What a Girl Wants

by Jennifer Snow

  “Bailey.” Pearl’s greeting was terse as she hung several potted plants on an iron hook above the door before hurrying inside.

  Weird. Bailey usually exchanged pleasantries with the woman on Sunday mornings before her weekly breakfast with her dad and brothers. It was just as well; she wasn’t really in the mood to chat after the meeting with the insurance adjustor.

  Entering the fifties-style diner, Bailey scanned the crowded room for her family. The Sunday-morning breakfast was a tradition they’d started when she and the boys had still lived at home.

  “Hey, Bailey. Your dad’s just in the kitchen, checking out a leaking pipe under the sink. Your brothers are sitting at your usual booth near the window.” Tina Miller set the tray of steaming coffee cups she carried onto the nearest table, then reached forward and enveloped Bailey in a tight hug.

  The smell of the woman’s lavender perfume made her eyes water.

  “I’m so sorry about the garage...and we were all so relieved to hear no one was hurt.”

  “Thank you. It’s been a tough morning,” Bailey admitted, the tray of coffee tempting her to reach out and grab one. With literally no sleep at all the night before, it was a wonder her eyes were staying open.

  Tina moved away and lowered her voice. “You know, it’s okay if you did it. Heck, Joey and I talk about burning this place down all the time and taking the insurance money and moving to the Bahamas.” She laughed, but the sincerity in her words surprised Bailey.

  Tina actually believed she’d purposely burn down her own business? Who else thought that? Clearly it was a topic of discussion already. Small-town gossip made Brookhollow come alive. She hated to be the center of it.

  “I didn’t,” she said, squaring her shoulders for the accusatory stares she expected to face on the way to the corner booth near the jukebox where her brothers sat.

  The woman picked up her tray and sauntered off with a wink. “Of course not. Your coffee’s already on the table.”

  Joey, the diner’s owner and cook, slid an order through the kitchen window. The French toast topped with whipped cream and strawberries made her stomach growl. “Morning, Bailey. I drove past the garage on my way in this morning. Terrible fire.” He shook his head. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

  “Thanks, Joey.” Avoiding the stares and whispers from the tables as she passed, she slid into their usual booth. After tucking her motorcycle helmet on the seat next to her, she turned to her brothers. “Tell me what people are saying.” Best to know what rumors were circulating before she was forced to confront them.

  Jordan was on his cell phone but gave her a sympathetic smile. Glad you’re okay, he mouthed.

  Brandon swallowed a mouthful of coffee and leaned closer across the table. “Just what you would expect—that you burned down the shop in order to afford the repairs it desperately needs.” He eyed her with suspicion. “Did you?”

  “Brandon!” Her own brother? Come on. He should know her better than that.

  “Had to ask.” He shrugged.

  Jordan disconnected his call and shot his older brother a look. “No, you didn’t. Don’t pay any attention to the talkers, Bailey. Remember what we went through after Grandpa died....”

  Her brothers had opened their MMA club two weeks after the death of their last living grandparent several years before, and gossip had run wild with claims that the boys had had something to do with the ninety-four-year-old’s death. People had gone so far as to surmise that the old man, who’d been living at the senior’s complex, had had a small fortune that the boys inherited. Of course, none of it was true, and once the coroner’s report declared cause of death to be a heart attack, the rumor mill had ceased. Unfortunately in Bailey’s case, it was more than her reputation around town at stake.

  “Anyway, that was Uncle Doug,” Jordan said. “He feels terrible.”

  In the chaos of the night before and the headache-inducing inspection that morning, Bailey had almost forgotten about the poor man. Her uncle would be feeling this disaster as much as she was. He’d opened the shop forty-five years ago. It had been his life. “I was going to stop by to see him this afternoon.” After her dress fitting with Sheila Mason. It took all her strength and loyalty as a friend to Luke and Victoria not to use this turn of events to cancel that obligation.

  “I think you should,” Jordan continued. “At first he thought it was Nick’s fault.”

  So had she. “Nope. All mine.”

  Her father slid into the booth next to her. “Hey, honey.” Ben Sheppard leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I ordered our usual already, I was starving.”

  “Great, thanks.” She bit her lip and toyed with the handle on her coffee cup.

  “Rough night, huh?” He squeezed her hand on the table.

  “Turns out the entire town thinks I’m capable of arson,” she mumbled.

  Ben gave a dismissive wave. “Joey and Tina are just annoyed that they didn’t think of it first.”

  “You don’t actually think I did it, do you?” She studied her father. At fifty-four, he was still handsome with just a few gray streaks in his dark brown hair and the first sign of wrinkles at the corners of his crystal-blue eyes. A plumber by trade, he kept himself in good shape, running five nights a week with the local running group at the YMCA. They had always been close, and his opinion mattered more than the rest.

  “No. I know you loved that place.”

  Tina approached the booth with their orders, a slight sway in her curvy hips. She flashed a conspiratorial smile at Bailey as she leaned over Ben to refill the coffee cups. “Can I get anything else for you guys at the moment?”

  “No, I think we’re good. Thanks, Tina.”

  “Great, holler if you need anything.”

  Bailey sighed. “Ugh...this is a disaster.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Jordan said, cutting into his breakfast steak. “The place really did need upgrades—now you can do them.”

  “Only if I get paid out by the insurance company.” Bailey slumped against the seat, the hot coffee mug between her hands providing little comfort to her frazzled nerves.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Ben asked, biting into a piece of toast and peanut butter.

  “Apparently the people around here aren’t the only ones who think the fire may not have been an accident.”

  “The meeting with the insurance adjuster didn’t go well?” Brandon asked, covering his omelet with ketchup.

  She shook her head and sat straighter as Ethan approached in his soccer-coach uniform. She swallowed hard. The unexpected sight of his unshaven face and still-wet-from-the-shower hair made her pulse race, despite the annoyance she felt toward him for his part in this morning’s inquisition from the insurance rep. Not to mention the grudge she held against him for tearing down the shop.

  “Hey, Ethan. On your way to practice?” Brandon asked.

  As well as his job at the fire hall, Ethan worked on the school board and coached all of the local junior boy’s teams that his nephews played on—hockey, soccer and football. She didn’t fail to notice that today his eyes looked as tired as hers felt.

  “Yeah. Remind me again whose idea it was to hold practice at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning,” he said grumpily, running a hand over his scruffy face. “Hey, Mr. Sheppard. Bailey, how are you?” he asked, reaching for her coffee.

  She swiped his hand away, moving the cup out of reach.

  “Okay, still mad at me.” Ethan rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands into his shorts pockets.

  Bailey sighed. “Because of your warning about the Jetta being a hazard and your countless inspection reports, my claim will probably be denied...and worse, I’m facing a fine for fraud.”

  Ethan frowned. “They think you started the fire on purpose? That’s preposterous.”

 
Despite her annoyance, she wanted to hug him for his immediate dismissal of the ridiculous suggestion. “Yeah, well, the facts point to otherwise. Did you really have to be so detailed in those inspection reports?” She knew she was mad at the wrong guy, but he was the closest person other than herself that she could blame for this mess.

  “I was doing my job.”

  “I just wish you didn’t do it so well.” She took a sip of her coffee and rested her cheek on her hand.

  “Want to join us for breakfast?” Ben invited.

  “Love to, but I’m running late. I just called in an order to go,” he said, grabbing a strip of Bailey’s bacon.

  She reached for the hot sauce on the table and squirted a drop onto her plate.

  Ethan dipped the bacon into it, folded it then popped the whole thing into his mouth.

  “Ethan, order up!” Tina called from behind the counter.

  “Gotta run.” Ethan grabbed his sunglasses off the table and slid them over his disheveled dark hair. “Bailey, try not to worry too much. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

  * * *

  “OKAY, GUYS, BRING it in. We’re going to work on our tackle today.” Ethan watched the group of six-to nine-year-old boys running laps around the hundred-yard field behind Brookhollow Junior High School. He pushed his Oakley sunglasses up over his New Jersey Devils baseball cap and flinched in the bright early-morning sun. Taking a final gulp of coffee, he set the cup aside and picked up a soccer ball.

  The boys lined up in front of him and Mason Young raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mason?”

  “You said last week we weren’t allowed to tackle in soccer.” The young boy wore a look of confusion.

  “We’re not tackling the way we would in football. This is a technique of stealing the ball, but with your feet,” Ethan explained.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Doesn’t make any sense,” the boys chorused.

  “Guys, we just learned how to do this a few weeks ago.”

  Blank faces stared back at him.

  “Okay, who remembers what I’m talking about?” He scanned the row of boys. “Any of you?” He placed his hands on his hips and let out a breath. “David knows what I’m talking about.... Hey, where’s David Myers?” Both of his nephews were absent from practice. Odd, they never missed a week. Their mom, his sister, Melody, was adamant that if they committed to something, they followed through. The boys both possessed a natural talent well beyond their age level, something they’d inherited from their athletic father before he’d died in a car accident when the boys were four. Melody was raising them alone.

  “They weren’t at scouts on Friday.... I think they’re sick,” Michael Thompson supplied.

  That made sense. When one of the twins got sick, the other one did, too. He would stop by to see them later in the week.

  “Coach Bishop?” Evan Coles spoke up, raising a hand.

  “Yeah?”

  “Were you scared?” he asked, eyes wide.

  All of the boys stared at him. Okay, he could see they wouldn’t get through practice until he talked to them about the fire. He lowered himself to the grass, folding his legs. “Sit,” he motioned.

  The little boys moved closer and sat in a semicircle around him.

  “Yes, I was scared,” he said honestly. Fires were rare in the small town and the garage had many hidden dangers. Things could have gone much worse the night before. Though for Bailey, things were about as bad as they could be. He pushed away the rising guilt. He’d done what he had to do for everyone’s safety. She’d realize that.

  “But in an emergency situation, it’s important to keep a clear head and work as a team,” he continued. “Kind of the same way you guys are on the field. You work as a team so you can win games, right?” He hoped the young boys recognized the connection and understood the importance that teamwork played in all aspects of life.

  “Were the flames big?”

  “Did the windows explode?”

  “Was the smoke hard to see through?”

  The questions were fired at him and he held up a hand. “Yes, the flames were big and the smoke was thick, but we secured the premises first, so nothing exploded.”

  “I want to be a firefighter,” Michael said with an excited nod.

  “Me, too,” the others chorused.

  Ethan smiled for the first time that day. Kids had a way of putting things in perspective. “Great, the fire hall will be fully staffed for years,” he said as he stood. “But first, my brave soccer players, you need to learn to tackle so we can win our first playoff game two weeks from now.”

  “I know how to tackle,” Evan said, jumping to his feet with the others.

  “Oh, yeah? Let’s see.”

  All eight boys dived toward him, dogpiling him on the grass.

  * * *

  ETHAN CLIMBED THE stairs to the town council office in downtown Brookhollow later that day. The entire downtown consisted of five multistory buildings around Brookview Lake and served as the location for any government or formal business in the town. The mayor’s office and the city’s official archives were housed on the third floor of the Brookview Tower building.

  “Ethan, what are you doing here?” The deep, familiar voice of Mayor Parsons, Emily’s dad, resonated behind him. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in months, since he’d been trying to avoid the Parsons family. Being around them was tough, a reminder that Emily was gone. Her free-spirited way had lit up the room and brought life to even the most boring family gatherings, and her absence now was obvious. He preferred to keep his distance from the family that he’d once planned to become part of someday. The lack of effort the Parsonses had made to keep in touch made him guess they felt the same. He’d only be a reminder to them of what they’d lost.

  He turned and extended a hand. “Good afternoon, sir. Nice to see you.” He hoped the words sounded convincing. “I’m just here to photocopy some documents.”

  Tom Parsons accepted the hand, pumped it once then released it. “Oh?”

  “Yeah...I was hoping to find the original building specs for the garage.”

  “Doug’s Motors?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom nodded slowly and fell into step with Ethan as they entered the building through the revolving, glass door. The heels of the older man’s dress shoes echoed off the spotless tiled floor of the lobby and he waved to the security guard at the front desk. “I heard about the fire last night. Glad no one was hurt, but I suspect that Bailey woman has a bit of a sticky situation on her hands.”

  Ethan tensed. “Sticky situation?”

  “The whole town is talking about the possibility that this may not have been an accident.” Tom lifted the sleeve of his tailor-made suit to check his Rolex.

  Wow, taxpayer money did go a long way, Ethan mused. The cost of that watch alone could have paid for the upgrades needed in many of the older buildings in Brookhollow. Including the garage. “That’s exactly all it is, sir—talk. Bailey would never destroy her own shop.”

  Tom paused near the elevators as Ethan stabbed the button. “You two have always been close.”

  Unsure whether it was a question or a statement, Ethan remained silent, watching the numbers illuminate above the elevator door. Even after so many years together, he’d never felt truly comfortable around Emily’s father. Mayor Parsons had been constantly pushing him to look into the bigger fire halls in New Jersey and New York, claiming that Ethan was wasting his talents serving the small town’s community. While Ethan appreciated the man’s encouragement, he’d suspected it hadn’t been entirely altruistic.

  Emily had never hidden the fact that she found Brookhollow dull, and her desire to move away had been obvious to everyone. Mayor Parsons had higher po
litical aspirations himself, and Ethan suspected his own wish to settle in the small town hadn’t registered favorably with the family. Well, now it was no longer their concern.

  “Sometimes I think that may have been part of the problem,” the man said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

  “Part of what problem?” Ethan scanned the directory. Archives, third floor.

  Tom hit seven for himself and three for Ethan. “The one between you and Emily.”

  “You think my friendship with Bailey was a problem in our relationship?” He frowned as he met the man’s gaze. That was just ridiculous. Bailey was...Bailey. Emily had never said anything to him about the woman who’d always been just one of the boys. He’d sometimes sensed that she disliked Bailey...but he suspected the feeling was mutual. Emily and Bailey were so different. They’d never been exactly friendly.

  “I’m just saying it couldn’t have helped. I mean, men and women simply cannot be friends. Not without one or both getting the wrong idea....”

  “Oh, no, sir. Bailey and I really are just friends, nothing more.”

  “Are you sure she sees it that way?”

  The elevator opened onto the third floor and Ethan hesitated.

  Tom held the door as it began to slide closed. “Marlene at the information desk will get you what you need.”

  Ethan stepped out into the hall. “Great, thanks,” he mumbled as the elevator doors closed behind him.

  * * *

  A LITTLE PAST NOON, Bailey stared at her puffy, red-eyed reflection in the mirrored closet doors in Mrs. Mason’s sewing room, upstairs in the family home on Albert Street. She barely recognized herself in the pale pink halter-style dress with the cinched waist and angular, calf-length train. The zipper had been a challenge and she struggled to take a deep breath, but otherwise the dress fit as if it had been made for her. It hung a little longer than it would have on Victoria’s cousin, Adele, but the length covered the stone-angel tattoo on the upper half of her calf. While the tattoo, in memory of her mother, meant a lot to her, she didn’t think Victoria would appreciate it appearing in her wedding photos. Bailey traced a hand along the shimmery satin, the pale contrast of the fabric making her dark, tanned skin glow.