Flipped! (Spinning Hills Romance 1)

by Ines Saint

  Rosa was wiping a table down when Holly walked in. The elderly woman kissed Holly’s cheek, hugged her tight, and led her to a table. “Leo told us everything. Here, sit down. What can I get you? Your favorite, crabapple pie, yes?”

  Sherry was working one of the coffee machines, her back to the door. “I saw you walking up and you looked like you could use a latte with a shot of Kahlúa in it,” she called.

  “The latte sounds good, but I’m still trying to decide on a dessert.” Holly squeezed Rosa’s hand and sat down. Classic pop rock played over the speakers, and Holly sat back and relaxed. It was hard to worry about today when you were visiting yesteryears.

  The women had decked the café out in “eclectic retro,” a term that meant they hadn’t been able to agree on a decade to style it after. The result was a charming mix of eras past. Comfy, old-style chairs, sofas, and swiveling stools upholstered in soda-shop pink and green, gilded mirrors, an over-the-top wedding cake chandelier, and exposed brick walls and rustic ceiling joists made for a unique and welcoming atmosphere.

  “Have you settled on a dessert?” Sherry slid the latte across the table and sat down in front of her. Her blond pixie cut made her look almost cherubic, which was laughable. Holly took a grateful sip before replying, “I don’t know. I feel like eating a big piece of something really rich and sugary.” She took another sip of her latte. “It’ll help if it has a shot of liquor in it, too.”

  “How does Irish cream pie sound?” Grandma Ruby called from the kitchen.

  “And they say you aren’t a real fortune-teller,” Holly called back.

  Her grandmother appeared at the kitchen door, serving spoon in hand. Her long silver hair was pulled back, and her bright blue eyes were blazing. “Who says that?”

  “We do.” Sherry grinned.

  Her grandmother was among the few people in the entire region who could trace her roots directly to the gypsies, and it had been Rosa’s idea to turn those gypsy ties into a marketing ploy.

  “Here’s your pie.” Grandma Ruby placed the plate in front of Holly and glowered at Sherry before joining them.

  Holly took a bite and sighed. It was exactly what she needed. “So, what’s the purpose of Irish cream pie?” she asked her grandmother.

  “To sweeten the water of life and help it flow once again.”

  Holly started to laugh and snorted her coffee instead. “You just made that up.”

  “I did not. The pie has whiskey, and whiskey means ‘water of life’ in Gaelic. And it’s very rich, so I decided its purpose is to sweeten that water.” Grandma Ruby took a sip of her own coffee. “When water becomes stagnant, it tastes like crap. Your water was stagnant today and so you were craving sugar, cream, and whiskey to make it taste good again.”

  Holly shook her head and smiled.

  “See, your stagnant water is flowing already.” Sherry winked.

  Rosa tapped her long, perfectly manicured orange fingernails on the table and Holly looked over at her. The woman was seventy-something and looked eternally fabulous. Today she had on a form-fitting, cream-colored pantsuit with a leopard print belt, matching heels, and burnt-orange scarf for color and pizzazz. With her long, thick brown hair, golden skin, and big dark eyes, she looked too exotic and cosmopolitan to be part owner of a small-town bakery.

  “You know, this whole ‘pies have meaning’ thing started off as something fun to set us apart, but I think we hit on something. Your body craves what it needs. You just need to figure out what you need and why you need it so you can have a little bit of it and set yourself to rights again. Now, tell me if you’d like me to talk to Dan about selling the house back to you. Latinas can be very persuasive, you know.” Rosa had a melodious accent, talked too fast, and switched gears too quickly. It always took Holly a few beats to catch up to her.

  “I was planning on paying him a little visit myself.” Sherry’s eyes gleamed. “We should go together. He can’t say no to two little old ladies he’s known his whole life.” She turned to Ruby. “Three little old ladies would be even better.”

  “Yes . . . especially if one of them is the victim’s brokenhearted grandmother!” Rosa looked at Ruby, too.

  Holly sat up, alarmed. “Um, please don’t. I’m no victim, and no offense, but you don’t exactly come across as little old ladies. If he’s known you his whole life, he won’t be moved.”

  “Maybe he was only being stubborn with you because of the way everything went down,” Rosa said. “I think he’d listen to us.”

  Holly sighed. Grand-smothering and meddling were among the only things the three women had in common.

  “He never did like theatrics.” Grandma Ruby sent Holly a meaningful look.

  Her grandmother was lecturing her on theatrics? “Would you say you know Dan Amador well, then?” she asked them in her most innocent and interested voice, hoping to veer the topic away from the house.

  “Honey, after forty-one years on the corner of Hillside and Main, we’d say we know more about everyone than we have the right to know,” Sherry answered. “And Ruby’s been here her whole life. If there’s something we don’t know, she fills in the blanks.”

  The older women grew quiet and Holly watched them, wondering what it felt like to be in one place for so long, listening to local news, troubles, and gossip every day.

  The three women had met through Wright-Patterson Air Force Base over forty years before. Sherry’s husband, Holly’s late grandfather, and Rosa had all worked in Area B. There were rumors that they’d actually worked together in the infamous Hangar 18 of Roswell fame. The people of Spinning Hills loved themselves an outrageous tale, and one of the quirkiest around was that experimenting on aliens had been too much for Rosa, a devout Catholic who didn’t want to put her mad administrative skills to use on managing the dissecting of aliens.

  How the three women had ever stopped respectfully disagreeing long enough to decide to go into business together was a mystery to everyone. The one thing they seemed to agree on was that great coffee, sweets, and plenty of unsolicited advice could make any situation better.

  “Your mother babysat him until he was five, you know.” Grandma Ruby looked at her a moment later. “She used to bring him in for fruitcake. It was his favorite.”

  Holly tried to imagine her late mother working as a babysitter and Dan Amador as a little boy. Both were difficult to imagine. “Is he as . . . hard as he looks?” Holly asked.

  “Sweetie, we’re too old to know him that well.” Sherry laughed.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Holly’s cheeks flamed. The three women laughed harder.

  “Now, back to the house . . .” her grandmother began.

  The urge to bang her head on the table told Holly it was time to leave.

  That evening, she missed running into Dan by less than a minute. His front door slammed shut just as she and Ella were entering their apartment.

  Ella hadn’t taken the news of losing the house well, and it was no wonder. They had gone window-shopping for furniture for the house the week before. Ella had picked out new, big-kid furniture for her room and paint colors for her walls. She’d told her mother, through tears and a quivering bottom lip, that it was okay. That had hurt Holly most of all.

  Why had she thought it would be a fun activity to spend hours dreaming about the house next door with her daughter? Ways to mess with your daughter’s heart. Parenting 101, by Holly Bell.

  Ella climbed onto the sofa to look out the window and see the new owner of the house next door. Stanley stood on his hind legs next to her, his paws on the window. At the moment, he looked more like a monkey than a dog. “Mommy, is that the man who bought our house?”

  “That’s him.” Holly stood behind Ella and Stanley and looked out the window, too. Dan Amador was standing in front of the house next door. His nephew, Jake, was in his arms.

  “He looks nice, like . . . Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid,” Ella observed, her little finger pressed on the window, right on Dan’
s face. “We can have a tea party with him.”

  Nice? Like Prince Eric? Beast was more like it. Holly closed her eyes. How she hated fairy tales. And pastel colors. And poufy dresses. She and Ella were so different. “Um, I don’t think he likes tea.”

  “I’ll open the window and ask him.”

  Holly covered the window latch with her hand. “That’s not a good idea.” Stanley barked.

  “Why not? Uncle Johnny likes tea, and you said he’s Uncle Johnny’s brother.”

  “The thing is—he isn’t like Johnny. Grandma Ruby said that he has a good soul, but a hard heart.”

  “Like Beast?”

  Holly had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Uh, yeah, like Beast.” She kissed the top of Ella’s curly blond head and carried her down from the sofa. How could she keep Ella from trying to reform “Beast” if they ran into him on the street? “We only have people we’re sure are nice over for tea, and Dan Amador can be a little mean.”

  “How mean?” Ella folded her arms across her chest.

  He’d manhandled her and called her a lunatic numerous times, he’d been callous about her predicament Friday night, he’d mocked her when she’d told him she was a nose, and she’d seen the way he was looking around her studio. “Remember that blister you got on your ankle after ice-skating?”

  Ella bobbed her head, her eyes widening.

  “Well, imagine that blister on your keister and imagine sitting on it. That’s how mean I’ve seen him be. Maybe he’s not—”

  “A blister on the keister?” Ella’s little mouth puckered in distaste.

  “Right. He was as mean as a big blister on the old keister.” Holly winked. “Maybe he’s not like that all the time or with everyone, but let’s not find out.”

  “Mister Blister on the Keister, Mister Blister on the Keister,” Ella repeated over and over again before collapsing into giggles on the couch.

  “Uh, no name-calling, okay? We don’t do that. Remember?” Ella’s giggles cut her off. Holly sighed. Teaching your kid to name-call. Parenting 102, by Holly Bell.

  That night, her father called. “How’s the house coming along?” he asked after their usual small talk.

  Holly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t buy it,” she said without feeling.

  “Really?” he asked, sounding surprised. “Whew. I can’t tell you how relieved I am you came to your senses. Those pictures you sent Nora gave me nightmares. I don’t why she was so excited for you . . . that whimsy of yours was going to eat into your savings.”

  She fisted her hand and fought to keep an even tone. “Actually, someone else saw its potential and beat me to the punch, but I’m looking for another one just like it.”

  Silence. The sound of her father clearing his throat. More silence.

  “Well, people do perform miracles on those house-flipping shows Nora’s always watching,” he yielded. The knot in Holly’s chest unraveled a bit. At least he was trying. “Just try not to get in over your head,” he added.

  She swallowed a sigh. The only times she’d gotten in over her head was when she’d tried to please him, but pointing that out would get her nowhere.

  A loud noise made her forget what she was about to say. “Uh, hold on a moment, Dad.” She looked out the window to see Dan working under his newly installed porch lights. He was prying a rotted piece of wood off one of the back porch steps and he was shirtless. Holly’s throat went dry. It was enough he’d ended up with the house, did he also have to look good tearing into it?

  Dan looked up and squinted. It almost seemed as if he was looking straight at her.

  The hallway light was on behind her, and he could probably see her silhouette. Holly almost dropped the phone. He smirked and saluted. She clenched her jaw, marched to the door, and yanked it open. “Keep it down, will ya!” she yelled, hoping he’d get that she’d been glaring, not staring.

  “Holly? What’s going on? Who are you yelling at?” her father was asking when she lifted the phone back to her ear.

  “Nobody, just a noisy, thoughtless neighbor,” she replied. “So, what were we talking about?”

  “Well, don’t take it the wrong way, but I was telling you to be careful. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

  “Don’t worry . . . I won’t take it the wrong way.” I never do.

  CHAPTER 4

  Holly ran into one of Huffy’s new waitresses in the parking lot, and they smiled at each other in recognition. The waitress opened the door for her and Holly thanked her. The young woman then stuck her hand out. “Um, I’m Jenny, by the way. I’m new here.”

  Holly smiled again and shook her hand. “I know. I’m Holly. How are you liking your new job?” she asked as they walked in.

  “It’s great. Marty is a dream to work for, and the regulars are all really nice.”

  “Oh, you’ll get sick of us soon enough,” she joked.

  “I don’t see you as much as I see the others. Do you work or live near here?” Jenny asked.

  “Both. I live on Rubicon and I own Uncommon Scents, which is four blocks down that way.” She pointed south.

  “Oh! I’ve heard of it. Dan Amador told me he’d visited it. He said you’re a . . . nose? Is that right? I wasn’t sure what that meant and he wouldn’t tell me.”

  Holly’s temper flared. She wanted to say, Well, apparently, Dan can’t see past his own big fat schnoz long enough to try and learn something new, but that could come off as immature. “ ‘Nose’ is an affectionate term for a perfumer,” she said, instead.

  “Oh, that sounds interesting. How did you become a perfumer?” Jenny asked, taking a quick glance at her watch. “I still have five minutes.”

  Holly was cautious. Too many people in her life had belittled her passions. “Well—I have a bachelor’s in chemistry, I completed an internship at International Flavors and Fragrances, and I trained as a fragrance stability technician, but I think the most important thing is that I’ve always had an affinity for scents.”

  “Can you tell what I’m wearing now? It’s pretty rare.” Jenny’s eyes twinkled and Holly let her guard down.

  “Timbuktu, by L’Artisan Parfumeur.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened. “I’m officially impressed. An ex-boyfriend got it for me, but I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

  Emily would’ve told her to try and make a client out of Jenny, but Holly was awful at selling. “Stop by my shop for a tour sometime,” was all she could manage.

  Dan had spent much of the week with Sam, touring the houses he would be supervising, meeting with the crew at each house, and outlining everyone’s responsibilities according to the timeline Sam had established. In between meetings, he obtained permits for the Craftsman.

  Afternoons were spent carefully removing and labeling door trims, moldings, and baseboards for reuse. Evenings were spent on research for his day job.

  By the end of the workweek, he’d also made down payments on materials for the new kitchen and bathrooms and he was feeling ahead of the game. Now that it was Friday, he was ready for good music, pizza, and beer. Eighties pop-crap had been pouring out of his next-door neighbor’s windows, and it was grating on his nerves. The music was coming from the basement. Of course.

  His mouth began watering before he walked through Huffy’s swinging oak doors. He could almost feel the aroma and music grabbing him by the arm and pulling him in. The familiar sound of Johnny’s deep vocals greeted him. For a moment, he was a kid again, coming home from school to play in the garage with Sam and Johnny. They’d be rehearsing later that night.

  Sam, Marty, and Leo and his wife were sitting at one of the long, wide-planked tables in the middle of the room, and he scooted in next to his brother. He was greeted with enthusiasm by the men. Leo’s wife, Emily, tossed him a dirty look before scooting down as far away from him as possible. He grinned. It had been a while since he’d had cooties.

  The set ended and another band soon took the stage. Dan caught sight of Johnny and
waved him over. His younger brother smiled wide and began making his way to their table, but he came across the lady who owned the empty perfume shop before he reached them.

  The woman stopped short when she saw Dan. Johnny whispered something in her ear, and she shook her head from side to side. Johnny then showed her something on his cell phone and her eyes narrowed. “Delete it, right now!”

  Johnny chuckled and whispered something else. The woman clenched her teeth, marched to the other side of their table, and sat down in a huff. Johnny slid in next to Dan.

  Sam, Leo, and Emily all stared at Dan.

  He was tired and not paying attention, but it was obvious something was going on. Johnny didn’t look at him when he sat down. He was too busy fiddling with his phone. Confused by everyone’s reactions, Dan looked over to see what Johnny was doing, if only to escape their strange looks.

  Johnny hit the trash icon on the bottom of the picture a split second after Dan had seen it. He recognized the subject of the close-up immediately. Muddy-green dreadlocks, a face covered in what looked like Pepto-Bismol . . . and bright green eyes. He shook his head, feeling like an idiot. How could he have missed it? No wonder she’d said she wanted to kill Johnny.

  She’d have to get in line.

  Jenny, the pretty waitress who’d handed him the wet napkin the day Holly had attacked him, walked over, but nobody paid attention.

  Dan exhaled and rubbed his neck before looking down the table at Holly. “You’re the, er, trespasser, aren’t you?”

  She shot him a haughty look.

  Jenny laughed. “Holly is the maniacal trespasser you were telling me about?”

  “Maniacal?” Holly lifted both eyebrows at him. Her pursed lips flattened into a tight line.

  There was a lot Dan could say in defense of his “maniacal” assessment, including the fact that she hadn’t bothered to tell him who she was when he walked into her shop. And why had she sent Johnny a picture of her in that ridiculous getup? Why would anyone document themselves in that state?