Melinda arched a brow and looked her up and down. “Well. Hello, Harley. I hear we’re going to be neighbors again.”
No thanks to you, thought Harley.
“I’m curious. How is it that a waitress can afford to purchase a house like the Grimskys’?”
Harley’s face heated. She wanted to rip off her apron and storm out of the country club and never set foot in it again. But when she pictured herself rocking her son in her beautiful nursery overlooking the vineyards, she managed to swallow back her outrage. “Waitressing is just one of my jobs. It doesn’t define me.”
“Sit down for a minute. Let’s talk.” Melinda motioned to the chair across from her.
Harley looked around, hoping to see someone with his finger in the air signaling her for more water or ketchup, but for once, every diner was contentedly forking food into her mouth or sipping her drink.
“You’re not indispensable,” said Melinda. “They can do without you for a minute.”
Reluctantly, Harley sat.
“Tell me. Why did you come back to Newberry?”
“I wanted to open an inn.” Melinda already knew that much. The rest was none of her business.
“Why here? Why now?”
“Why not?” She was Melinda’s captive. If they’d been anywhere but here and she wasn’t wearing her drab brown uniform with her manager standing sentinel, observing her on her first day of work—but she had to take whatever Melinda dished out. She had no choice. When it came to her franchise deals, there were so many variables. How effective would the marketing plan be? Would the products strike a chord with buyers? Were they priced right? Even if sales met the manufacturer’s projections, it would take a while for her to start making money.
“Somehow, you heard Jack was coming back to the States and you saw an opportunity.”
“That’s not true. I wouldn’t have come back if I’d known Jack was going to be here.”
“It’s no secret I wanted the Grimsky property for myself. Unfortunately, Jack has always had a weakness where you’re concerned, so he didn’t do a very good job of making my case. But it’s not too late. I haven’t seen an ‘Open’ sign out front yet. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Harley thought about the growing pile of regulatory forms on her desk.
“Most small businesses fail, and fail fast. Tell me, Harley. Are you a numbers person?”
The fact was, she had only passed Algebra II after being tutored.
Reading the answer in Harley’s expression, Melinda smiled smugly. “Most entrepreneurs aren’t. They only find out the hard way, when it smacks them in the face that they’ve underestimated how much money they’re going to need and overestimated how quickly their business will catch on. It’s nothing to beat yourself up over. I had to learn that lesson myself when Don died. So, let’s do each other favor, shall we?” She slipped a pen and a brown and gold Louis checkbook out of her bag. “I’ll save you the tedium of starting a business—” she scribbled an amount and signed her name with a flourish “—in exchange for you deeding me the property.” She ripped out the check and slid it across the table. “This should more than cover any expenses you’ve incurred so far, plus something extra to get you back on your feet, somewhere far from Ribbon Ridge.”
Much as she hated to, Harley couldn’t keep from ogling the check. Her eyes grew wide. It was enough money to buy the fanciest place on Bainbridge Island. She could do all the things she was doing now, without the risk of running into Jack every time she turned around—to say nothing of his overbearing mother.
Her heart thrummed. She had always believed what she and Jack had had was epic, until he hurt her. Dare she risk getting close enough to let him hurt her again?
All she had to do was slip the check into her apron pocket and there would be no more insurance forms, no more pesky inspectors from the health department wanting to come to confirm that her kitchen was in compliance. She could quit her waitress job on her first day, walk out of here right now and spend all her time on her art and preparing for her baby.
“Ahem.” A few tables away, the brunette in head-to-toe Golftini pointed with a French manicured nail to her empty ice-tea glass.
Stay, and contend with the intrusive regulations and ever-increasing taxes and fees of a small business? Or go, and spend a life of leisure, drawing and playing on the floor with her son—and never see Jack Friestatt again?
Melinda arched a brow. “Well?”
Harley slid the check back toward Melinda and rose. “I’m staying.” Pencil poised over her pad, she asked, “Would you like a drink, or not?”
Melinda glared at her with venom in her eyes. She gathered up her sweater and purse. “No, thank you.” Tossing her napkin next to her plate, she added, “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.” She got up and strode out of the dining room, nose in the air.
Chapter Sixteen
When Harley arrived home to find Dad’s big pickup in the drive, tailgate down, bed strewn with straw, she forgot all about Melinda.
She hurried past the filbert orchard and around the back.
“I got the gate; go ahead and let her go,” said Dad.
Mom’s arms opened, and a baby goat bucked and ran to the far side of the pen.
“Goats!” shouted Harley.
Mom grinned from ear to ear. “They were looking for new homes for these at my yoga place. They’re fainting goats. They’re super playful. Just watch out. When they’re startled, they fall over.”
“They look like oversized stuffed animals,” said Harley. “But do they know how to do yoga?”
Mom laughed. “They know how to climb and be cute. That’s all they need to know.”
* * *
A few days later, Harley was in the middle of filling orders for her prints, studying her website analytics, and taking conference calls when she found herself staring into space. What was wrong with her? Her plate was full. Her art was getting recognition, she was finally making a decent living, and soon her baby would be in her arms. So why did she sometimes feel like a ghost in her own house?
Maybe she needed to eat. She went downstairs and opened the fridge, only to remember she needed groceries. She really should change out of her ratty old T-shirt before she drove to the market, but whom did she need to impress? She didn’t know anyone any more. Her closest friends had moved away, Leslie to Florida and Sarah, Colorado, and the chances of running into Jack were slim. If he needed something in town, no doubt he had people to do it for him. She decided to jump in her car as she was.
The town of Newberry was updating itself. A new coffee shop, a candy store, and a couple of tasting rooms had opened around Newberry Park, the green space in the center of town. When a display of colorful flowers outside Posey’s caught her eye, she eased off the gas and swerved into an empty parking space, picturing Mom’s face lighting up when Harley arrived at her house holding a cheerful bouquet.
Head bent over the flowers, she noticed movement as a man pushed off the brick building next door, but she paid no attention.
“Harley.”
“Jack!”
He had on his tweed jacket and jeans, hair waving over his forehead like a male model’s. At the end of a pink leash studded with rhinestones was a Yorkshire terrier.
So much for slipping into town unnoticed.
They stood there awkwardly, neither knowing what to say.
“Flowers, huh?”
No good deed went unpunished. “For my mom.” Her hand went to her hair. Emily probably never had a hair out of place the whole time she was married to him, she thought. Lovely Emily, of the poreless skin and beige cashmere sweaters. She had never done anything untoward to draw attention to herself.
Unlike Harley, who spent all her tip money on straightening products that didn’t work and who’d once caused a minor riot in Biology by excusing herself to go to the lav, then calling the Humane Society over Mr. Graff making them dissect frogs. She was as different from Emily
as could be. What man wouldn’t have chosen Emily over her?
Suddenly the Yorkie sprang away like a shot, twisting its leash around Harley’s legs.
“Fang!” yelled Jack.
“Sorry.” He scooped up the bundle of apricot-colored fur, disentangled its leash from around Harley’s knees and tucked it safely under his arm, its stubby legs scrabbling in midair for purchase. “Don’t know how I didn’t see that coming.”
Only then did she become aware of a passerby and his curious Great Dane.
“Getting settled in?” he asked.
Before she could answer, two freckle-faced girls wearing matching, St. Theresa’s School navy plaid skirts ran up to him.
“Finished playing in the park?” he asked, giving them each a squeeze.
Simultaneously, they held up miniature shopping bags, and Harley’s heart squeezed. Jack and Emily’s twins in the flesh. She hadn’t been able to resist checking them out on social media when they were born. The image of them swaddled in pink, one in each crook of Jack’s arms, was burned onto her retinas.
Jack’s mother had been quick to spread the word that Freddie and Frankie had been born prematurely. But Harley knew exactly when they’d been conceived. And even if the world really was still as archaic as Melinda Friestatt believed, Jemily being the golden couple that they were, everyone in Newberry would have given them the benefit of the doubt.
The twins stared up at Harley with open expressions. One of them scrunched up her face as she scratched her side. Any day now, they would start making the inevitable comparisons with other adolescent girls and realize how beautiful they were. But for today, they were still unself-conscious little girls.
“They just got their ears pierced,” said Jack, looking fondly from one daughter to the other, “so of course they had to get earrings.”
“Mimi said we could get them done when we were eleven,” said one of them with a pronounced New Zealand accent.
Harley smiled benignly. Who knew there was a universal age for getting your ears pierced? It must be true. Melinda Friestatt never put a foot wrong.
Jack rose from his haunches. “Girls, this is an old friend of mine. Frances . . . Frederica . . . I’d like you to meet Harley.”
“Nice to meet you,” they mumbled politely. Then Freddie—or Frankie—tugged on Jack’s sleeve. “C’mon, Daddy. You promised to take us to the ice cream place.”
Jack set the animated toy that passed for a canine back on the ground, and, one small hand in each of his, permitted himself to be dragged down the sidewalk. “The park’s still a novelty,” said Jack. “They were only five when we moved away. It’s like they never lived here at all.”
“Want to come with us?” Frances called over her shoulder.
Harley hesitated.
“Might as well,” said Jack, walking backward. “I have some ideas for how our businesses can help each other.”
They had reached the corner. The other twin gestured with her arm. “Come on, then.”
Harley shoved the bunch of Shasta daisies she’d been clutching back into the vase and jogged after them.
After she ordered at the counter, Jack ordered for himself and the girls and they found a seat.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” asked Harley.
“We’re both in the tourist trade. And we’re right next door to each other. Our businesses feed off each other. We should be thinking about ways to cross-promote.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re a graphic designer. Maybe you could come up with some brochures, both print and digital.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll start working on it. While we’re on the subject, I’m planning an open house as a way to give people a sneak peek and get them talking. Kind of a housewarming party. I’ll have some little appetizers, give tours of the property, and display my artwork. It’ll be free and open to the community.”
“I’ll provide the wine.”
“That would be awesome.”
Under the table between the twins’ chairs, Fang waited for one of the girls to sneak him something.
“This is my lunch,” laughed Harley, licking her butter pecan ice cream.
Wide-eyed, the twins looked at each other and then at her. “Reeeally?”
“Sure is. So, girls,” said Harley, “tell me about yourselves. What do you like to do?”
“I like dancing,” grinned Frankie, fidgeting in her chair.
“I like graphic novels,” said Freddie. “And comics.”
“I used to love comics when I was your age. I wonder if my mom kept them? I’ll have to ask her next time I see her.”
“And we’re both on the soccer team.”
“I wish I wasn’t,” sighed Frankie. She propped her elbows on the table and sank her chin into her hand.
“We’ve already talked about that,” said Jack firmly. “You’re going to keep taking soccer and Freddie’s going to stick to piano.”
“Piano’s dumb,” said Freddie.
“Freddie has a hard time sitting still,” said Jack to Harley. “She’s fallen behind Frankie with her pieces.”
“Because I don’t like piano. It’s boring.”
“Is not. Soccer’s boring,” said Frankie.
“Piano’s more boring.”
“Maybe we’ll revisit it after your recital,” said Jack.
“When’s that?” asked Harley.
“January,” Freddie moaned.
“Tell me more about the dancing,” said Harley.
“She doesn’t really dance,” said Freddie. “She just watches videos of people like Selena Gomez and dances around in the bedroom.”
“I do, too!” said Frankie. “Just because I’m not allowed to take lessons doesn’t mean I’m not a real dancer.”
What about you?” Harley asked Freddie. “What kinds of comics do you like?”
“Anything to do with Wonder Woman.”
“You should see how many comics she has hidden—”
Freddie glared at her sister, effectively shutting her up. Then she looked at Jack, as if she feared he might scold her.
“One day you’ll be glad you know how to play soccer and piano,” said Jack.
“The only reason I take them’s ’cause of Mimi,” Frankie grumbled.
“Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like people should be able to choose their own types of lessons,” said Harley. She turned to Jack. “What about you? Are you glad you learned how to play saxophone when you were little?”
“You played the sax?” asked both girls at once.
Jack squirmed. “I didn’t keep up with it.”
“Seriously. If you got to quit the saxophone, how come I can’t quit soccer?” Frankie complained, handing Fang a piece of her cone in blatant defiance of the rules.
“Mimi says not to feed Fang at the table,” said Jack.
“Why? Why do we always have to do what Mimi says?” she asked, on the verge of tears.
Why were girls so sensitive? “Because Mimi has lived a long time, and she’s learned a lot about life.”
Though there had been times Jack had asked himself the same thing.
Jack pushed back his chair and opened his arms. “Come here.”
Dutifully, Frankie came toward Jack, pain distorting her heart-shaped face, and laid her head on his chest. “Why do I have to do everything everyone tells me to do?” Her voice penetrated his rib cage, into the core of his being. “I hate soccer. I stink at it.”
“Is that what this is about?”
She nodded against his chest.
“Even if that’s so, you can’t quit in the middle of the season.”
“Golf,” said Harley, out of the blue.
Jack gave her a scathing look.
“I just remembered. You were on the golf team. . . .”
Jack had always wanted to play baseball. But Mother has insisted golf would be more advantageous to him in his career. “What do people do on the golf course when they�
�re not hitting the ball? They talk. Talking leads to deals. You’ll be able to see how people react to pressure and their ability to strategize.”
“. . . until you weren’t. What happened?”
“Quit when I was a junior,” he said sheepishly.
Beneath the table, the Yorkie frowned and nudged Freddie’s ankle.
Freddie fed him the last bite of her cone and wiped her hands on her pants. Then she slid out of her chair and reached for Frankie’s hand. “Can we go outside and wait on the bench?”
“Okay. But take the dog, and stay where I can see you through the glass.”
The bell on the door clanged as they went out. Jack blew out a breath and scraped a hand across his scalp as he and Harley watched through the glass.
“They’re adorable,” said Harley wistfully.
“They’re getting to be headstrong.”
“The soccer?”
“Today it’s soccer. Next it’ll be something else.”
“I never thought about twins being identical right down to their interests.”
“No doubt genetics plays a role. But it’s not their decision. They’re too young to know what’s good for them.”
“I see.” She smiled tightly.
“Clearly, you don’t. You will, though, once you have kids of your own.”
“You must be right, because you’re never wrong, are you?”
Jack ground his jaw. “Is this how it’s going to be between us?”
“That’s entirely up to you.” She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
Jack wasn’t used to having his judgment questioned. He scrambled out of his chair and followed her out the door.
“Nice meeting you, girls. And you, Fang,” Harley said, petting him.
“Nice to meet you,” they sang in chorus.
“I just got some adorable baby goats at my house, just up the hill from you. They do yoga with me.”
“Yoga?”
“Stand on my back, romp around with me. Come up and try it sometime. It’s so much fun. Fang can come, too.”
Eagerly, the twins looked at Jack. “Can we, Dad?”
With a wave, Harley turned and walked up the sidewalk in the direction of her car.
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