reservations that weekend?”
“Don’t worry,” Anna said. “I’ve met the happy couple and I can assure you, they are almost obnoxiously in love.”
“As in love as Cait and Professor Clayburn?” Brooke asked.
They all looked over at Cait, but she was lost in thought, scribbling in the margins of a catalog that had arrived in the mail.
“Hey. Johnson. Look alive.”
Cait’s head snapped up. “What’d I miss?”
“Are you working on your book?”
“Kind of. I just had an idea for a scene and I don’t want to forget it.”
“Look at you! You’re such an artiste!”
Cait flushed. “Well …”
“Communing with your muse while the rest of us watch TV and make inflammatory comments about you and Professor Clayburn. We should be ashamed.”
“Oh my God. First of all, his name is Gavin. Secondly, we had one date.”
“In Archivist’s Alley.” All three of them chorused, “Oooh …”
“We ate dinner afterward,” Cait sputtered. “Conversation and camaraderie.”
“Camaraderie. Uh-huh. Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“For the last time, you salacious gossip hounds, I did not spend the night with him. I was home before one, as you’re well aware.”
“Just because you didn’t spend the night with him doesn’t mean you didn’t, ahem, sleep with him, so to speak,” Brooke pointed out.
“Are you going out with him again?” Anna asked.
“Yes,” Cait said. “But I’m not telling you where or when.”
“Spoilsport.” Jamie propped her slippered feet up on the coffee table. “Well, do me a favor and keep me in mind when you find yourself in need of a wedding planner.”
“And I’ll do your wedding cake,” Anna said. “I can see it now: three-tier, white-on-white, piped with Elizabeth Barrett Browning verses. Or maybe John Donne, or Christina Rossetti.”
“Can we please stop speculating on my personal life and get back to securing a roof over our heads?” Cait turned to Brooke. “How can we help? Anna, want me take over as light holder?”
“No, I can’t do any more until I replace this.” Brooke held up the truncated drill bit. “Thankfully, they come with a lifetime warranty.”
“And it gives you an excuse to go back to the hardware store,” Anna teased.
“Yeah,” Jamie said. “Give our best to your secret crush behind the counter.”
“I never said I have a crush on him!”
“Honey, you didn’t have to. I’ve never seen anyone so excited over the prospect of running out to get more electrical tape.”
“I don’t know enough about him to have a crush,” Brooke insisted. “All I know is that he’s well-read and well-mannered.” Her composure cracked a little and she confided, “He gave me the contractor rate.”
“Don’t let him take advantage,” Cait said. “Just because a man gives you the contractor rate doesn’t mean you have to, ahem, sleep with him, so to speak.”
Anna’s cell phone rang on the windowsill and Brooke snatched it up, grateful for the dis
traction. She glanced at the name displayed on the caller ID screen and reported, “It’s Jonas.”
Anna’s expression darkened. “Let it go to voice mail.” Her tone did not invite questions, so Brooke replaced the phone on the table, and they all listened to the ringtone playing Counting Crows’ “Anna Begins.”
They all let a few more beats pass in silence, then Cait asked, “When’s he coming back?”
Anna unplugged the utility light and began to wind up the cord. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you guys going to work things out?”
“I would prefer not to talk about this, if you don’t mind.” She deflected their concerned glances with the closed, nonchalant type of smile she generally reserved for strangers.
Brooke did what she could to take the focus away from Anna. “Can I ask you guys for advice? And not get harassed like Cait?”
“Good luck with that,” Cait said.
“Is this about the hardware store Adonis?” Jamie asked.
“Yes.” Brooke tucked her hair back behind her ear. “We’ve been chatting every time I go over there, and he’s sweet and attentive and always asking me about my progress, but he hasn’t actually asked me out.”
“Okay.” Jamie nodded. “So what’s your question?”
“How do I make him ask me out?”
“Make him?”
“Entice him. Whatever. I know he’s interested. I have unerring instincts for this sort of thing.”
Jamie shrugged. “Then ask him out.”
“What? No!”
“Why not?” Anna asked.
“Because! I can’t do that! I’ve never made the first move in my life.”
“Then I’d say you’re overdue.”
“Yeah, you’ve never opened a B and B, either. Or rewired a house from top to bottom.” Cait helped herself to a handful of popcorn. “Just like I’ve never written a book. We’re all dog-paddling in uncharted waters here.”
“Arden would definitely want you to ask him out,” Anna said.
Cait nodded solemnly. “I’m pretty sure it was her dying wish.”
“You guys are terrible.” Brooke acted scandalized for two seconds, then got back to business. “Well, what do I say, exactly? I can’t just come out with ‘Wanna go catch a movie?’”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a slave to subtlety.”
“Ooh, I know.” Anna raised her hand like they were back in Freshman Comp. “He’s all about tools and construction, right? Why don’t you ask him to come over here sometime and consult on the wiring job?”
“Yeah. Ask him to come over and hold the light.”
“So to speak.”
They all cracked up.
Brooke crossed her arms. “Must you always lower the tone?”
More giggling.
She waited for them to simmer down, then asked, “So if I ask him for his opinion with the wiring, you don’t think that makes me look like a dumb blonde? The helpless damsel in distress?”
“Hardly.” Cait made a sweeping gesture to encompass all the wires protruding from holes drilled in the drywall. “He’ll probably be blown away by the progress you’ve already made.”
“I am turning out to be quite handy, if I do say so myself.” Brooke pocketed the broken drill bit and winked. “Okay, I’ll do it. Right after I do my makeup. I’ll be the hottest thing that hardware store has ever seen.”
Cheers and applause all around.
Brooke deliberately timed her trip so that she’d arrive at the hardware store just before closing. Her plan was simple: The store would be deserted, Everett would be smitten by her charm and beauty, and they would live happily ever after in their lovingly refurbished home.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Hey there, stranger.” Everett glanced up with a welcoming smile when Brooke walked through the door. He looked woodsy and rugged—even his sweat was probably pine-scented—and her stomach went all fluttery. “Haven’t seen you in, what? Two days?”
“Two days,” she confirmed, encouraged that he’d noticed her absence.
“Which means the project’s going either really well or really poorly.” He paused expectantly. “So which is it?”
“Somewhere in between, actually.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the broken drill bit. “I need another replacement, I’m afraid.”
“Already?” He whistled. “You know, I’ve been working here on and off since I was in high school, and I’ve never had anyone bring a bit back more than once. What the heck are you drilling?”
“Wood.” Brooke glowered. “Ancient, ornery wood that refuses to surrender without plenty of collateral damage.” She forced her features back into an expression of come-hither coquettishness. “So does that lifetime warranty still apply?”
“It does, but tell you what. Let me save us both some time and trouble.” He walked over to the power tool accessories. “I’m going to upgrade you to the industrial-grade bit brace. More precision, fewer broken bits. In theory.”
“Sounds good.” Brooke followed him back toward the cash register and prepared to make her move. “So, listen, I was wondering—”
“No charge,” he assured her, making a note in the transaction ledger next to the register. “It’s the least I can do for my favorite contractor.”
“Why, thank you, Everett. That’s sweet. As I was saying, I’m starting to run the wires and clamp the cables, but I’m worried I may end up overloading the circuit and I was thinking … well, I was hoping that you might be able to …” She took a deep breath and produced a business card on which she’d written her home number. “Come over to my house. And take a look at what I’ve done so far.”
His mouth twitched and then he smiled at her, but not in the way she’d been hoping for. No, this was definitely more of an unnerved, stalling-for-time kind of smile. “I, uh … I …”
She could feel her own smile flickering. “I could really use an expert opinion.”
The door chimes rang on the other side of the store and a gruff male voice said, “Oh good, you’re still open.” A flannel-clad man strode up to the counter and planted himself directly in front of Everett. “I need a forty-pound bag of resurfacer, ASAP.”
“Yes, sir, right over there.” Everett pointed toward an aisle. Then he glanced down at the business card, turned back to Brooke, and shook his head. “Oh man. I wish I could.”
“Oh.” Her voice came out high and pinched. “Okay.” She backed toward the exit.
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to, but I can’t.”
“No need to explain.” Brooke practically ran out the door, dived into her car, and waited until she was a mile away from the scene before pulling over in front of the bowling alley, covering her face with her hands, and dying a million deaths in the glow of a flashing neon Strike! sign.
Ten minutes later, she returned to Paradise Found with her head held high and her industrial drill bit in hand. Anna, Cait, and Jamie were still camped out in the living room, eagerly awaiting her report.
“Well?” Cait prompted as soon as Brooke crossed the threshold.
“What’d he say?” Jamie demanded.
Brooke crumpled up the brown paper shopping bag. “Let me put it this way: I’m gonna have to find a new hardware store.”
She ignored all the questions and exclamations of outrage, retreated to her bedroom, and called the only person who could possibly assuage her burning sense of incompetence. “Hi, Professor Rutkin? It’s me again. Is this too late to call? … Oh good. … Yes, my science education is continuing apace. There are certain things in this world that I’m never going to understand, but I’ll figure out electrical circuitry or die trying. Do you think I might be able to drop by during your office hours tomorrow?”
“War cannot be avoided; it can only be postponed to the other’s advantage.”
—Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince
Ooh, a retro fifties cocktail party sounds fabulous,�
� Anna said into her cell phone as she parked her car in the lot behind Pranza and gathered up her coat along with a trio of bags filled with refrigerated ingredients. “And honestly, there’s no need to apologize about the late notice. I have the whole night to bake in a professional kitchen. I’ll just run back to the grocery store and then get started. This is going to be fun. Don’t you worry, I’ll ferret out some outrageous old-school recipes.”
As she made her way past the dumpsters toward the restaurant’s back door, Anna sifted through her coat pocket for the key and tried to allay her newest client’s concerns about “not wanting to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
“Absolutely. … No problem. … I’m the height of discretion. I won’t breathe a word of this to Trish Selway, believe me. … Right. Just give me your address and I’ll deliver everything tomorrow morning.”
Anna pushed the door open with her shoulder, clamped a pen cap between her teeth, and jotted down the customer’s contact information on her hand as she entered Pranza’s prep kitchen. “Seventeen Conifer Drive … fifth house on the left … red door. Okay, got it. I’ll give you a call if I have any other questions. Thanks so much for taking a chance on me, Mrs. Elquest. You won’t be sorry!”
She clicked off the phone and shook her head. Brooke hadn’t been kidding when she said there was only one baker in this tiny town. Every single person who had called Anna over the past week—and the inquiries had been increasing as word started to get out about the Thurwell anniversary cakes—had either started or finished the conversation with a variation of “Please don’t tell Trish Selway I called.”
The rubber mat beneath her feet shifted, and Anna whirled around to find herself inches away from Trish, whose surly scowl and flared nostrils indicated that she’d been eavesdropping.
Anna staggered back against the steel door of the massive walk-in refrigerator and struggled to regain her composure. Or at least the power of speech.
“Was that Belinda Elquest?” Trish’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” Anna knelt down to retrieve the pen she’d dropped, but she didn’t take her gaze off the other woman.
Second Time Around Page 12
