Stirring Up Trouble

by Andrea Laurence

  She felt like the Grinch. Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

  Giving up, she sat up in bed and looked around her bedroom with blurry eyes. As much as she loved this room, it had become her nightly prison. Well, a prison with damask wallpaper and chenille blankets. The master suite was on the second floor, facing the street and the bar across from it. The lights of Woody’s parking lot lit up her lace curtains and cast her room in a golden glow.

  Maddie flung back her comforter and got out of bed. She grabbed her cell phone off the charger and carried it down the hallway to her guest room. This room was smaller and filled mostly with boxes and junk she wasn’t sure what to do with yet, but it had a bed and it was at the back of the house. At this point, she wanted to be as far from Woody’s as she could get.

  She switched on the light and moved a couple of plastic totes filled with her winter clothes off the bed. She pulled back the eyelet lace comforter and switched on the small Tiffany-style lamp on the bedside stand before she turned off the overhead light.

  Maddie crawled into bed and snuggled into the soft sheets. She felt her body instantly relax into sleep. She turned off the lamp and found that the room was blessedly dark. And quiet.

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes. The elusive fog of sleep wrapped around her, luring her off to her much-needed rest. She was seconds from oblivion when she heard it.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Curt! Curtis! You’ve got to hear this.” The shrill but slightly slurred woman’s voice was like an ice pick in Maddie’s ear. “Jesse, you’ve got to tell that story to Curt.”

  Maddie gritted her teeth and screamed in frustration. She couldn’t hear the music in this bedroom, but the people loitering in the parking lot might as well be sitting on her bed as they told their drunken tales.

  “I love tequila!” someone shouted. Another woman, judging by the high-pitched shriek. “Tequila is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I really mean that.”

  Maddie was certain the woman wouldn’t feel the same way come morning. Tequila certainly wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to her. Tequila, vodka, rum, whiskey, beer . . . all of it was crossed off her list and had been long before she moved in across the street from Woody’s. Alcohol lowered your inhibitions, dulled your senses, and left a person vulnerable.

  She knew as well as anyone what could happen to someone in that state. The biggest mistake she’d ever made involved a bottle of wine and a solid dose of naïveté. She’d regretted that night her whole life and couldn’t fathom why someone would deliberately put themselves in that position. Dollar shots on ladies’ night just didn’t seem like a good enough reason.

  That’s when they started to sing. At first it was one or two drunks, then a whole chorus of them joined in for a rousing rendition of “American Pie.” All twenty-seven verses.

  This was too much. Maddie couldn’t take any more.

  Rolling over, she picked up her phone. It was after ten now. If things quieted down soon, she could get five hours of sleep. A whopping five to get her through a nearly fourteen-hour workday. Owning your own business wasn’t for sissies. And neither was living across the street from the only bar in a small town with nothing to really do in the evenings. This town needed more community activities, especially for the younger, single residents. Perhaps the Jaycees or the fund-raiser committee could organize something.

  She didn’t blame the bar for being what it was. But she desperately needed sleep. People could party all night Friday if she could just get some quiet weeknights.

  Maybe Miss Francine was right. Technically, the bar was breaking the sound ordinance. Maddie’s wasn’t the only home within earshot. It was right to report them. Let Emmett and the cops work it out. She dialed the local authorities and waited for someone to answer.

  “Rosewood Sheriff’s Department,” a chipper woman’s voice answered. “How can I assist you?”

  “Hello? Yes, this is Madelyn Chamberlain. I’d like to make a noise complaint.”

  Chapter Two

  A loud pounding on the glass door of the shop startled Maddie. She was just about to put a couple of muffin trays into the oven. It wasn’t even five in the morning yet. Who could be knocking on her door now?

  Cautiously, Maddie peeked through the kitchen door into the dim shop. She didn’t turn on the shop lights until the sun came up, otherwise she felt like she was in a lighted display case where everyone could see her but she couldn’t see them. The streetlights outside illuminated the shape of a man standing at the door. He was tall and lean, with messy hair, and if the tense stance and tightly curled fists at his sides were any indication, he was also angry.

  Emmett.

  She’d been expecting a visit from him, although she’d expected it to happen during more decent hours. Like when the sun was up. And there were witnesses.

  She considered slinking back into the kitchen unseen, but she knew she had to face him head-on. She smoothed her hair, prayed there wasn’t any flour on her face, and switched on the store lights. The fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, bathing the room in an unnatural glow that was only emphasized by the stark darkness outside.

  She reached for the lock and then paused. He was a large, angry man with access to all the alcohol he could drink. She didn’t think he was a violent person, but she’d proven she wasn’t the best judge of character. “What do you want?” she shouted through the panes of the glass door.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said, although she didn’t entirely believe it from the looks of him. At best, he wanted to shout at her, at worst, maybe give her a good shake. Emmett was so laid-back he was practically horizontal, however, his expression at the moment was anything but. His brow was drawn down in consternation, etching lines into his forehead. His full lips curled down in the corners like arrows pointing out the tense set of his jaw. He had a 5 a.m. shadow and tousled blond hair, but that seemed to be standard attire for the beach bum.

  “Then talk,” she challenged, making no move to unlock the door.

  “I’m not going to shout at you through the glass and wake up the whole neighborhood.”

  That was rich! Maddie couldn’t help laughing bitterly at him. “You’re never that concerned about waking me up. What’s the difference?”

  “Come on. Let me in so we can talk about this like adults.”

  “I don’t know you, Emmett. You could be crazy. You could have a gun or a baseball bat. You could get in here and choke me with your bare hands.”

  Emmett sighed dramatically and thrust his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “The thought has crossed my mind, I assure you. But I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk. Or would you rather I return when the shop is open and cause a scene that costs you business?”

  Maddie’s eyes widened at his threat. Madelyn’s Bakery was a place of refinement and elegance. She was working with the local cotillion committee to hold etiquette classes upstairs this spring. She wasn’t about to let a brawl break out downstairs and ruin her hard-earned reputation.

  Emmett took her silence as defiance. “If that’s what you want. I guess that’s only fair, since that’s what you did to me tonight.”

  “I did nothing of the sort!” she shouted, snapping out of her reverie.

  “Oh yeah?” Emmett planted his hands against the glass and leaned in to where his breath started to fog the panes in the cool morning air. “You think a cop car at my bar is good for business? You think the sheriff running off customers on one of my busiest nights helps my bottom line?”

  “If you cared so much about your bottom line, you wouldn’t break the law and alienate everyone around you.”

  Emmett’s forehead dropped against the glass. “Would you please let me in?”

  Maddie relented with a frown of displeasure. She certainly didn’t want to let him in, but she couldn’t h
ave him coming back when the bakery was open. With her luck, he’d come back just in time to put on a show for Miss Dotty or Miss Vera and then the whole town would know about it.

  She reached out and flipped the dead bolt on the front door. Once it was unlocked, she took a large step backward to put as much space between them as possible. It wasn’t just anxiety that forced Maddie to move away as Emmett came in. It was a different kind of self-preservation. Men, especially the larger, more intimidating ones, always made Maddie nervous. She wasn’t a small woman, but she wasn’t particularly strong. She liked to maintain a large bubble of personal space from most people.

  Emmett fell into that category as well. Even though he wasn’t physically menacing—even in anger—she knew he could be dangerous in other ways. He was too sexy. Too rough around the edges. Despite his charming smile and physical ease, he was the last person Maddie should be attracted to. For one thing, they came from two different worlds. Maddie made it a rule to date men who had more money than her family did. That way, she didn’t have to worry that they were just interested in her for her family fortune. Emmett looked like the kind of guy who would blow his last ten bucks on a beer and a burger and pass out happy. Not exactly the kind of guy she was used to.

  For another thing, Emmett was a peddler of the stuff she despised the most: alcohol. Legal as it might be, it was a toxic liquid that turned good men into monsters and smart women into fools. She personally hadn’t touched the stuff in more than eight years and for good reason. Alcohol made the bad ideas sound like great ones and dropped all the protective barriers a girl needed to keep herself safe.

  There was no way she could let herself get involved with a man who not only drank but made a living providing alcohol to others. A loud, obnoxious living.

  As the door swung shut behind him, Maddie crossed her arms protectively over her chest and fixed her gaze on the empty bakery case beside her. If she looked him in the eye, she might get lost in their green-gold depths and let down her guard. Emmett was exceedingly handsome for a man so irritating. She couldn’t allow a decade of loneliness to make her weak and vulnerable to his charms.

  “Well,” she said. “I let you in. What do you want? Make it quick; I have a lot of baking to do.”

  “Don’t let me stop you. We can talk in the kitchen just as easily.”

  “Fine.” She turned and headed back toward the kitchen, watching anxiously over her shoulder as he followed her. “Wash your hands,” she demanded as he reached the sink just inside the doorway. She didn’t want to think about what sticky, nasty things he’d have on his hands after a night at the bar. “And put this on.”

  Emmett reached out in time to snatch the hairnet she launched at him out of the air. “Really?” He looked at it with dismay, making Maddie even more determined he needed to wear it.

  “Health department requirement,” she said. Technically, his hair was short enough, but she wanted him to have it on. If he looked a little silly, this conversation might be easier. For her, at least.

  “You’re not wearing one,” he challenged.

  “My hair is pulled back in a tight bun. Come on, put it on and get to talking.” Maddie turned her back to him and loaded her earlier batch of muffins into the oven. She checked the other one, noting there were only a few minutes left for today’s special—pain au chocolat. The dark-chocolate-stuffed croissants were one of her best sellers.

  “Why did you call the cops on me, Madelyn?”

  Maddie stiffened at the sound of her formal name. Only her grandmother and a handful of other people ever called her that. Apparently, Emmett had never said her name before. If he had, the chill of goose bumps wouldn’t have rushed over her skin at the mere sound of her name on his lips.

  She tried to focus on setting the timer for the muffins and finally turned back to face him. Somehow, even the hairnet couldn’t make him look less handsome. It was so frustrating. “I called the cops,” she said as coolly and calmly as she could, “because Woody’s was breaking the sound ordinance. It was after ten.”

  “You couldn’t come across the street? You couldn’t dial the bar instead of the cops and speak to me about it directly?”

  “I’ve tried that and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I was already losing hours of precious sleep because of your loud music and rowdy patrons. I wasn’t going to go out of my way to get dressed and come across the street because you had obnoxious drunks in the parking lot.”

  “I didn’t know I had obnoxious drunks in the parking lot. Once they step outside, I have less control over what happens.”

  “Please,” Maddie said. “What do you think is going to happen out there? You think those liquored-up fools are going to sit quietly on the stoop and chat about literature and current events?”

  “It’s a bar,” Emmett said. He strolled into the kitchen and plucked a raspberry out of the bowlful she’d rinsed and set aside for a puff pastry she was planning to make later that afternoon. Before she could complain, he popped it into his mouth. “It was a bar before you moved in across the street, I’ll add. It’s not like I showed up and ruined your pristine street. What did you think it was going to be like when you moved in?”

  “I thought that you would run your business in a civilized, respectful manner.”

  “So I’ll put up a sign. I’ll remind people to be respectful in the parking lot. If they don’t listen, then what?”

  “Then I’ll call the cops again. And again. And again. Until it stops. I need sleep. I try to be in bed by seven or eight because I get up at three in the morning. I can’t listen to your thumping music and laughing drunks until two a.m.”

  “Impossible,” he muttered. “You’re asking for the impossible. It’s like moving in next to the firehouse and complaining that they turn on the sirens.”

  “At least if I was woken up by sirens, it’d be for a good cause. Some woman declaring her love for tequila is not worthy of disrupting my sleep.”

  “It costs me five hundred bucks every time the sheriff tickets me for a sound violation.”

  Poor, pitiful Emmett. Maybe if he had to raise his prices to pay the fines, people would drink less. That was fine by her. “Then you’d better do something about it before you put yourself out of business.”

  Emmett took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. She was completely unreasonable. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, her lips twisting into an irritated scowl that somehow didn’t lessen the beauty of her classic features. The flush of anger made her high cheekbones rosy and her bright blue eyes glitter as she stared him down. “I tried being nice. I tried to talk to you about it like an adult and you pretty much told me to suck it.”

  Emmett swallowed a snort of derision despite how badly he wanted to laugh in her face. He got the feeling that would just ratchet her attitude up another few notches. If that pole up her ass got any higher, she’d choke on it. How could a woman so beautiful and talented be so miserable to be around?

  That wasn’t exactly how that conversation had gone down. She hadn’t asked nicely. She’d flittered into the bar making demands, then, when he wasn’t receptive, stomped out in a huff. She might think he was just some bum who spent his twenties partying on the beach before he scraped up enough pennies to buy a bar, but she was wrong. He’d run with the big boys in Florida. He knew her type, through and through. Fancy, high-maintenance women who turn their nose up at everything and everyone.

  He wasn’t about to get pushed around by Madelyn or anyone else. He might be an outsider, as far as Rosewood circles were concerned, but he wasn’t stupid or willing to be intimidated by their silly social constructs. If they knew the truth about him, folks would certainly treat him differently, especially this stuck-up little princess. But he liked living this life. It was simple, easy. At least until she started making trouble for him.

  “I
’m sorry Madelyn, but that’s simply not true. I have no interest whatsoever in having you suck it.”

  Maddie gasped, her cheeks going from rose to crimson. “How dare you!” she shouted.

  “What?” he baited. “Are you upset because I dared to make a dirty joke in your highfalutin shop? Or are you insulted because I don’t want you?”

  “Get out!” she shouted. “Get out right now, or I’ll call the sheriff again.”

  Emmett rolled his eyes. This chick had no sense of humor whatsoever. Her attitude grated on him, and no matter how sensible her argument might be, the way she spoke to him made him want to dig in his heels and fight her at every turn. Whatever he could say or do to get her spun up was fine by him. She already thought he was an ass; there was no reason he couldn’t fulfill that prophecy for her.

  He boldly reached out to the tray of cooling cinnamon rolls and snatched one before he turned and walked out of the kitchen. She sputtered behind him, but he didn’t pay any attention to her. She could bill him. She’d just cost him five hundred bucks, she could spare a three-dollar baked good.

  “This isn’t over, Fancy Pants!” Emmett shouted as he continued out of the shop and strolled down the dark, quiet stretch of First Avenue back to the bar. He absentmindedly munched on his pilfered pastry as he crossed the street and unlocked the bar’s side door that led upstairs to his apartment.

  When he’d bought Woody’s Bar, he’d bought the whole building. It was a perfect scenario, really, with the bar downstairs and a private apartment above. It needed some work to get everything the way he wanted it, but once it was done, it provided him the easy life he’d hoped for when he left Florida to come to Rosewood. The town was small and pretty quiet. Most of the people were friendly enough. He could walk almost anywhere, and he’d even had the time to indulge in his woodworking hobby since he’d come here.

  Life in Florida had gotten way too hectic for Emmett. He’d spent years getting a degree in finance so he could go into investment banking and work for a large firm in Tampa. He wanted to manage the big portfolios and earn the equally big salary so he could get the waterfront condo and the convertible he’d always dreamed of. But when he had all of that and more, he realized that it had made life too complicated. He worked long hours; he barely slept; he was in a constant state of hurry. What was the point of this life when he couldn’t enjoy it? That’s when he decided to leave it all behind and go in search of a slower pace.