“Your m-mother,” Noel stammered.
“What can I say? We believe in nepotism in my family. Mom’s office is right across from mine. My cousin’s in the same building, too. He’s a real estate broker and he writes up all my deals.” Then Ben brought them back to the subject at hand. “This house could be a real gem.”
With him ripping out walls right and left, and his mother displaying slick, high-priced furniture and decorations in every room. They’d sell it for an obscene profit and cackle all the way to the bank.
“I’ll never be able to afford it by the time you’re done with it, will I?” She could feel the prickle of tears. Embarrassed, she focused on the old vanity with its chipped wood and wiped the corner of her eye.
Then she felt his fingers, calloused and rough, on her chin, urging her to look at him. “Noel.” His voice was soft.
She did and she saw pity on his face. She tried not to let the tears spill.
“I’m not out to ruin your life. Really.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Now he was gazing at her lips. She might not have been the world’s greatest femme fatale but even she knew what that meant.
Go for it, Marvella whispered.
She lifted her chin slightly and that was all the encouragement he needed. He bent and kissed her—a light, sweet kiss, filled with tenderness.
Just as she was about to get into it, he pulled away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She blinked.
He clawed a hand through his hair. “This is not a good road to start down—not until we get things settled about the house.”
“Then let’s get things settled,” she urged.
“Noel, I can’t simply give you this place. I have to make a profit. This is my business and I have obligations.”
“How much of a profit do you want to make?” Why was she asking? She’d seen plenty of those house-flipping shows.
Sure enough. The amount he told her made her want to stick her head in the toilet and drown herself. “I don’t know if I can qualify for a loan for that much.”
He paced down the hall. “This was supposed to be an easy deal, quick profit. Get in and get out.” He stood there in the hallway, shaking his head.
She hurried over to him. “You can still make a profit. Just don’t make all those changes. I don’t care about them. I love the house the way it is. Add another ten thousand to the price and call it good.” What was she saying? She couldn’t afford another ten thousand. She couldn’t even afford another five. And neither of those numbers was close to what he wanted to clear. “Carry my contract and let me make monthly payments.” She’d have the place paid off by the time she was...sixty. Not exactly turning a quick profit, but... “That would bring in some income every month for you.”
He looked torn. She laid a hand on his arm. “Can’t you at least think about it?”
At last he said, “Let me crunch the numbers. Okay?”
She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him. Promise to buy him Blizzards for life. Instead she smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
“I’m not making any promises,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “I understand.”
“I don’t know if I can make this work,” he continued, dousing the fire of hope that had been building inside her.
Baloney, scoffed Marvella. He’s caving. Keep pumping him full of Blizzards and lattes, and this place will be ours.
Yes! Blizzards and lattes...and kisses.
What obligations did he have, anyway?
Chapter Twelve
There was no better way to spend a Saturday morning than helping your sister give your infant nephew a bath. The help consisted mainly of standing by holding the towel, but it gave her something to think about besides the looming non-wedding date.
One week from today she would’ve been getting married. She sighed.
Her sister the psychic shot her a sideways glance. “What are you going to do next Saturday?”
“Bake cookies.”
Jo frowned. “You know what I mean.”
She wished she didn’t. The dreaded day was now coming at her like an avalanche.
“I think you should celebrate your lucky escape,” Jo said.
Yep, celebrate. Just like she’d done the Saturday before, consuming cookies and streaming old episodes of Downton Abbey.
“Let’s have a party.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be in a party mood,” Riley said.
“Well, let me see if I can help you get in one. Sean is a skunk. You almost married a skunk. And how much do you want to bet there’ll be more women after Emily? Your life with him would’ve sucked. We should declare next Saturday your Independence Day and set off fireworks. Okay, we’re ready for our towel.”
Riley frowned as she handed over the towel. “I should be relieved I found out what a cheater he is. Why don’t I feel more glad?”
“Because the two-legged turd broke your heart. Baby oil.”
Riley took the top off the baby oil and handed that over, too, but not before she kept some to rub into one of the baby’s little feet. Those tiny toes—so cute!
“Still, you’re going to reach a point when you thank God all you had to worry about was canceling your venue. You have canceled it, right?”
She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to call the golf club. Canceling the venue felt like buying a coffin for her love life. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Uh, Riles, you probably need to do that.”
Riley could feel tears welling in her eyes. She kept her focus on the baby. Suddenly it felt as if she was looking at little Mikey from under water. “I know.”
Jo diapered the baby, and Riley passed her the red-and-white-striped coverall Grammy had bought him, joining the family stampede to buy some baby-boy outfits. “Aren’t you adorable, my lovely son,” she cooed. Then she returned her attention to Riley. “You probably can’t get back any of your deposits at this point, but it’s worth a try. How about the photographer? Have you talked to him?”
Riley shook her head again.
“The florist?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Cake?”
“No.”
“DJ? Anything?”
“Nooo.” She was always so organized, so on top of things. Now she was on top of nothing, confronted by a pile of ugly to-dos, and all she wanted was to bury her head in the sand like an ostrich. Actually, she’d read somewhere that ostriches didn’t really do that. Well, what did they know, anyway? They were ostriches. This head-burying thing was working fine for her.
Sort of.
Riley’s cell phone rang. It was Mom. “Hi, honey, just wanted to see how you’re doing. Have you canceled your venue yet?”
Were Mom and Jo communicating telepathically? “Jo and I were talking about that a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t think you can get your deposit back. What does your contract say?”
She hadn’t even looked at her contract. She hadn’t done anything except swing back and forth between happiness for her sister and misery over her ruined future. “I don’t know. I’ll have to check.”
“I ran into Bett from Floral Bliss at the grocery store, and she said she hadn’t heard from you.”
“I was getting ready to call her.” Someday.
“Well, I talked with her and she says she’ll refund your deposit.”
Good old Mom. “Thanks,” Riley said.
“And Annette at The Cake Box says she will, too.”
It was only a hundred dollars, but on her salary that was nothing to sneeze at and Riley was grateful. “That’s really nice of her. And of Bett.” Bett’s refund would help plump up her piggy ba
nk, as well. Small consolation, but it was something.
“You owe them thank-you notes.”
Yes, she could use the stationery she’d ordered to write thank-yous for her wedding gifts. Sigh.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call The Pines for you?” Mom offered.
“No. I’m a big ostrich, er, girl. I can do it.” She’d take care of it after school on Monday.
“Okay,” Mom said dubiously. “I hate to see you going through all this. But,” she hurried on, “wedding cancellation misery is better than divorce misery any day.”
Mom and Jo were both right, of course. At the moment it was hard to see it like that. She needed to correct her vision.
“What are you doing for fun today? The streets are clear so Grammy and I are going over to the senior center later to check out the holiday bazaar.”
A thrilling way to spend a Saturday, looking at embroidered dish towels and homemade jams. She could hear Grammy in the background. “Tell her she needs to get out.”
“Your grandma says you need to get out.”
“I am out. I’m at Jo’s.”
“If Mom’s taking you shopping don’t let me stop you,” Jo said. “Mikey and I are having naps this afternoon.”
So, that was the choice—take a nap with Jo and the baby or go to the senior center.
“Come on,” Mom urged. “It’ll be fun.”
It probably would. She enjoyed being with her mother and grandmother. And, if she played her cards right, she’d get invited to Mom and Dad’s for dinner.
Her wayward thoughts strayed to what her Saturday nights used to look like—dinners out with Sean, cuddling on the couch with a roaring fake fire in the electric fireplace, hot kisses...
“So, what do you say?” Mom asked.
Anything was better than sitting at home thinking about her old life. “I’ll come pick you guys up in half an hour,” she replied.
“If anybody’s selling fudge, buy me some,” Jo said.
There was bound to be fudge for sale. If Riley buys fudge for her sister instead of herself, how many ounces does she prevent from gluing themselves to her hips? Not enough to counteract the other goodies she’ll consume. But who cared! She deserved a treat.
In fact, she deserved a life, darn it all. On her way to her mom’s, she put her Bluetooth to work and called Noel. “Are you doing anything tonight?” she asked.
“No.” Noel sounded downright grumpy. This was hardly surprising since she was worried about being able to afford her house.
“Then let’s do something.” Even though both their lives were in the toilet, they could console themselves by swimming around in there together.
“You want to come over? We can order pizza.”
Spending a Saturday night in, eating pizza—when you did that with your boyfriend, it was cozy and fun. When you did that with a girlfriend, it was because you had no place to go. She was not going to let Sean reduce her to a life of evenings in.
“Why don’t we put on our new dresses and go to The Tree House instead?” she suggested.
“I don’t know,” Noel said doubtfully.
“Come on. We can’t sit home, not on a Saturday night.”
“I can.”
“Try the heels one more time, okay? I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Noel said a reluctant “Okay,” and Riley ended the call with a smile. Good. The afternoon with her mom and grandma, dinner (hopefully) with her parents and a night out. That took care of this Saturday. As for next Saturday...as Noel would say, she wasn’t going to think about that right now.
Mom and Grammy were ready and waiting when she got to her parents’, Mom wearing jeans and a cream-colored sweater accented with a gold necklace, simple black flats on her feet. It was plain to see where Jo got her style sense. She certainly didn’t get it from Grammy, who was resplendent in tennis shoes and jeans topped by an ugly Christmas sweater decorated with penguins in Santa hats. She’d accented her ensemble with a Santa hat pulled over her short, spiky gray hair and a necklace of Christmas ornaments that blinked on and off. The green ornament earrings dangling from her ears were blinking, too, but to an entirely different beat.
“Let’s go party,” she said, leading the way. Watching her blink down the hall, Riley couldn’t help thinking of the song about Rudolph and his red nose. If Rudolph wanted Christmas Eve off to play reindeer games, Grammy could easily fill in for him.
“She really wants to go out looking like that?” Riley whispered to her mother.
Mom shrugged. “What can I say? She has her own, uh, unique style. Just pretend you don’t know her when we get there.”
But of course, that wasn’t happening. Grammy wanted to introduce her lovely granddaughter to anyone and everyone. Riley already knew some of the seniors peddling their wares, like Mrs. Wooster, Grammy’s BFF, who was selling crocheted mug cozies and sock monkeys.
“Your grandma told me about that awful man who jilted you,” Mrs. Wooster boomed. (Mrs. Wooster was hard of hearing and assumed everyone else was, too.) “That piece in the paper was simply awful, but I’d have rammed the vixen, too.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Riley said. She could feel her cheeks flaming. She was aware of the sweet, gray-haired lady sitting at the table next to Mrs. Wooster, eavesdropping shamelessly. In a hurry to change the subject, she picked up a red mug cozy. “Did you make these yourself?”
“Did I what?” boomed Mrs. Wooster.
The woman selling brownies at the next table spoke up. “You know, my daughter is a witch. She could cast a spell.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll let him get what’s coming to him all on his own.” Then to Mrs. Wooster, a little more loudly, “Did you make these?”
“I did.”
“Well, then I’ll take two.”
Mrs. Wooster nodded. “Yes, they’re new.”
Riley held up two fingers. “Two.”
“Buy two, get two free,” said Mrs. Wooster.
Goody. Riley fished in her purse. She could use them...hmm. She could give them to...hmm. She’d think of someone.
Meanwhile, the little old lady at the next table was selling more than brownies. “Just a little spell?”
“Uh, no, that’s okay,” Riley said. “But I will take one of your brownies.”
The woman beamed a beatific smile. “You’ll want more than one. They’re laced with pot.”
“I’ll take two,” said Grammy.
“Mother!” Mom scolded.
“What? It’s legal here in Washington,” Grammy retorted and Mom made a face.
So far, this wasn’t exactly what Riley had envisioned when she’d agreed to come to the seniors’ holiday bazaar. At least it wasn’t boring.
They moved on to more tables and Riley wound up purchasing a jar of peppermint face scrub and something called Snowmommy’s Soup, which was cocoa mix with miniature marshmallows and crushed peppermint candies.
She also bought a handmade birdhouse from a fit-looking older man with a few wisps of white hair fringing an otherwise bald pate. “This’ll be nice on your patio,” he told her.
“I don’t have a patio yet, but I will someday.” And if not she’d give the birdhouse to Noel for her place...once she’d gotten it back from the house-flipper. “This is really charming,” she added.
“Thanks.”
“You sure have a lot of them.” There weren’t that many people milling around the senior center. She hoped for his sake as well as the others all looking eagerly at the people strolling past their tables that they’d have a late-afternoon rush.
“I like to putter.” He grabbed some newspaper and wrapped up her purchase with gnarled hands. “The kids want me to move to one of those assisted living places, but I told ’em that’s for
old people. I’m not in my grave yet.”
“You have a long ways to go before that happens, Felix,” Grammy assured him.
“You got that right. Kids these days, they figure just because a man gets old he’s useless. I keep telling ’em that even if there’s snow on the rooftop, it don’t mean there’s no fire in the chimney,” he said with a wink that made Grammy blush.
“He’s cute,” Riley said as they moved away. She nudged Grammy. “I think he’s got the hots for you.”
“Oh, he flirts with all the ladies. When you get to be our age, a man can have his pick of women. He’s a good man with lots of life left in him.” She shook her head. “His kids want to stick him somewhere and forget him.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Riley protested.
“It’s true for many people after a certain age. Funny how the longer you live, the smaller your world becomes. Your children get busy with their lives and their own children. You wind up hard of hearing and sitting on the sidelines at family gatherings, watching the fun instead of being part of it.”
Riley looked over at where Mrs. Wooster sat. Was Grammy talking about her?
“Pretty soon it’s just you and Friday-night bingo. Of course, that’s not the case with me,” Grammy added. “But it is with a number of my friends. This is the highlight of the year for many of them.”
Riley took in the large room decorated with tinsel and red bows, filled with tables and senior citizens smiling at potential customers. Did the ornaments on the tree in the corner look a little worn and tired? Did the smiles on some of those faces look just a little desperate?
As she stopped to chat with the seniors, she heard tales of neglectful children, tight budgets and lonely holidays looming. And she thought she had problems. The more she heard, the more she bought. By the time they left, she was loaded down with everything from tea towels to fudge for Jo.
“You’re a good kid,” Grammy said as they all walked back to the car, Riley with her armload of purchases, Grammy with her pot-laced brownies.
“I’m a sucker,” Riley said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with half of this.”
“You can give me the mug cozies for Christmas,” Grammy said. “I’ll use them for my tea mugs. And in return I’ll share my brownies,” she added with a grin.
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