by Arlene James
“No, I want to.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She went off to fetch punch, cookies and the most beautiful petit fours she’d ever seen. Mostly, though, she went so she could stand in line and hug to herself something that Tate had said to Brian Montclair.
Have you even looked at what Lily’s done? It’s nothing short of genius.
Genius.
Her.
She didn’t think she’d felt so complimented in her life, not even when Mayor Langston had stopped her to rave about her floral designs.
Short and solid, with thinning gray hair, the mayor was a man in his late fifties or thereabout. He carried a cane hooked over his right forearm and a clear plastic plate of goodies in his left hand. Lily saw that the tips of two of his fingers were missing. “Mayor,” as he told her to call him, mentioned that his wife, Helen, appreciated Lily buying canned shrimp down at their grocery. While Lily was trying to digest this stunning information and picture in her mind how tall lean Helen and squat, at-least-a-decade-older Mayor Langston had come together as a couple, a pair of aging flower children strolled up.
They could be none other than the Dills. He, of the chest-length graying beard, wore a leather vest over a tie-dyed T-shirt and bell-bottom jeans cinched in with a beaded belt. She wore a gathered skirt, a Hawaiian shirt belted with a scarf, and a lei. Her ponytail hung to her ample hips. Both wore sandals and sported tattoos on their forearms and necks. Elwood nodded and grinned at her, waving a petit four iced in pink fondant and decorated with miniature violets.
“You ladies at the bakery, flower shop and bookstore really class up the joint,” he declared.
His wife nodded, and the pair shuffled off to spread their cheer and enjoy their cakes elsewhere. Someone chuckled behind her.
“Bygones doesn’t lack for local color, does it?”
Lily turned to offer an uncertain smile, recognizing Josh Smith, proprietor of the Cozy Cup Cafe. “Takes all kinds, I suppose.”
“It certainly does.” Tall, with auburn hair and green eyes, he looked to be about her age. “I wanted to tell you that your flower arrangement received many complimentary comments today.”
“Thanks. I heard lots of good things about your coffee, too. I personally love it.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you. Anyone mention the internet cafe?”
Lily smiled wanly and tried to think of something positive to say. She had heard lots of comment, but most of them had sounded confused. “The kids are really excited about it.”
Josh chuckled. “We’re going to offer some LAN competitions later on.”
“Online group games, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s cool.”
“Ought to give them something to do besides sit in front of The Everything.”
Lily took a deep breath and asked, “You’re optimistic then? About the town’s chances of making this all work, I mean. Because I’m hearing some negative comments.”
Josh glanced around, joking, “Maybe they just need more coffee.”
That wasn’t quite the reassurance for which she’d been hoping, but she smiled and helped herself to the lovely desserts on offer. When she turned, her hands full, Tate caught her eye by holding up two glasses of punch to let her know that he’d taken care of that end of things. Lily felt her heart warm.
Tate appreciated her design acumen. That was something she’d hold close for a long time to come. She just had to remember that they were friends, nothing more, and that the important thing was to make the shop a success, for the sake of the town, as well as her own pocketbook. As if to underscore that, Mayor Langston walked to the center of the room, banged his cane on the wood floor and called for quiet just as Lily got back to her seat. Eventually the room hushed.
The mayor then leaned upon his cane and proceeded to thank everyone for coming out to make the Heart of Main Street Grand Opening a success. This brought applause. The mayor then asked all the newcomers to rise, and he introduced them one by one, beginning with Chase Rollins, proprietor of the Fluff & Stuff pet store. Quite tall, with black hair and brown eyes, Chase seemed tense to Lily, but she’d watched him handle tiny gerbils and hamsters with exquisite tenderness. He stood and nodded before promptly seating himself again.
Patrick Fogerty of The Fixer-Upper came next. In his midthirties and standing even taller than Rollins, Fogerty was very good-looking, a real tall-dark-and-handsome type. On the quiet side, he managed to exude an affability that made Lily feel comfortable despite her tendency to be tongue-tied around such men.
Allison True, of the Happy Endings Bookstore, was a native of Bygones but had apparently been gone for many years. A pretty brunette a couple years younger than Lily, Allison seemed a bit of a mystery. She’d done an outstanding job with her shop, and Lily hoped they would become friends over time.
When Lily’s turn came, she found herself blushing with the praise heaped upon her for her imaginative flower arrangements. While pleasant to hear such compliments, it was also difficult to take being the center of attention. She kept trying to sit down, and Tate kept pushing her back up, until finally Melissa Sweeney’s turn came and Lily could sit in peace.
A real sweetheart and as tall as Lily, but with considerably more curve, Melissa had lovely red hair, gorgeous green eyes and enough energy for ten women. She would need it. A bakery was a workhouse, especially when one was as detail-oriented as Melissa seemed to be.
Last came Josh Smith with his quiet wit and self-deprecating smile. Laidback and easygoing, Josh always seemed in need of a caffeine jolt. Perhaps that lay behind his choice of business.
After introducing the newcomers, Mayor Langston introduced the other Save Our Streets Committee members. Lily couldn’t help being glad that she had drawn Tate as her official committee contact and host. He didn’t exactly make her feel comfortable—the opposite, in fact—but he drew her in a way that she couldn’t quite describe. She didn’t feel like such an outsider with Tate. When he was around, she felt that things were as they should be, that all would work out well. Even given her tendency to form unwise attachments to men with whom she worked, she wouldn’t have traded Tate for anyone else on the committee, not even Coraline or Miss Mars. Besides, knowing that she and Tate couldn’t ever be more than friends would surely curb any inclination she might have to form a crush on him. Surely.
The mayor commended the committee for its many hours of hard work and explained that they had been through literally hundreds of applications for each of the half dozen grants ultimately approved. He talked about the business plans submitted and the great jobs done by the newcomers and committee members alike. In the end he pronounced the Grand Opening a success and urged the town to support the new businesses at every opportunity, saying that if these first six were successful, they could “build on this base.” He invited everyone to remain as long as the food and drink lasted, but just as he seemed about to yield the floor, Whitney Leigh, the reporter from the Bygones Gazette, all but leaped into the opening. The neat young blonde with the severe bun and glasses wielded a tiny voice recorder as if it were a weapon.
“Mayor,” she cried in a challenging voice, “on behalf of the citizens of the city of Bygones, I demand to know who the mystery benefactor is behind the grants that brought these businesses to town.”
Mayor Langston gripped his cane, sighing. “Whitney, I’ve told you and told you. I don’t have any idea who our anonymous benefactor is. Hence, the words anonymous and mystery.”
Whitney edged closer, holding out her recorder. “Sir,” she pressed, “aren’t you concerned about this individual’s possible ulterior motives?”
Whispers instantly sprang up in various corners around the room.
“What possible ulterior motives?” the mayor asked. “He or she makes funds available, no strings attached.”
“That’s not true,” Whitney insisted. “There is the two-year minimu
m residency requirement, the good faith effort requirement, the matching funds on deposit, the expectation that locals be hired, the grant repayment in case the aforementioned terms aren’t met…”
“That’s on the grant receivers, not the town,” the mayor pointed out.
With her free hand Whitney smoothed the waistband of her slender knee-length skirt where it met her severely tailored blouse. “But this person now owns half of downtown.”
“So? It’s half of downtown that was in receivership and going to ruin.”
“I still say we should know who we’re doing business with,” Whitney proclaimed, lifting her chin. “And that’s the Gazette’s official position.”
“I know. I read your editorials,” the mayor returned, “and I still say we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” With that, he turned away, shaking his head.
“Girl’s right,” someone near Lily murmured. “We’re heading for trouble.”
“Whole thing’s a pipe dream anyhow,” someone else groused. “Bound to fail.”
Lily instinctively turned to Tate for reassurance. “That’s not true, is it? Our businesses can succeed in Bygones, can’t they?”
Tate shrugged, his lips compressed in a flat line. “There are no guarantees, Lily. We’ve made a good start, but…”
“Now, now,” Coraline said, appearing at Tate’s elbow, “none of that. So far so good, I say, and if we continue to work hard and pray for success, I see no reason for God to withdraw His favor.”
Tate’s face tightened. The softness in his eyes hardened to a cold brown glitter. It was as if a wall of ice suddenly encased him.
“You do that, ma’am,” he said with excruciating politeness. “I’m just not one to count on God’s favor.” He looked to Lily then, saying, “I’ll be around with that list of prospective employees. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He gave a nod, stepped back and simply walked away, wending through the crowd to the door.
Lily stared after him, confused and disappointed. Beside her, Coraline sighed.
“Will that boy never get over his anger at God over Eve’s death?”
“What?” Lily asked, stunned. “But that’s so sad.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Coraline told her, patting her hand, “not for your own prospects, anyway. You’ll do well here. Business will soon bloom at your lovely little florist’s shop. I feel sure of it.”
Lily tried to smile, but she couldn’t help noticing that Coraline had left Tate out of her assurances about Lily’s “prospects.” Just as she should. Why then did it rankle so?
* * *
Rolling the paper containing the list of prospective employees in his hand, Tate tapped the brim of his straw hat with it. Part of his official duty as Lily’s committee contact was to see to it that she hired someone local to staff her shop. He hadn’t realized when the list was drawn up that they were dealing with such an artistic soul. He’d thought of a florist as a glorified gardener, someone who puttered around with flowers and ribbons. How was he to know that she could create works of art with those things?
Aware of his appearance as he hadn’t been before, Tate smoothed the front of his clean white shirt and straightened the buckle of his belt before reaching for the handle on the door of the shop. That was when he realized Lily already had a caller. He recognized the rotund, bewigged, loudly dressed fortyish gentleman on sight.
Entering the building, he heard Dale Eversleigh say, “I think we’ll start with a standing order for a fresh arrangement once a month.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lily said, scribbling on an order pad. She looked up long enough to greet Tate. “Hi. Be with you in a minute.”
“No problem.”
Smiling, she went back to business. “And what were you thinking of in terms of size and color?”
“Nothing too large,” Dale told her, ignoring the new arrival. “Something suitable for our receptionist’s desk, seasonal colors.”
While Lily and Dale hashed out the details, Tate occupied himself by studying the display shelves. She’d replaced a good bit of inventory; Tate assumed that meant she’d made many sales during their big Grand Opening.
“I think it would be a good idea if we could have a copy of your catalog to keep at the funeral home,” Dale said. “That way we could show it to our clients there, perhaps even save them an unnecessary stop during their time of bereavement.”
“That could work,” Lily said hesitantly. “Um, but were you thinking of adding a surcharge for the service?”
Tate glanced over to see how Eversleigh took that. The corpulent undertaker shook his head, his obvious blond wig stiff and unresponsive. Capturing Lily’s hand, he patted it, pinky ring flashing. Tate folded his arms, wondering if Dale wasn’t being just a bit too familiar. Lily was not a client, after all.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dale said in a deep, velvety voice.
Tate told himself that Dale spoke like that purely out of habit, then he caught himself thinking, That had better be the case. Shaken by the unexpected surge of possessiveness, Tate stiffened.
Lily smiled at Dale. “I’ll have a copy of my catalog for you by Friday then.”
“Excellent.” Dale patted her hand again. “I’ll pick it up on Saturday, shall I?”
“That’s fine,” Lily said distractedly, removing her hand from Dale’s in order to make notes on her pad.
Tate relaxed a bit—until Dale suddenly asked Lily, “Do you play golf?”
Tate’s jaw dropped. Why, the old dog! Everyone knew that Dale Eversleigh had a penchant for the ladies and a passion for golf, but he was much too old for Lily. And to make a play for her with Tate standing right there! Frowning, Tate parked his hands at his belt, the list paper crinkling. Eversleigh glanced over his shoulder as if only then recalling that he wasn’t alone in the shop with Lily.
“Ah, no,” she said, after a start of surprise. “I—I’ve never had any interest in golf.”
Dale pursed his lips. “Pity.” He reached into the pocket of his plaid pants to jingle his keys. “Very well. See you on Saturday then. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Eversleigh,” Lily said, “and thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He nodded to Lily, then to Tate, and went out.
“What a nice man,” Lily murmured as the door closed behind him.
“Lily!” Tate erupted. “Dale Eversleigh was hitting on you.”
“What?” She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m sure he was just inviting me to join the golf club or—”
“There is no golf club. Trust me on this. Dale Eversleigh considers himself Bygones’s gift to women. He was hitting on you.”
Lily pointed out the door through which Eversleigh had so recently passed. “He… But he’s so…” Suddenly she clapped her hands over her lower face. A snort was quickly followed by giggles and several hard swallows and, finally, a deep breath, after which she lowered her hands. “I, um, have never before seen an undertaker d-dress in yellow-and-green plaid.”
Tickled, Tate forced a sober manner. “Well, the shirt was yellow-and-green. Technically, the pants were yellow, green and orange.”
Her lips wiggled. She straightened them and squared her shoulders. “Is he actually an undertaker? Not a bereavement counselor o-or casket salesman?”
“Third-generation mortician,” Tate confirmed evenly. “All the Eversleighs are certified undertakers, three brothers, three funeral homes around the county.”
Her blue eyes grew quite large behind the lenses of her glasses. “Are the other two Eversleighs like him?”
Tate shook his head thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, no. Dale is one of a kind. The other two are more staid, I guess you’d say, and both married.”
She shrugged so eloquently that Tate grinned, feeling quite generous all of a sudden.
“All kidding aside, Dale’s harmless and a decent guy. He’s given plenty of folks around here a break when they couldn’t afford his services. I doubt he ev
en thought of applying a surcharge for letting people order your flowers from the funeral home.”
“That’s good to know,” Lily said, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind in the future.”
“Just don’t play golf with him,” Tate warned good-naturedly.
Lily chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t, even if he were interested in me, which I doubt.”
Tate, who for some reason couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone, scoffed at that. “He’s interested.”
Lily ducked her head, pushing up her glasses at the same time, and said, “Not likely. I’m not the sort men notice. If I were, I’d have had at least one real boyfriend by now. Don’t you think?”
For the second time in the space of a quarter-hour, Tate felt his jaw drop. She could not be serious. How did a woman like her get to be twenty-seven years of age without some guy seeing how special and lovely and talented she was? Dale had seen it, and Tate felt certain that others around town had seen it, too. Sure, she was a bit reticent, but her sweetness more than made up for that. Isabella adored her.
What was he thinking? Isabella would adore any woman who gave her the time of day, any woman of an age to be her… The word mother made him step back.
Lily tried to smile, but her gaze did not meet his and the apples of her cheeks glowed a pronounced shade of pink. “E-excuse me, b-but I have some…things to do.”
“Right,” Tate muttered, remembering the paper curled inside his fist. “I, uh, brought over the list of people the committee recommends.” He spread the paper on the counter. “Everyone listed here is anxious to work.”
“I understand.”
He left the paper on the counter and rubbed his hands together lightly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He all but ran from the shop and leaped into the truck.
What was wrong with him, anyway? He had no business getting upset by the likes of Dale Eversleigh. What did he care if Lily played golf with Dale? Not that she was going to. A fact about which he had no business being relieved.
He had done his duty, and now, for all intents and purposes, he was done. Lily would hire someone from Bygones to help in her shop, the first person on the list, most likely, and that would be that.
