by Irene Hannon
“Well, I’ll be here. I’m not going to let some fancy developer run me out of here.” Rose looked over A.J.’s shoulder. “Hi, Blake.”
“Hello, Rose.” He came up beside A.J. and glanced at the sheaf of papers in her hand. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“I figure it’s gonna take a lot of work from all of us if we want to win this fight. Now I gotta get back to the deli. See you both Thursday.”
They watched her leave, then A.J. turned to Blake with a grin. “I hope I have half her energy and spunk when I’m that age.”
“Why do I think that won’t be a problem?”
She tilted her head and looked at him warily. “I’m not quite sure how to take that remark.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s just say you have energy and spunk to spare.”
“Why do I think that’s not necessarily a compliment?” she replied.
He shrugged. “There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, that’s for sure.”
She studied him. Considering that Blake liked things predictable and well-planned, she figured that his comment was not a compliment. Which bothered her for some reason. But she shrugged it off and turned toward the office, waving the petitions at him. “I’m going to file these with the rest. Watch the desk, okay?” Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the back room.
Blake watched her go, trying to remember what it had been like before the human tornado named A.J. had swept into his life. It had been much quieter, no question about it. And more orderly. Not to mention organized.
In other words, he realized with a jolt, it had been dull.
And to his surprise, dull wasn’t nearly as appealing as it once had been.
“Okay, so we know the proposal has been presented by MacKenzie to the Board of Aldermen and the public hearing is scheduled for February 10. Is everyone planning to be there?” A.J. looked at her fellow merchants. Everyone was nodding assent. “Great. Now, let’s talk about our plan for the meeting.”
“I think we need a spokesperson for our group,” Joe said.
“Good idea,” Rose concurred. “I vote for you, A.J.”
A.J. looked at her in surprise. “But I’m the new kid on the block. It might be better if one of you represented the group.”
“But you’re Jo’s great niece, and she was the first one to come here. Now another generation is taking over. So you can speak for her and for yourself. I think you’re the perfect choice,” Steve replied.
“Steve is right,” George agreed. “Jo would be our leader if she was here. So you should speak for us.”
A.J. looked at the rest of the group. “How does everyone else feel about that? Carlos, Alene?”
“I’m fine with that,” Carlos said.
“Me, too,” chimed in Alene.
A.J. turned to Blake. He was still in the back, but at least he was sitting with the group this time. “Blake?”
“I agree with the consensus. I think you’d be great. And it would be a nice tribute to Jo.”
“Well, if you’re all sure…” A.J. looked down at her notes. “I think we need to have some residents speak, too.”
“I already spoke to Mark Sanders, one of my regulars,” Rose said. “He’s an attorney, lives a couple of blocks away. He said he’d speak on our behalf.”
“And I talked to Ellen Levine about it, too,” Steve offered. “She grew up here, and she feels passionately about preserving the character of the area. And she’s very grateful to people like us, who helped revitalize Maplewood. So she’s willing to speak.”
“A lot of people are planning to attend, too,” Alene offered.
“Great. It sounds like everything’s under control. If everyone will get me their petitions before the meeting, I’ll present them when I speak. Anything else?” No one spoke, and A.J. nodded. “Okay. T minus twenty-one days and counting. Keep your fingers crossed!”
“Excuse me, miss. Could you tell me if Liam is working today?”
A.J. glanced up from the cash register and smiled at the woman with cobalt-blue eyes who was standing on the other side of the counter. There was something familiar about her, but A.J. couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She appeared to be in her early-to-mid-fifties, and her long brown hair was pulled back into a single braid. A man with a nicely groomed salt-and-pepper beard stood behind her. It looked as if he could stand to lose a few pounds, but it was hard to tell because of their bulky winter coats.
“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name,” A.J. said. “Are you sure you have the right shop?”
“Jan, he doesn’t use that name anymore, remember?” the man said.
The woman looked sheepish. “I know. But I always think of him that way. It’s hard to…Liam!”
At the delighted look on her face, A.J. turned to follow her gaze. Blake stood in the doorway to the office. Shock was the only word to describe the expression on his face.
“How are you, son?”
Even after the man spoke, it took Blake a few moments to recover. “What are you doing here?”
“Paying you a surprise visit,” the woman said, her delight undiminished by Blake’s abrupt greeting and lack of enthusiasm.
“We’re on our way to a convention in Chicago and thought we’d make a little detour, stop in and see how you are,” the man spoke again.
Blake finally recovered enough to move forward, but he kept the counter between himself and his visitors. “You could have called first. I would have been more prepared.”
“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” the woman replied brightly.
Though A.J. stood mere inches away from him, Blake seemed oblivious to her presence. And unsure how to proceed. So A.J. took charge. She stepped forward and held out her hand.
“Welcome to Turning Leaves. I’m A. J. Williams, Blake’s partner.”
The woman took her hand first. “I’m Jan Sullivan. This is my husband, Carl. We’re Liam’s…sorry, Blake’s…parents.”
“Nice to meet you,” Blake’s father said as he gave her hand a hearty squeeze. “You must be Jo’s great niece. We were sorry to hear of her passing. She was a wonderful lady.”
“Thank you.” Since Blake still wasn’t speaking, A.J. filled in the gap. “Did you just arrive?”
“Yes. We’d hoped to spend a couple of days in St. Louis, but we took an interesting detour or two on the way here that delayed us,” Carl said. “So we’ll need to leave tomorrow if we want to get to Chicago for the whole convention. But we couldn’t come this close and not stop in to see Blake.”
A.J. recalled that Blake had once told her his parents were from Oregon. She looked at Blake’s father in surprise. “Did you drive all the way from the West Coast?”
“Yes. We love road trips. But we haven’t had time to take many these past few years.”
“This sure brings back a lot memories, doesn’t it, Carl?” Blake’s mother was looking around the shop, a smile of recollection on her lips.
“Yes, it does. That was a good summer for us. I see you’ve made some changes.”
“When were you here last?” A.J. asked.
“Oh, it’s been several years. I love the reading area in the front. It’s so inviting,” Jan said.
Finally Blake spoke. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?” The question was clearly prompted only out of a sense of obligation. He hadn’t moved from behind the counter, and A.J. suspected that a whole lot more than a glass display case separated Blake and his parents.
“No, thank you, son. We already checked into a hotel.”
Blake’s relief was almost palpable. A.J. looked at him curiously—and with a certain degree of censure. His parents had obviously made a special trip to see him. Whatever their differences, surely he could afford to be hospitable for one night. And if he couldn’t, she could, she decided.
On impulse, she spoke. “I don’t want to impose on family time, but if you don’t have any other plans for the even
ing, I’d be happy to offer you a home-cooked meal.” She looked over at Blake. “You’re invited, too, of course.”
Blake stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Why, thank you!” Jan replied. “But it’s such short notice…I’m afraid it would be too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Sometimes impromptu parties are the most fun.”
“We couldn’t agree more, right, Carl?”
“Absolutely.”
“Unless Blake has other ideas, I think that sounds lovely,” Jan said.
They all turned to Blake expectantly. It was clear he had no ideas at all.
“Blake, would you prefer to go out to dinner somewhere with just your mom and dad?” A.J. prompted when the silence lengthened.
If looks could kill, A.J. would be history. But she tilted her chin up and steadily returned his glare.
“Dinner at your place sounds fine.” Blake ground out the words through clenched teeth.
A.J. ignored Blake and turned back to his parents with a cheery smile. “Terrific. Let me write down the directions for you. I’m sure you’re tired, so we’ll make it early.”
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, A.J. stepped away to help a customer, leaving Blake alone with his parents. She glanced his way a couple of times, but he never moved from behind the counter. And even from a distance, his stiff posture spoke eloquently. Had she made a mistake by inviting them all to dinner? There was clearly no love lost on Blake’s side. Yet his parents obviously cared for him. She could see it in their eyes. So what was the story? Had she stepped into the middle of something she’d regret?
But it was too late for regrets. She’d told Blake once that she didn’t waste time on them. Which was true. Better to think about the dinner to come.
Then again, maybe not, she admitted as she glanced back at the three people standing at the counter. Considering the obviously strained relationship between parents and son, this could prove to be a very long evening.
A.J. put a match to the final wick, taking a moment to enjoy the soft, warm glow from the flickering candles placed throughout the living room. On a cold January evening like this, a fireplace would be perfect. But apartments like hers didn’t come with such amenities.
Still, she was pleased with what she’d been able to do with the small space. She’d supplemented the few things she’d brought from Chicago with garage-sale finds, and the overall effect was warm and inviting. A small dinette set stood in the eating alcove next to the galley-style kitchen, and she’d covered the table with a handmade woven blanket she’d brought back from the Middle East. More candles of various heights stood in the center.
The small couch in the living room was draped with a colorful throw, and she’d turned a small trunk with brass hinges into a coffee table. A bookcase displayed favorite volumes as well as small pieces of sculpture. The final touch had been a fresh coat of off-white paint, which had brightened the dingy tan walls considerably and offered a great backdrop for some of her native art.
With a satisfied nod, she went back to the kitchen to check on dinner. She hadn’t made this couscous-based dish in quite a while, but for some reason she had a feeling that Jan and Carl would appreciate it. She wasn’t so sure about Blake.
She frowned as she stirred brown rice into the pot. She wasn’t sure about him in a lot of ways, actually. He’d avoided her the rest of the afternoon, busying himself with customers in the shop or calling patrons whose orders had come in. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d backed out of her invitation. In fact, when she finally cornered him to tell him she was leaving a little early to get dinner started, she was fully prepared for him to say he wasn’t coming. But he didn’t. He just gave her a curt nod and turned away.
If she’d made a huge faux pas, she was sorry. But she had taken an immediate liking to Jan and Carl. And in the face of their son’s lack of hospitality, she’d felt compelled to step in and show some Christian charity. After all, they’d made a big detour to visit Blake. If he chose not to appreciate it, that was his issue. At least she could be friendly.
The doorbell rang, and A.J. put a lid on the pot, then wiped her hands on a towel. Let the games begin, she thought with a wry grin as she went to welcome her guests.
Despite Blake’s buttoned-up style and obsession with punctuality, she’d half expected him to show up late for dinner in an attempt to shave as many minutes as possible off the evening. But instead she found him waiting on the other side of the door.
At her surprised look, he glanced at his watch. “Am I early?”
“No. Come in, Liam.” She hoped her kidding tone would lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect.
He didn’t move. “That’s not funny.”
The teasing light in her eyes faded. “Sorry. Guess I hit a nerve.”
“I don’t use that name.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…weird.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s very popular.”
“It wasn’t when I was a kid.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “When I was a kid, there was a little girl in our class named Maude. She got teased a lot. Is that what happened to you?”
“Worse. Boys aren’t that nice.”
“Surely your friends stood up for you?”
He looked at her for a moment, as if silently debating how to respond, but in the end ignored her comment. “Blake is my mother’s maiden name—and my middle name. I’ve been using it since I was twelve. Now, do you think I could come in? It’s a little drafty out here.”
“Of course.” She stepped back, instantly contrite, and ushered him in. “Let me take your coat.”
He shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to her.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared down a hall, and Blake took a moment to look over the tiny apartment. He didn’t live extravagantly, but her living room, dining area and kitchen could easily fit into his great room, with space left over. And her decor—eclectic was probably the kindest word to describe it. Nothing seemed to match. Yet, oddly enough, it all blended. There was a slight Middle Eastern feel to the room, but he couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe it was the artwork that hung on the walls, or the patterns in the fabrics. But he had to admit it was pleasant. And comfortable. And homey—which was not a word he could use for his own house. It might be bigger, and the furniture might match, but even after two years it didn’t feel like a home.
A wife and children might help. And they were certainly in his plans. Had been for some time, in fact. He just hadn’t met the right woman yet. But he knew exactly who he was looking for. June Cleaver. He wanted a homemaker—in the best sense of the word. A woman who made her family a priority, who might work outside the home but never forgot that home was what counted most. Someone who understood the importance of settling down, building a life in one place, becoming part of a community. He was not interested in returning to the vagabond, gypsy lifestyle he’d once known.
“Can I offer you something to drink?”
Blake turned as A.J. reentered the room. Speaking of gypsies, she kind of looked like one tonight. She was wearing something…different. So what else was new? he thought wryly. The full-length garment was made of a shimmery, patterned fabric in shades of green, purple and royal blue. It was nipped in at the waist with a wide belt, and swirled gracefully around her legs as she walked. It wasn’t exactly his idea of dine-at-home attire. But it did look…festive. And suddenly he felt under-dressed.
“I didn’t have time to change,” he said, half-apologetic, half-defensive.
She gazed at him. He’d obviously come directly from the shop, though it was clear he’d taken time to freshen up. His clean-shaven jaw showed no evidence of afternoon shadow.
A.J. shrugged. “No need. It’s just a casual evening.”
“You don’t look casual.”
She grinned. “I probably look weird to you.”
H
e felt his neck grow warm. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve worked with you practically every day for almost two months, Blake.” He noted that she was careful to use his preferred name. “I quickly realized that you’re a pretty conventional guy.”
“You mean stuffy.”
“I didn’t say that,” she parroted his words back to him.
“I’ve worked with you for almost two months, too. I think I have a pretty good idea what your opinion is of me,” he countered.
“Really? You might be surprised.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No? Okay, try this on for size. I think you are an extraordinarily capable and bright guy. I have no doubt Aunt Jo would have been in bankruptcy long ago without your help. Your attention to detail is fantastic, and you’re absolutely one hundred percent reliable. You don’t like change, but in our current situation that’s probably a plus. Since I know you’ll question anything I propose, I think things through even more carefully than I otherwise might. You’re very disciplined and regimented, which are good things in moderation. But if you’ll pardon one editorial comment, you might enjoy life a little more if you added a dash of spontaneity. So how did I do?”
Blake stared at the woman across from him. She’d pretty much nailed him. And been diplomatic in the process. She’d complimented his good points, and even put a positive spin on the qualities she clearly didn’t admire.
“Not bad,” he acknowledged grudgingly.
“Come on, Blake, admit it. I was right on the money,” she teased. “Now it’s your turn.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me how you see me.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to play this game.”
“Too late. I took my turn. Now it’s yours. And then I’ll tell you how close you came.”
Blake felt cornered. But it was clear A.J. wasn’t going to let him off the hook. She’d settled into a corner of the couch, tucked her leg under her, and looked prepared to wait as long as it took for him to take his turn.
“You aren’t…what I expected,” he hedged.
