Making It Right

by Kathy Altman

  Gil tapped the rim of his glass. “Same again?”

  Dylan checked his phone and swore. He jumped off the stool and scrambled to gather his things. “I’m late. I have to go.”

  “Want to meet again tomorrow night?”

  Dylan hefted his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t have money for a tutor.”

  Gil pressed a hand to his chest. “You think I’m good enough to be a tutor? I’m touched.”

  “You could be better,” Dylan said with a straight face. “Your zeroes look like flat tires and you hog the pencil.”

  Gil mock-punched him in the shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring my own. Anyway, I thought we were just hanging out. I do you a solid now, you do me one some other time. Deal?”

  Dylan thought about it, and offered a nod. “Deal.”

  Liz Watts walked up to the bar. “Hey, Dylan. Hey, Coop.”

  Everyone said their hellos as Kerry moved to their end of the bar to serve Liz. Gil had to give Kerry credit. She didn’t look the least bit wary.

  Liz’s smile, on the other hand, was as stiff as the do on a grandma’s hairspray-loving head.

  “Diet soda, please,” she said.

  As Kerry fixed the drink, Gil nudged Liz. “How’s the rug rat?”

  Her smile turned all kinds of tender. She started to answer, then had to wait for a chorus of cheers at the pool table to die down before she could make herself heard. “He’s wonderful, thanks. Marcus wanted him all to himself tonight, so he chased me out of the house for a few hours.”

  Gil turned his tea glass around and around. What would that be like? How long would it take before he felt comfortable enough with his own baby to do something like that?

  His own baby. Jesus.

  Kerry set Liz’s drink on a coaster and pushed it across the bar. “Would you like a cherry with that?”

  “No, thanks.” Liz made a face, then motioned with her chin at the Mitzitini sign. “What does Snoozy think about these new cocktails you’re offering?”

  “He hasn’t actually tried them. I’m hoping when he gets back—”

  “This isn’t some trendy city bar.” Liz crossed her arms and leaned forward on the polished wood. “It’s a place where good old boys gather to drink beer and brag about who has the biggest—” she shot a glance at Dylan and visibly regrouped “—fish mounted over their fireplace. Can you really see Snoozy mixing Mitzitinis once you’re gone? Or taking the time to put tea candles on every table?”

  “Maybe not.” Kerry picked up Dylan’s empty glass. “But Liz, that’s between Snoozy and me. I’m the one he hired to manage the bar.”

  Damn. Gil gave Kerry a mental thumbs-up.

  Liz shot upright and flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder. The ends whipped across Gil’s cheek and he flinched.

  “Just offering some friendly advice,” she said, her voice pitched high. “Not that I care.” She snatched up a cocktail napkin and scrunched it against her nose. “Must be a cold coming on,” she said thickly, and turned away.

  Harris came through the door as Liz hurried toward it. He frowned as she stopped to talk then pulled her into a one-armed hug. They left without looking back.

  Dylan was right behind them.

  “Pretty sure it was something I said,” Kerry muttered. She stood with her hands braced on the bar, shoulders as rigid as a concrete wall.

  Gil made a wild guess. “You haven’t told your father yet.”

  “Not yet. When I do, I have a feeling it’ll be a one-sided conversation. And a very brief one.”

  “Don’t put it off too long,” he said quietly. No one knew how much time Harris had left.

  Her eyes filled, and she nodded.

  He cleared his throat. “Something up’s with Liz. She’s not normally so defensive.”

  “It’s me. She’s afraid I’ll take advantage of Snoozy.”

  “Maybe.” He couldn’t say much about that, since he shared Liz’s concern. Funny how he was more worried about Snoozy’s business than his own.

  It probably had a little something to do with Kerry’s concern for Dylan and her regret over her father, not to mention the guilt that tended to follow Gil around.

  But he had a baby to think of now. And the fact that the woman carrying his child was not only a convicted felon but the last woman he could see himself having an enduring relationship with pissed him off no end.

  Run away. A scene from a Monty Python movie entertained his brain—a handful of crusaders fleeing a killer rabbit. “Run away!” they panic-shouted to each other.

  “You can start tomorrow,” Gil told Kerry brusquely. “We open at nine.”

  * * *

  SIX O’CLOCK IN the morning and Gil was so restless he was actually considering his second run in a week. If only this unfamiliar edginess was about the meatloaf special he’d brought home for dinner the night before, or the coffee he’d made at three in the morning.

  But no, these jitters were all about his new employee. The one he couldn’t afford to hire. The one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  The one he should stay away from but couldn’t because, hello. They’d been smoking hot in bed together.

  They’d be working together.

  They’d be having a baby together.

  Coop, Coop, Coop. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

  After chasing down and turning off his alarm clock, he impressed himself by managing fifty push-ups while watching The Twilight Zone. When he was done, he pulled on his sweats and snarfed a granola bar.

  Another peek through his blinds showed the lights were on above the shop across the street. Looked like Kerry was getting as much sleep as he was. Was she panicking about the future? Worrying about today? Maybe she was still pumped from the success of Ladies’ Night.

  Or maybe she was missing a boyfriend. Maybe at that very moment she was on the phone with the guy. Or Skyping with him. They could be having Skype sex.

  She’d asked Gil if he was involved with someone. He’d never returned the question. He released the blinds and they snapped back into place.

  He was out the door and down the stairs and pounding the sidewalk by quarter after six, but he slowed to a walk after the second mile.

  So much for impressing himself.

  Hiring Kerry had been a rotten idea. Not only was he going to piss off Harris and wear himself out keeping close track of what was going in and out of the cash register, he was going to torment himself working alongside a sweet, smart-alecky woman who had the kind of curves a man wanted to sink into. Wrap himself around. Lose himself in.

  Been there, done that.

  Which was exactly why he wanted to do it again.

  It was also why he found himself suddenly facing fatherhood. Without a father of his own to hit up for advice.

  Gil pushed himself back into a run. Just outside town he veered off the road and jogged to the far side of a gravel lot. In the thinning shadows, he found the path that led through a grove of scraggly pines down to the lake. He stopped at the edge of the bank, lungs laboring, shoes and socks damp from dew-heavy grass.

  The lake mimicked his restiveness. Or maybe it was the other way around.

  Foam-tipped platinum waves smacked into the rock-strewn beach below, over and over. Water hissed and stones rattled. Gil sucked air and traced the rippling origin of the waves all the way across to Canada. A seaweedy, dead fish smell clung to the back of his throat.

  Torment. Maybe that was the key. He was punishing himself for all the years he’d punished his father and his brother, all because he’d resented his own choice to stay with the hardware store, AKA the sinking ship. He’d punished his mother, too, postponing trip after trip to her place in Florida because she’d never managed to treat Ferrell with the tough love he
so desperately needed.

  Who was Gil to judge?

  The sun edged higher, misting the lake with amber. Gil headed back to the path.

  You got this, Coop. As long as he set the right tone from the start. Kept things distant. Professional. They had plans to make, and those plans couldn’t include getting naked.

  He had to put his business first.

  By the time he got back to the hardware store he was ready to drop, but he hadn’t managed to pound out the unrest. A cold ending to his hot shower didn’t do the trick, either. Nor did forking down a carb-heavy breakfast of oatmeal pancakes.

  Somehow he managed not to nick himself while shaving, but that was the extent of his good luck. He spritzed himself in the eye with toothpaste spit while brushing his teeth, broke a bootlace—twice—while lacing up his Timberlands, and when he pulled a shirt free of its hanger, he pulled too hard and somehow ended up with the hook end stuck in his hair. After spending several minutes untangling his carefully combed hair from the twisted wire, he yanked the damned thing out. Now he had a bald spot.

  Jesus. He was lucky he made it downstairs without puncturing a lung. How the hell was he going to manage putting clothes on a baby?

  A sudden pang for his mother had his vision blurring.

  Half an hour later, Gil stood behind the cash register, rearranging the pens in the china creamer and the apples in the basket and reminding himself over and over again that this wasn’t a frickin’ date. This was serious business. Kerry had debts to pay, he had a save-the-hardware-store strategy to develop, and they had money to put aside for the baby Kerry planned to raise on her own.

  Like hell.

  Still, his brain kept returning again and again to the image of Kerry behind the bar, reaching for something high off a shelf, or bending to scoop ice for a drink. Thick ponytail swinging, green eyes shining.

  Brow scrunching as she watched Dylan struggling with his homework.

  Face brightening as a customer complimented a drink.

  Someone knocked on the glass. Gil jumped, and gave himself a mental fist bump when nothing dropped, cracked or collapsed. It was Kerry.

  He adjusted his glasses, ran a hand through his hair—good job, Coop, now she’ll be able to see the bald spot—and strode over to let her in.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “GOOD MORNING,” HE SAID. “Welcome to Cooper’s Hardware.”

  Jesus, could he sound any more awkward?

  “Good morning.” She walked past him and took off her shades.

  He shut the door behind her and held off on turning the Open sign toward the street. When he got a load of her face, sympathy stirred.

  “Jitters again?” he asked. “Or just plain old-fashioned insomnia?”

  She sputtered a laugh. “I look that bad?”

  “Nothing a little spackle won’t fix.”

  She rolled her eyes and followed him across the store. “Maybe we could try coffee first.”

  “Did you bring any?”

  She stopped. “Was I supposed to?”

  She seemed so stricken, he couldn’t help a chuckle. “Just kidding. Not only can I offer you coffee, I ran by Cal’s Diner earlier and picked up some cinnamon rolls. You interested?”

  He walked backward into the small break room just outside the office.

  She trailed him in and set her purse on the chair in the corner. “The ones as big around as a sixty-tooth, fine-finish circular saw blade?”

  He whistled softly. “Somebody’s been doing her homework.”

  “I saw the sign out front. You’re having a sale.”

  “We’re having a sale.” He was ridiculously pleased. That she’d noticed. That she was in his store. That she’d be around his things. Touching them. Learning them. Talking them up so people would buy them.

  Gilbert Cooper, you’re right where you should be. With all the other tools. She’s only here because she’s carrying your baby.

  He kept conveniently forgetting how she’d brushed him off when he’d asked for her number.

  “It was because of your father,” he blurted.

  “What?” She splashed milk onto the counter instead of into her coffee. Damn. She was as nervous as he was.

  “After we...hooked up. You gave me the brush-off because you knew I’d find out who you were.”

  “I suppose I could have told you then, but I didn’t know how. ‘Thank you for the great sex and by the way, I’m an ex-con and chances are you know my father’?”

  It had been pretty great, hadn’t it? Somehow he managed not to say that out loud. Instead he said, “Sounds melodramatic when you put it that way. Wait. Can you drink coffee?”

  She smiled midsip. “As long as I keep it to one cup. Believe me, that was one of the very first things I looked up.”

  “One might get me through to lunch, but then I’d be falling asleep in my tuna sandwich. Although...” He set his mug down. “Maybe I should cut back, too. A solidarity type thing.” When she gave him a look, he frowned. “What?”

  “You’re different today.”

  “Just trying not to be an ass.”

  “I appreciate it.” She picked up her purse and went into the office. “Okay if I stash this in here?” When he made a noncommittal noise, she dropped her bag in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

  “We’ll save all the pesky new employee paperwork for later,” he said. “How about a tour?”

  “Sounds good.”

  There wasn’t much to show, so Gil took his time. No sense in rushing when they had no customers to wait on. Kerry paid close attention and she liked to straighten things, poking this into place, prodding that into alignment. He liked that she was trying.

  All the while, his pesky inner voice demanded to know how he could be so cheerful about calling a truce with a criminal.

  After he’d shown her around hand tools, power tools, building materials, plumbing, electrical supplies, cleaning supplies, housewares, lawn and garden products and all the miscellaneous sections in between, they ended up back at the cash register, where they leaned against the wooden counter and munched on apples.

  She smelled good. Like a spicy, high-dollar dessert.

  Someone get me a fork.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked casually.

  “It’s a wonderful store. Sweet, old-fashioned and fun. You stock everything from tennis balls to Dutch ovens to lumber.”

  “The eclectic inventory is what gives the place its charm. It’s also the source of the high operating costs.”

  Arms crossed, tapping the apple against her chin, Kerry pushed away from the counter and paced in front of the windows. “You know what this place is missing?”

  “Besides customers? And clean windows?”

  Her expression turned sheepish. Oh, yeah, she knew at least one of those smudges had her name on it. “The social factor,” she said.

  Gil swallowed a bite of apple. “I have a Facebook page.”

  “Not social media. Face-to-face-type social.”

  “So, what, you’re suggesting I hold some kind of open house? Offer guests cheese and wine to enjoy as they contemplate toilet plungers?”

  “What I’m suggesting is that you give people a reason to hang out. The longer they stay, the more likely they are to buy something.” She gestured toward the corner by the stairs that led to his apartment. “You could fit a few café tables over there. Bring your coffee station out here and set up some games. Work a deal with Cal’s Diner and offer fresh pastries. Invite a few retirees to play some checkers. Get a few kids in here after school to do their homework.”

  She was thinking of Dylan. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Offer them a discount. Bring in some kittens. Offer free tutorials on all thos
e power tools you sell. You’ll figure it out.”

  “You want to turn my hardware store into a community center?”

  “I want to turn your hardware store into a place people want to go. I want to turn it into a viable business.”

  He took off his glasses, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be helping me make money, not spend it,” he said.

  “You know as well as I do you have to spend money to make it. You’re just being stubborn.” She tipped her head as she considered him. “Or is it something else?”

  The bell over the door jangled. Gil tossed his apple core in the trash can under the desk and held out his hand for Kerry’s apple. “Finished?”

  She handed it to him carefully and together they faced their first customer, volunteer firefighter Burke Yancey. Gil didn’t know him well, but he’d shot pool with him a time or two at Snoozy’s.

  As Gil threw away what was left of Kerry’s apple, Burke grinned and rubbed a hand over his chest. “Well, now. Don’t you two look cozy.”

  Gil frowned. There was just enough slur to Burke’s words to tell him the firefighter had been drinking. Or maybe he hadn’t stopped, after leaving the bar last night. He was wearing his uniform, though it was wrinkled as hell. Surely he wasn’t on shift today? “Burke.” Gil greeted him tersely, then turned to Kerry. “Why don’t you start taking inventory? The clipboard’s on the desk in the office.”

  Gil didn’t like the look in Burke’s eyes as the firefighter watched Kerry walk away. “She tends bar at Snoozy’s. She’s working for you, too?”

  “Just started today.”

  Burke punched him on the shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Knocking back beers hadn’t affected the firefighter’s strength any. Gil barely resisted the urge to rub his shoulder.

  “Why are you here, Burke?” he asked tightly. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Ruthie says that chick’s trying to take over the bar. She doesn’t like her much.” Burke jabbed his chin in the direction Kerry had taken. “You and she...?” He gave his hips a leisurely pump.