“Mom, really, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please don’t look at me like that.”
“But Sammy just said—”
“Mom, Sammy is the best son in the world, but he’s an impressionable six-year-old. An impressionable six-year-old with a very big mouth.” She arched her brows at Sammy, hoping to reprimand him with her best evil-eye look. But his grin grew all the wider.
Exasperated, she shook her head. “Look, really Mom, I need to run. I’m going to be late for my own meeting.”
“You mean the meeting with you and MacNeill?”
“I mean the meeting that I’m facilitating with Hattaway where there will be dozens of other volunteers in attendance.” She handed over Sammy’s backpack. “Sammy has a little bit of homework in his folder. A paper on shapes, right, Sammy?”
“Yes,” he answered, before retelling his encounter with Mac for the hundredth or so time. “Doughnuts good. MaaNil nice!” he told his nana, who of course, looked delighted, savoring every tidbit of information.
“I bet they were very good, Sammy,” she cooed at her grandson. “And I bet MacNeill is very, very nice.”
Oh. My. Goodness!
Megan felt as if her blood pressure was rising sky high. If she didn’t make a quick exit, she was afraid she’d let out a scream. Or a very loud groan. Or who knew? “Okay, I’ve really got to run, Mom. Really.” She pecked her mom on the cheek. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. And don’t worry. Stay out as late as you want. We’ll get Sammy’s work finished. Your dad can help him while I make dinner. But first”—she squatted down alongside the wheelchair—”I think we should visit the garden, Sammy, don’t you? We’ll cut some flowers to take home to Pappy.”
Sammy nodded eagerly, and as Megan watched her mom push the wheelchair to the back door of the shop, her heart conflicted in a million ways.
She felt inadequate, needing to lean on her mother, but glad Sammy had a grandmother who loved him so.
She wished she could linger more often with Sammy just like her mom was getting the chance to, but it seemed she always had to rush to the next thing and the next, or their world would surely fall apart.
And while she felt happy that her mom was teaching her son about flowers, she wondered why she wasn’t a flower person.
Unlike her mom, she didn’t know the first practical thing about growing and nurturing a garden. Why she hadn’t absorbed some of that knowledge long ago, she didn’t know. All she remembered as a young girl was marveling at her mom’s springtime peonies that grew to be nearly as tall as she was. And in the summer, there would be daisies lining the white fence, armloads of them, plentiful enough to pick. Back then, while she’d wait for her mom to finish up work for the day, she’d sit on the back porch of We Do! Wedding Planners pulling at the daisy petals.
He loves me, he loves me not, she’d repeat over and over in her head, with little regard for the plucked petals falling to the ground. She said it just the way her mom had taught her. She said it all the while dreaming of love and marriage and never-ending bliss.
But that was only because that’s what little girls do …
Chapter 8
Mac caught a whiff of something sweet—the same scent he recognized from his night out in the rain a week earlier—and knew Megan had arrived early for the meeting.
Looking up from an article he’d been reading in the Loveland Herald, he watched as she set her purse and meeting notebook on the cafeteria table and then switched her cell phone from the cream-colored jacket into the front pocket of her jeans, keeping it handy for emergency purposes he supposed. He’d never seen her hair down before. It waved around her face before falling to her shoulders, its ebony darkness making her clear blue eyes shine even bluer.
He thought he’d just sit tight and let her come to him for a change, not wanting to appear overly eager, especially after his awkward exit from her clinic the other day. But somehow that thought didn’t hang in his head very long. The metal folding chair squeaked as he set down the paper and got up to greet her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She glanced up at him, and then over his shoulders at the clock above the exit. “You’re early, aren’t you?”
He gave a slight smile. “It’s another Uncle Jake-ism. He always said, ‘If you’re not early, you’re late.’ “
“I had a grandmother who shared the same maxim.” She returned a polite smile before grabbing up her notebook. “Well, since we’re both here ahead of time, I guess we could sit and organize our thoughts some.”
“How about over there?” He pointed to the same row of chairs he’d just been sitting in, chairs which faced the lone cafeteria table and were already lined up with other rows for the volunteers who were due to arrive in the next few minutes. All the other tables had been folded upright and were pushed against a side wall.
“So, let me guess,” he said as they settled in their seats. “You were a cheerleader, right? When you went to high school here?”
She tilted her head and stared at him. A reaction he realized he deserved. After all, the question did sound odd—even to him. But truth was, when he’d been sitting earlier, his mind had wandered from the newspaper he’d been reading. Looking around the cafeteria, he’d imagined Megan O’Donnell there years ago, eating lunch with her high school friends. Talking. Laughing.
“Uh, no,” she answered. “Actually, I was a bandie. Played the french horn.”
“A bandie, huh?” Somehow that didn’t jibe with his image of her. With her petite figure, pretty face, and go-get-’em personality, he pictured her more with a pair of pompoms in her hands. “Really? Well, I always thought the french horn would be a great instrument to play.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“More like faking it.” He relaxed, letting go of a grin. “I’m not sure I even know what a french horn is.”
“It’s kind of like an italian horn, but different.”
“An italian horn? I don’t think I …” He caught the glimmer in her bright eyes and laughed. “Okay. Guess I had that coming,” he conceded. “So where did you bandies sit for lunch? Over there?” He pointed to the south side of the cafeteria where some residual glow from the setting sun illuminated the red maples outside an oblong picture window.
“Nope. The more popular kids sat there. Bandies sat over there.” She raised her arm in the opposite direction, to a darker corner of the cafeteria.
“Oh.” He frowned.
“Don’t worry.” She laughed—he sensed more at his expression than anything else. “It didn’t scar me for life or anything, not being one of the more popular kids.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I thought—” Chagrined, he scratched at his clean-shaven cheek. “Hmm … guess I’m not so smart after all.”
She raised a brow as if astonished by his admission, but kindly kept any smart retorts she might’ve had to herself. “You were in Florida for high school, weren’t you?”
As she spoke, he tried to keep his mind off those glossy pink lips of hers. But it wasn’t easy. Blinking, he nodded. “Uh, yeah. But being back here … well, you know, sometimes I wonder what things would’ve been like if my family had stayed.” No, that wasn’t true. He’d only started musing over thoughts like that since he’d met her. Wasn’t that right? Not letting that realization sink in any deeper, he switched gears. “So, what’s on the agenda for this evening?”
She flipped open her notebook, clearly more than ready to get down to business as she scribbled some notes. “Well, I thought we’d talk about how we’re going to divide the volunteers into groups to—”
“You know …” he drawled, interrupting her—not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t hold off any longer. “I, uh, there’s something I need to talk to you about before we get started.”
“Uh-huh.” She kept writing.
“The head of the school board called me.”
The pen stopped, her ha
nd hovering over the page. The heavy lashes that shadowed her cheeks suddenly flew up. “Phil Ellis? Really? I didn’t realize you knew Phil.”
“I don’t. But he called the other night. Said he graduated a couple of years ahead of you, right? In the class of—”
“He called to tell you we went to high school together?” Her eyes narrowed warily and those pretty, full lips of hers went thin. So much for the smiles he’d won from her just minutes earlier.
“Ahh, not exactly. He wanted to get some autographed photos from me.”
“Autographed photos? And you’re telling me this because …” She squinted, obviously puzzled and rightfully so. He was even confusing himself with his cryptic account of the conversation. He needed to man up and tell her the main reason for Phil’s call. Even though he dreaded doing it. He had to give it to her straight.
Taking a deep breath, he spat out the bad news. “Aw, it wasn’t just about autographs. Phil called to let us know the school’s going to have to renege on their promise. We’re not going to be able to use the stadium for our All-Stars Sports Day.”
Her mouth fell open at first, but then she apparently recovered quickly, jotting notes in her book. Her reaction surprised him until she shook her head and replied, “That’s not funny, Mac.”
“Funny?” Putting his hand on the back of her chair, he leaned in close, able to keep his voice soft but unable to hide the irritation he suddenly felt. “You really think I’d joke about something like that?”
Her face was only inches from his when she looked up, searching his eyes. Obviously she found the truth there. “Oh no. You are serious.” He watched her face crumple. “But, I don’t get it—why?”
“There’re some problems with the field. They’re going to have to tear it up and redo it and the track this summer. So the stadium’s out of the picture.”
Volunteers started to trickle in, and she put up a good front, feigning smiles and friendly waves in between his explanation, but he knew inside she had to be in turmoil.
“And they didn’t know that before they gave us the go-ahead?”
“Initially they’d planned to wait and put in the new field next summer. But now they’re afraid if they don’t take the money from the state this summer to make the improvements, they might risk losing the funds altogether.”
He hated to hear the heavy sigh that came out of her. Hated to see the way her face and body went slack. It was a look of defeat so unlike her that it about did him in. Making him want to comfort her. To take her in his arms and let her know it’d all be okay as he knew it would be.
But before he could do more than blink, her body language changed.
“Well …” She shifted, tilting her chin upward, raising herself in the chair. “We just have to think of someplace else, that’s all. I’m not putting this event off until next year. I’m just not,” she added, a defiant tone in her voice. “The kids are so excited. And people are here, wanting to help.” She glanced over her shoulder at the chairs filling up behind them. “We just have to figure out—wait a minute, I know—Ted! He’ll have some ideas. We can talk to him about it tonight.” A sparkle regenerated in her eyes.
“I don’t think he’s going to make it tonight.”
“He’s not? How do you know?”
“He called me the other day. After he heard the news.”
“Ted called you, too? You both knew and I—I didn’t?”
“Well, I—”
One of the dads stopped him mid-thought with a clasp on the back of his shoulder. “Hey Mac. Sorry to interrupt, Megan.” Shane Dugan leaned down between the two of them. “Mind if I get that autographed baseball hat from you tonight? Hate to push, but Chase’s birthday is this Friday and—”
“It’s in my car, Shane. How about I grab it after the meeting?”
“Great.” Shane clapped him on the shoulder again. “Really appreciate it, man.”
Megan gave a warm smile in Shane’s direction, but the moment he walked away, her mouth tightened again. “I don’t get it. I wish—You should’ve called me, Mac.”
“Yes, I should’ve. But there’s only one problem. You’ve never given me your number.”
Her cheeks reddened at that, making him believe it was intentional and not just an oversight that she hadn’t shared her number with him. A low blow to his pride for sure. But his pride was what had been getting him into trouble over the years, and he was trying—hard as it was—to put it aside most of the time now. Haggling about should’ves and could’ves wasn’t going to make things any better for either of them at this point.
“Look. That’s the bad news, but there’s some good news,” he told her.
She looked up at him tentatively, biting her lip.
“I ran into some of the guys—some of the volunteers—at the gym, and they all agreed. We can have the All-Stars Sports Day at my place. Out at the farm. It’s perfect. Plenty of fields in those ten acres where we can set up the activities. Plenty of space for parking.”
He had hoped by offering the farm for the event, and getting some preliminary okays from several of the dads, that it would be a help to her. Make it one less thing on her list to stress over. Something to make her life easier. After all, she did have a job. And a child. A handicapped child at that. The woman definitely had her hands full and seemed happy to be doing it all, something he truly admired about her.
Still, he wasn’t sure his suggestion met with her approval. Not until she scribbled something else in her notebook and then ripped out the page, handing it to him.
“No need for a thank you note,” he teased. “Not necessary.”
“It’s my cell number.”
“Ah.”
Folding the paper into squares, he started to tell her not to fret, that he’d only call for their event planning purposes not for pleasure. But then he wasn’t sure he wanted to make a statement that he might want to retract someday. All he knew as he tucked the paper into his shirt pocket was that he’d never, ever, had such a hard time getting a girl’s phone number before. In fact, in the past, he’d rarely had to ask. Numbers just appeared everywhere—in his pockets, in his gym bag, on his windshield. Wherever. But not so with Megan.
He’d learned a long, long time ago, however, that nothing worth having ever came easy. And crazily, there was something about Megan that made him think and feel she might be worth the irritation and degradation she put him through.
As they both rose from the chairs to greet the volunteers, she paused and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Mac,” she said softly, a fervent sheen of appreciation glimmering in her eyes.
Oh yeah, he thought, as his heart did an involuntary flip. Megan O’Donnell definitely had his number, too.
Chapter 9
Notice anything different?”
Megan gave Janey the once-over as her friend handed her the to-go cup of coffee she’d ordered. Taking the lid off the cup, she blew into the steaming brew, appraising Janey’s appearance at the same time.
“You just got your hair highlighted, right? It looks good. I like the caramel color running through it.”
“No, silly. Not me.” Janey waved a hand in the air. “The bakery. Notice anything different about the bakery?”
Megan had noticed a lot of “different” things about the bakery—mainly the signs. Everywhere. Signs that looked tacky and out of place. Signs that she wanted to ask Janey about, but didn’t for fear she’d say something that might hurt her friend’s feelings. But since Janey brought it up …
“You mean, that maybe?” Megan pointed to just one sign, the closest one on the glass bakery case right in front of her. A neon green rectangular thing which looked shoddy and out of context in light of Janey’s usual good taste. “That’s, um, different.”
“Exactly! Since MacNeill Hattaway said my bear claws are his all-time favorites, I thought a little sign saying so would entice my customers.”
A little sign? Megan didn’t reply, but instead continued to blo
w, blow, and blow some more, pretending to fixate on her too-hot coffee.
“So what do you think?” Janey asked.
“Well, I …” Megan stalled, replacing the lid on her cup, searching her mind frantically for something constructive to say. But she didn’t have to come up with anything. Unknowing to him, Sammy came to her rescue.
“Where my jelly doughnuts go?” He pointed at the same bakery case from his wheelchair right beside her.
“Right where they always are, little guy,” Janey answered him. “They’re right next to”—she scuttled around to the front of the case to have a look for herself—”the bear claws.” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, I guess the sign is kind of big, isn’t it? You can’t see the jelly doughnuts at all and only a part of the glazed tray. Hmm …” She bit her lip, frustration clouding her face. “Well, what do you think of those signs?” She pointed to a trio of white shelves lining the wall, all stacked with a variety of breads. “Do you think they’re oversized?”
“I certainly don’t have a problem seeing them,” Megan replied as diplomatically as she could. She read the two closest to her. “ ‘Mayor Goodwin’s Favorite Sensation: Pumpernickel Rye.’ ‘Librarian Martha’s Favorite Sensation: Cinnamon Raisin Bread.’ ”
“Sammy’s favorite is—”
“Jelly doughnuts. I know, honey, that’s why I have a couple right here.” Megan waved the doughnut-filled bag in her hand at him before turning back to Janey. “I guess I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Janey. Sweet Sensations is so cute and warm and inviting—and you do a great business. With the signs, well, do you think they might detract just a bit from the homey atmosphere you’ve got going here?”
Janey shook her head, bringing a defensive hand to her hip. “You don’t understand, Megan.”
Isn’t that what she’d just said?
“Remember Sean Shaffer?” her friend continued.
“Your almost-prom-date-senior-year-of-high-school Sean Shaffer?”
“Exactly. Hard to forget, isn’t he? The way he dumped me and went to prom with Amanda Richter?”
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