All That I Want: A Queensbay Small Town Romance

by Drea Stein

  “So you’re just watching Josh temporarily.” Colleen wasn’t quite sure she had kept everything straight.

  “Yup, I get to be the bossy big sister,” Lydia said and smiled sincerely. “It’s a new role for me so I’m trying to figure out how to do it. You think I was too harsh when I told him about the babysitter? That she gets paid to play with him? Just seems like better be honest with the kid, and let him know that’s why Hailey is soft on him.”

  Colleen thought for a moment. “Well, it was honest and at the end of the day, kids are pretty good at detecting lies.” She looked at Adele and wondered just how much the girl had figured out on her own.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I told him right off the bat, after he had thrown his third juice box at me, that I wasn’t the babysitter, and I wasn’t being paid to be there. I could leave any time. It sort of quieted him down and made him think. Since then he’s gotten better, plus I like to keep him active.”

  “Keeping kids busy is never a bad idea,” Colleen agreed.

  Lydia held up her hands. “I’m an artist, well, a potter, and so when Dad offered me a place to stay, the starving artist in me thought that a free place to crash meant that I wouldn’t have to teach as many classes to pay rent, which meant more time to just pot.”

  Lydia flexed her hands and watched the children playing contentedly in the sand.

  “I think you’d be a good teacher,” Colleen said.

  Lydia smiled shyly. “I am. I mean I don’t really teach kids, at least not the little ones. The little buggers are hard, you know what I mean.”

  Colleen smiled ruefully. “I know what you mean.”

  “I like teaching older kids, the surly adolescents and adults too. The ones who don’t think they are artistic or creative, or who are angry at the world. Then they get their hands on clay, and all of that crap just falls away. Of course, it’s true that most of them don’t have any real talent, but they’re happy.”

  Colleen smiled and said, “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  Something beeped and Lydia jumped as if she had been prodded. She took a phone from her pocket. “I set up all these alarms. This one tells me it’s time to get Josh home, hose him down, and feed him. Otherwise he gets cranky.”

  Colleen looked at her watch, surprised at how late it was already. The sun was slipping lower into the sky, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the tree. It was time to head home for dinner, plus she had a date with a cup of tea and reviewing manufacturers’ catalogs. Lydia pushed herself up to her feet, sand shaking off of her. Colleen got up too, dusting herself off.

  Adele and Josh were in the middle of the sand pit, around the elaborate city they had created. Looking at it critically, she could see where Lydia’s artistic talent had worked its magic, from the detailed windows in one of the skyscrapers, to the decorations on the outside railing of the bridge that connected the two worlds, down to the simpler, lumpier structures the kids had made themselves.

  “It’s really something else, kids,” Lydia said, approving.

  “Take a picture, Mama,” Adele said, and while Colleen thought she knew what was coming next, she was surprised. “You should send it to Gran-mere. She’d want to see.

  “Can we do this again?” Adele asked as she came up to view the picture on Colleen’s phone.

  “Sure,” Lydia said. “What do you say, little man?”

  Josh nodded vigorously, sucking on a dirty thumb. It didn’t seem to bother Lydia, and Colleen decided that a little dirt never hurt anyone. Besides, Adele was covered in it too, a thin gray dusting on her face and hands.

  “Now that’s a picture,” Lydia said. Josh was trying to give Adele a hug, and she was trying to teach him the European way of greeting, a kiss on both cheeks. The ensuing chaotic affection of the two dirty children truly was adorable, and both of the women smiled.

  “Well, there you go. Little buddies.”

  Colleen smiled. Her daughter seemed tired and dirty and happy. Just like a kid was supposed to be. “Thank you,” she said to Lydia.

  Lydia looked at her, surprise in her big green-brown eyes. “For getting the kids dirty? Can’t wait to see what the bath water looks after they get in it.”

  Colleen smiled. “Gray at best. By the way, I sometimes work at Quent’s Pub in town. If you can ever get away, come on in. First drink’s on me.”

  Lydia nodded. “I just might,” she said. “Never understood why moms were talking about all the wine they needed, but I’m starting to get an inkling about how hard a job this is.”

  “But totally worth it at the end of the day,” Colleen said.

  Chapter 11

  Colleen walked up Main Street, smiling. She had enjoyed yesterday afternoon, once she had met Lydia, and felt that she had started on the beginnings of a friendship. She had seen Lydia again at drop-off that morning, where Lydia had been trying to corral the unruly Josh. Colleen had felt a rush of sympathy for Lydia as the other moms had steered clear of her and Josh. The avoidance had tugged at her heart for the little boy. She had suggested they meet that afternoon in the park again, and Lydia had immediately agreed.

  It would be nice to get to know Lydia better, Colleen thought as she wandered up the street, assessing the store fronts of the other shops, cataloging ways to complement but not compete with them. A healthy and thriving downtown served them all, and the last thing Colleen wanted was to be seen as a threat. With that in mind, she saw that Joan Altieri, owner of the Garden Cottage, a shop filled with water fountains, garden gnomes, sun dials, and other things outdoorsy, was sweeping her front stoop. Colleen squared her shoulders, deciding that her public relations campaign could begin right now.

  “Hello,” Colleen said and stopped.

  Joan looked up. She wore her hair short and slightly spiky and red reading glasses dangled from a chain around her neck. The look Joan returned was not exactly comforting, but compared to the response she had gotten from Darby and Amy, Colleen decided it was good enough to push through.

  “I’m Colleen McShane. I’m the new owner of Phil’s old place.”

  “Aye yuh,” Joan responded in classic New England style, just a little bit frosty, which was why Colleen was going to ply this with woman with her brilliant Parisian charm.

  “I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself.”

  “I remember you,” Joan said.

  Colleen waited, bracing herself.

  “You used to work for Phil back in high school. He showed me your postcards; said you were living in Paris running an art gallery.”

  “More like an antiques store, but close enough,” Colleen said and nodded. “I was just as surprised as anyone when Phil died, and well, I guess you know he left me the store.”

  “Some inheritance,” Joan grunted. She picked up her mat and shook it out so dust flew out into the morning air. She swept the dirt away and replaced the mat before she said anything more.

  “Thing’s a firetrap. And the junk. Don’t know how he stayed in business. You’d be better off just selling the building to a developer who will knock it down,” Joan pronounced and looked at her expectantly, as if daring her to agree.

  “He did have eclectic tastes, but the building isn’t so bad.”

  “Roof leaks, doesn’t it? Built like a sieve. Heating bill must be a fortune.” Joan’s assessment was pretty accurate.

  Colleen smiled, tried to stay positive. “It’s not too bad, and, since the weather is getting warmer, I have a few months to make the repairs.”

  “So you’re not selling?” Joan’s voice sharpened with interest, as she leaned on her broom and fixed her brown eyes on Colleen. “What you going to do? Throw out all of his so-called treasures?”

  Colleen acknowledged the jab with a shrug of her shoulders. “Well, as it turns out there is a healthy online interest in some of those treasures, as you call them, but I’ve actually decided to open up a totally new shop.”

  Now she had Joan’s attention. “What kind?”


  “A French-inspired boutique with housewares, clothes, jewelry.”

  “Garden things?”

  “Not really,” Colleen assured her. “I wouldn’t want to compete, but I do believe that the more vibrant stores we have downtown, the more we can help each other.”

  “Complement each other rather than compete,” Joan assessed.

  “Exactly,” Colleen agreed. “I’ll probably also do some home design and furniture as well.”

  Joan pursed her lips, her silence speaking volumes. Though it was hard to do, Colleen stood her ground, waiting.

  “Interesting. You going to keep the name?”

  “No,” Colleen said and shook her head. “The new sign is almost ready. It will be called La Belle Vie. I’ve been doing some work inside as well.”

  “I might have noticed.”

  Colleen couldn’t tell what Joan was really thinking, but she decided that it was better to keep going than to overthink it.

  “I hope you’ll stop by. Pop in anytime I’m there and take a look around, tell me what you think.” It took a lot for Colleen to make that offer. She didn’t like being told what to do, but still, she needed friends, not enemies and Joan, she knew, was dialed into just about everyone in town.

  “Maybe I can find some time later this afternoon,” Joan said.

  Colleen smiled and added her last bit casually as if it were an afterthought. “There’s one more thing. I was thinking that maybe we should have a sidewalk sale, you know, to kick off the summer season.”

  “A sidewalk sale?” Joan’s tone was sharp, but finally, Colleen detected some real interest.

  “Yes, all the merchants could put up canopies along the sidewalk, and we could have tables outside. Almost like a festival.”

  “Not much time to organize it,” Joan pointed out.

  “True, but I figure that this first time could be like a test run. We could do it the weekend of the regatta when there’s usually a lot of extra foot traffic in town, so we wouldn’t have to spend too much to promote it, but it would another fun something to do. Especially for all those who prefer shopping over sailing.”

  “Might work,” Joan said, pursing her lips as she considered the idea. “You’ll need permission, of course. Agnes Sampson is good place to start.”

  “I think I remember her. She runs the Maritime Center, right? She’s head of the Historic Committee.”

  “That would be her,” Joan agreed. “Runs just about everything in town. Like I said, if you can get her behind it, there’d be no stopping it.”

  “Well, I am happy to do all of the legwork: get the permissions, tell the other merchants about it, but it sure would be a big help if I could tell everyone you’re on board.”

  Joan thought for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “Could be an interesting idea,” she said.

  “So, that’s a yes?” Colleen asked, knowing she needed to seal the deal.

  “Aye yuh, we’ll do it. Downtown needs a bit of a shaking up. Restaurants are good, but the shopping isn’t what it could be. Getting everyone out and excited about the shops sounds like a good idea. Go see Agnes soon, ya hear?”

  Chapter 12

  Colleen nodded, and after saying good-bye, headed over to the front door of her shop with a spring in her step. The idea of a sidewalk sale had been swirling around her head for a while, but she’d been putting off saying anything about it. Now, though, it had a hard date, a stake in the sand, so to speak, to get her to go ahead and get the store ready to open. More pressure to actually open the store. She opened the door to the shop, stepped in, and surveyed the space. She was crazy. The place screamed Phil’s Treasure Emporium more than it did La Belle Vie. Could she ever get junk shop out of the shop and replace it with something totally different? Or was junk shop woven too tightly into the store’s DNA?

  She closed her eyes, remembering the stores she had worked and shopped in during her time in Paris. She needed to channel that vibe and bring it to a small town in New England. It was the mix of merchandise, but more than that it was the atmosphere. The right atmosphere and no one would care about the prices. That was one trick she had learned from Olivier. His sales skills were impeccable. Everything in his family’s store had screamed old money, from the way everyone dressed, to champagne or tea served, to the understated way the prices were displayed. When a customer walked through that door, they felt special and their white-glove treatment justified the sky-high prices.

  Not that she needed to recreate that experience. She wanted something a little less stuffy but with a vibe that said everyday could be a little special, a little glamorous when just enough attention was paid to the details. Her mind flipped through images until a picture began to form. She opened her eyes, pulled out her little notebook and began making notes.

  A few days later, Jake was walking down the street, a cup of coffee in one hand when he paused in front of the store. He could see a shadow in there and knew that it could only be her. He decided that he wouldn’t think about why he wanted to go in and just do it. Besides, he had a surprise in his truck. He went to go knock but found the door open. He took her by surprise when he said, “Are you going to lock it? Or just let anyone walk in?”

  “What are you doing here?” she said and turned suddenly, obviously startled. Her eyes were wide and surprised, but they narrowed when she saw it was just him. He took a sip of coffee and waited, taking in the sight of her. Usually he didn’t care about clothes, except for the relative amount of them. For the most part, Colleen covered up more of herself than she needed to, but he appreciated the way her dresses fit and flared against her body. She was more beautiful than she’d ever been.

  “We’re closed,” she added, as if he couldn’t tell by the fact that the store was empty.

  “It’s looking about the same,” he remarked as he came in and looked around. True, the place looked cleaner and emptier. But she didn’t appear to be any closer to the grand opening than she had been a couple of days ago when he’d first come in.

  “I’m about to start painting,” she said.

  She stood in the center of the floor, with her arms crossed over her chest. The light was slipping in through the paper she’d put over the windows, hitting her hair, giving the brownish blonde a pretty gold tint. There was nothing pretty in her face; instead, she looked thoroughly annoyed with him. Good, he decided, since it was better than her usual indifference.

  “In that dress?” he said. “Sure you don’t want a painter’s cap? I have one in my truck. Has my logo on it and everything.”

  “No thanks. I don’t need anything from you,” she said.

  He smiled at her, and he could see that her eyes were bright as if she were trying hard not to feel something.

  “You know I run a construction company. Your floor would take ten days tops,” he said, keeping the same affable smile on his.

  “I’m on a budget.”

  “Most of my clients are. I’m known for doing excellent work at an affordable price. Besides, maybe we can work out a deal.”

  “What do I have that you want?” she said before she realized her mistake. Jake let it just hang there for a moment.

  “I’ve got six dining room chairs in my truck. Been promising my mom I’d fix them up for months. Just never seem to have the time to do it. I thought maybe if you’d help me out with that, I could help you out with the floors, a paint job, maybe even add some shelves to the back wall.”

  “Six chairs for floors and a paint job?”

  He looked around. “Plus, I’ll fix that countertop for you. And plaster the cracks in the wall. I’ll give you the family and friends discount. My mom needs the chairs next week.” He took a sip of coffee and hoped he hadn’t pushed his luck. But his mom was having some garden club luncheon, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

  “A week? That’s a rush job, you know,” she said, beginning to bargain. He could see it in the way her eyes lit up that she was assessing the deal and that she might actu
ally be thinking of taking it.

  “Word is you’re trying to have a grand opening regatta weekend too. We’re both under a deadline.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and he felt compelled to elaborate: “Joan Altieri is all fired up with your idea for a sidewalk sale. Word gets around.”

  “Okay, so I can do the chairs in a week. How much for the work I want done?”

  He named a price, and she kept her face blank. It was a fair price, he knew, almost too good for her to say no, which was sort of the point.

  She crossed her arms, tapped her foot and named something twenty percent lower.

  Jake was shocked but smiled. He figured with that deal, she’d feel compelled to let him take her to dinner when it was all done, so he offered a just a bit more than she had, in order to save his pride.

  “You have a deal. Can they start tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I’ve got the chairs in the truck just outside,” he said and held out his hand. She looked at him, looked at it. She shook it quickly, then pulled it away.

  “You were awfully sure of yourself, bringing the chairs with you,” she said.

  He looked at her, held her gaze. “Just remember, Colleen, I’m not as dumb as I look. I usually figure out a way to get what I want.”

  When he left, she leaned back against one of the columns. She was about to run out of the door, tell him never mind, but she stopped herself and looked around at her big, blank canvas. She needed help. His crew, she told herself, not him, would be doing it. And she was paying. It wasn’t a favor, it came with no obligations. But why then did she feel she was slowly sliding down a slippery slope when it came to Jake Owen?

  Chapter 13

  Ellie sat on her bar stool nursing her white wine, idly watching Colleen. The girl looked worried, as if she had something on her mind. She moved along the edge of the bar, collected glasses, made small talk, threw her smile around like there was nothing wrong, but there was a definite air of distraction to her. Ellie didn’t know why, but she felt slightly protective of the younger woman. Colleen was confident, but you could tell her confidence was bruised. But she was a hard worker, stylish, funny. And a single mom trying to do her best for herself and her daughter. Ellie knew her Colleen reminded her of herself, just a little bit, and she could not help but like her.