by Irene Hannon
“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“Yes. And a real estate agent lined up tomorrow to look at apartments.”
He nodded. “Can I loan you an umbrella? It’s still pouring.”
She backed toward the door. “There’s not much point now, is there?”
He glanced at the puddle on the floor in the spot she had just vacated. “True.”
The crimson of her face went a shade deeper and her step faltered. “Oh…I’m sorry about that. I can clean it up, if you have a mop or…”
“Ms. Williams,” Blake cut her off, but his tone was cordial. “I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you follow your own advice? Take a hot bath and have a hot meal. We’ll make a fresh start on Monday. Okay?”
A.J. studied him for a moment. Did she detect a softening in his manner, a slight warmth in his tone? Or was it resignation? Or perhaps pity, because she was cold and wet and hungry and had a trying trip to St. Louis? Or was it pity for himself, because he’d been saddled with a partner who would need to be guided every step of the way?
If he thought the latter, he was in for a big surprise come Monday. But for now, she was cold, wet and hungry—and definitely not at her best. So she needed to exit. As gracefully as possible.
With a curt nod, she turned toward the door. And tried not to run.
Chapter Two
At precisely nine o’clock Monday morning, A.J. knocked on the door at Turning Leaves. It was a gloriously sunny Indian summer day in mid-November, and as she waited for Blake to let her in, she surveyed the scene with a smile. Though Maplewood was a close-in suburb of St. Louis, this section had a small-town feel. The tree-lined streets and mom-and-pop shops hearkened back to another era, and morning walkers were already putting in their paces.
The door rattled, then swung inward as she turned back toward the shop. Blake stood on the other side, his clothes similar to what he’d worn on Friday except that he’d exchanged his blue oxford shirt for a yellow one, and his sleeves weren’t yet rolled up. His hair was damp, as if he’d showered very recently.
“Good morning.” She glanced at her watch. “You said nine o’clock, right?”
Blake ignored her question. If she expected him to compliment her punctuality, she would be sorely disappointed. It was the least he expected. Besides, he was still trying to reconcile the woman standing across from him now with the bedraggled waif who had dripped water all over his floor Friday night. Her hair was lighter in color than he remembered, and her topknot of natural curls was firmly in place. A few rebellious tendrils had fought their way out of the confining band to softly frame her face, which still seemed to be mostly makeup free. A touch of lipstick, perhaps some mascara, maybe a hint of blush—though the color in her cheeks could well be natural, he concluded. The sparkle in her eyes certainly was, enhanced by her open, friendly smile. It suddenly struck him that A. J. Williams was an extremely attractive woman. Not that he cared, of course.
When he didn’t respond to her greeting, she turned again and made a sweeping gesture. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”
Blake glanced around the familiar landscape. He’d jogged his usual eight miles before coming to work, but in all honesty he hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings. He’d been thinking about his training schedule for the upcoming triathlon, a late order that he needed to follow up on at the shop, invoices that needed to be reconciled…and a myriad of other things.
“Just look how blue the sky is,” A.J. enthused. “And the sun feels so warm for November! I guess you haven’t had a hard freeze yet, because the geraniums and petunias still look great.”
Blake looked at the sky, then glanced at the flowers in the planters along the street. He wouldn’t have noticed either if A.J. hadn’t pointed them out. And for some reason her comment made him feel as if he should have. Which aggravated him. He didn’t need any guilt trips. What he needed was time to brief his new partner before the shop opened.
“If you’re ready to come in, we can get started,” he said shortly.
A.J. turned back to him and tilted her head. “No time to smell the flowers along the way, Mr. Sullivan?”
“I have work to do.” His voice sounded unnaturally stiff even to his own ears.
“I think God would appreciate it if we took a moment to admire His handiwork, don’t you?”
“I’m sure God has better things to think about. If He cares at all.”
A.J. raised one eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of cynicism in that comment?”
Blake shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just say I haven’t seen much evidence that God cares.”
A.J.’s eyes grew sympathetic. “That’s too bad. Because He does.”
Blake frowned impatiently. “Look, can we just get down to business? Because we’ve only got an hour before the shop opens, and I’d like to show you around before the customers start coming.”
“Absolutely. I’m ready whenever you are.”
He stepped aside, and as she swept past he caught a faint, pleasing fragrance. Not floral. Not exotic. Just…fresh. It seemed to linger even after she moved away.
A.J. took a moment to look over the shop, something she hadn’t done Friday night. As she completed her circuit, her gaze returned to Blake. He was still at the door, and he was staring at her. She couldn’t quite read the expression in his eyes, but it looked as if he’d found something else to disapprove of. Her chin lifted a notch.
“Anything wrong?” She tried to keep her tone mild, but a note of defiance crept in.
Blake studied her attire. She wore a white peasant-type blouse in some wrinkly fabric, and a funky bronze cross hung from a chain around her neck. An unusual metal belt cinched her impossibly small waist. Her skirt, made of several progressively longer layers of what appeared to be a patchwork of fabrics, brushed her legs mid-calf. If his attire bordered on preppy, hers could well be described as hippie. Which did not evoke happy memories.
“Mr. Sullivan, is something wrong?” she repeated more pointedly.
He frowned. “I haven’t seen clothes like that in a long time.”
She looked down and smoothed her skirt over her hips. “Probably not. They’re from a vintage clothing store I discovered in Chicago. Pretty cool, huh?”
Actually, he had another word for her attire. But he settled for a less judgmental term. “Interesting.”
The look she gave him told him very clearly that she knew exactly what his opinion was. And that, in turn, she had judged him to be stuffy, uptight and conventional. “Very diplomatic. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Before he could respond, she turned back to the shop. “So, how about that tour?”
Blake thought about responding to her comment— then thought better of it. He had to work with this woman for the next six months, and it would be to both their advantages if they made an effort to get along.
“Sure. Let’s start with a walk-through.”
The shop wasn’t huge, and A.J. only made a few comments as Blake showed her around. There was a small area for children’s books, and sections devoted to books on travel, cooking, fiction, gardening and general non-fiction. There was also a reading nook, with four comfortable chairs, and a coffee and tea maker tucked in a back corner. A small stockroom and tidy office were behind a door marked “private.” Two big picture windows flanked the front door, and each featured displays of the latest releases. The older building was well-maintained, with a high ceiling and hardwood floors, and A.J. felt comfortable in the space immediately. Just as she’d felt comfortable in the tiny apartment she’d found Saturday. It, too, was in an older building, in a neighborhood that had obviously seen better days. But it was safe and in the early stages of renewal, the real estate agent had assured her.
When the tour was over, Blake waited for her to say something.
“This is a great space,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It’s sunny and bright and inviting. There’s a nice selection of books. And the layout is…interesting.
”
She’d borrowed the word he’d used earlier to describe her attire, and Blake gave her a suspicious look. “What does that mean?”
She lifted one shoulder. “We might want to think about rearranging a few things.”
He frowned. “Our customers seem to like this setup. We do quite well.”
“Yes, that’s what Seth Mitchell said. Which reminds me, I’d like to spend some time going over the accounts with you.”
A flicker of amusement crept into his eyes. “That could be a little tedious. It might be better if I meet with your accountant. Or, if you don’t have one, I’m sure Mr. Mitchell can recommend someone. But I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have today.”
The condescending tone was back, but this time A.J. was ready for him. “That’s kind of you,” she said sweetly. “I do have a few.”
“Shoot,” he said amiably.
“Okay. Let’s start with some basics. I’d like to get the details on return on capital, net profit, blue-sky value, inventory turnover rates, payroll expenses and any major debt. I’d also like to get some breakdowns on customer demographics, sales by book category, store traffic patterns and volume, and repeat customers. That’s just to start, of course.”
The dazed look on Blake’s face was totally satisfying. As was the lengthy time it took for him to recover from her barrage of questions.
“I’m not sure I have all those answers at my fingertips,” he said slowly. “It might take me a couple of days to pull the data together.”
“Okay. I jotted down some other questions, too.” She fished in her purse and withdrew two pages of additional typed questions and handed them to him. “You might as well work on these at the same time.”
He scanned the list quickly, frowning, and when he looked back at her she could read the question in his eyes. She answered it before he could ask.
“I have an M.B.A. From Wharton. I chose not to pursue a business career for a variety of reasons. But I have the background. And it’s kind of like riding a bicycle. You never forget.”
Blake felt his neck grow warm. Jo had long ago taught him not to judge a book by its cover. Yet that was exactly what he’d done with A.J. She didn’t look like a businesswoman. At least not his image of one. So he’d assumed she had no business skills. He felt suitably chastised—but he didn’t like being made a fool of. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged. “You seemed to have your mind made up about me from our first conversation. So I figured I’d wait and play my hand when the time was right. Which turned out to be today.”
So A.J. wasn’t some ditzy airhead after all, he conceded. She had business savvy. Quite a bit of it, if the questions she was asking were any indication. But it was only textbook knowledge. She might be able to analyze the balance sheet, but she had no practical experience. And he did. He knew the book business. So she needed him. Which meant he still had some leverage. And some control. That knowledge gave him some comfort. Because ever since Jo’s death and A.J.’s first phone call, he’d been watching his control erode. And it was not a good feeling.
When the silence lengthened, A.J. sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if you jumped to conclusions about me. Obviously, I have the financial background to run this shop. But I don’t have practical experience. I guess Aunt Jo hoped you’d teach me. And I’m willing to learn. So can we just start over? Otherwise it’s going to be a long six months.”
Blake couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe it would help if we set some ground rules.”
She made a face. “Why don’t we just take it a day at a time? Make up the rules as we go along?”
“You mean wing it?”
“More or less.”
“That’s not the best way to run a business.” Or a life, as far as he was concerned. He liked rules and structure. He’d had enough of “winging it” to last a lifetime.
“We’re not a Fortune 500 company, Blake. We can afford to be a little flexible.”
That was another word he hated. Too often “flexible” became an excuse for not honoring commitments.
At his grim expression, A.J. grinned. “Loosen up, Blake. Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.”
“I don’t consider Turning Leaves small stuff,” he said stiffly, sounding uncharacteristically pompous and self-righteous even to his own ears. This woman just brought out the worst in him.
“I didn’t say it was. I was referring to your ground rules. I don’t want to get hung up on making a lot of guidelines that may not be necessary. Let’s just work things out as we go along. And before you know it, the six months will zip right by.”
The bell jangled over the door, and A.J. turned her attention to the customer who had just entered. “Oh, look at that darling little girl!”
Blake glanced at the young mother and her child. The toddler looked to be about four, and she was clutching a glazed donut. Which translated to sticky fingers— and sticky merchandise. He started forward, then stopped. The house rules said no food in the shop. But he had a feeling the house rules were about to go out the window.
Blake sighed. It was going to be a long six months.
“I’d like to start closing the shop on Sundays.”
Blake stared at A.J. as if she’d lost her mind. Their first week as partners had been remarkably smooth. She was an eager learner, and Blake was beginning to think that maybe this arrangement would work out after all. Until she’d dropped this bombshell.
“Excuse me?”
She looked up from the catalog of new releases she was perusing. “I’d like to close the shop on Sundays.”
“Why? We’re always busy on Sunday.”
“I’ve studied the traffic and sales data. We do have a lot of window-shoppers on Sunday. But it’s not one of our bigger sales days. And we’re only open for five hours, anyway. I don’t think we’ll notice much impact on our bottom line.”
This was exactly the kind of impetuous action that Blake had been afraid of. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Nancy observing the exchange, and he took a deep breath before responding.
“I don’t think changing the hours is a good idea. Everyone else on the street is open on Sunday. Our customers will be disappointed.”
“We can change our phone message and have a sign with our new hours made for the window. People will adjust.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why is this such a big deal? Sunday hours are convenient for our customers and we always have enough sales to justify being open.”
A.J. closed the catalog and looked at him steadily. “My main reason for wanting to close has nothing to do with sales or with customers. Sunday is the Lord’s day. A day of rest. A day to keep holy. A store like ours that sells nonessential items doesn’t need to be open.”
Blake stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He tried a different approach. “Jo was very religious. And she was open on Sunday.”
“When did she start opening on Sunday?”
“A couple of years ago.”
About the time he took over the day-to-day management of the shop. Neither voiced that thought, but it hung in the air.
“Did she work in the shop that day?” A.J. asked.
“No.”
“Who did?”
“Nancy and I alternated.”
A.J. glanced over at Nancy. She didn’t know the part-time worker very well yet, but she’d learned enough to know that the divorced mother had a tough life, that she juggled two part-time jobs just to make ends meet, and that she was a churchgoing woman with a quiet, deep faith.
“How do you feel about it, Nancy?” A.J. asked.
Nancy looked uncertainly from A.J. to Blake, then back again. “I need the job, A.J. I’ll be happy to work whatever hours you and Blake give me.”
A.J. smiled. “I already know that, Nancy. That’s not what I’m asking. How do you feel about working on
Sundays?”
“Well, the money is nice.” She hesitated. “But it’s always a rush to get here after church, and then I have to leave Eileen with Mrs. Cook all afternoon. I guess, if I had a choice, I’d prefer to have Sundays off so I could spend a little more time at church and with my daughter. Six days of work ought to be enough for anyone. Even God rested on the seventh day.”
Blake stared at Nancy. “You never said anything to me about not wanting to work on Sundays.”
“I didn’t think it was an option.”
He expelled a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. I don’t mind working. We can surely find someone to fill in every other weekend for those few hours.”
“I’m sure we can, Blake,” A.J. replied calmly. “But that’s not the point. I’m talking about principles here. And if you’re worried about losing sales, I’m sure we can find a way to make up the difference.”
“Such as?”
“I’m working on it.”
He looked at her, and the determination in her eyes told him that she was dead set on this. He didn’t agree, but he wasn’t sure it was worth waging a major battle over. Yes, they’d lose some sales. But she was right. The decision wouldn’t make or break the shop. Besides, he suspected there would be bigger battles to fight down the road. Maybe the best strategy was to let her win this one.
“Okay. If that’s what you want. I just hope you don’t regret it,” he capitulated.
“I don’t waste my time on regrets, Blake. They’re all about the past. I try to focus on today and make the best decisions I can.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to think a little bit about tomorrow, too.”
A shadow crossed her eyes, so fleeting that he thought perhaps it was just the play of light as she turned her head. “Tomorrow has a way of surprising us, no matter what we plan,” she said quietly.
Blake didn’t know what to make of that comment. So he simply turned away and headed back to the office.
Nancy watched him go, then moved to the counter beside A.J. “I applaud your position.”
A.J. turned to her with a rueful smile. “I’m glad someone does.”
