Take the Trophy and Run

by Gail Sattler

  Amber, on the other hand, probably matched this morning, but she’d changed her shirt three times after getting coffee spilled on her and kids smearing icing from the cookies on her sleeves and down her legs. She now wore a T-shirt that had seen better days. She’s started out the morning wearing nice pants, but changed to jeans dotted with splotches of glue. She’d given up on her pretty shoes by lunch time, saying her feet hurt from the pointy toes, and she changed into purple sneakers older than one of his mechanics’ daughters.

  Her hair started out nice as well with soft curls held up by some kind of barrette thing with shiny pink stones. That had come loose and, after multiple attempts to get it straight, she gave up on it and wore her hair loose most of the day, which he really liked. When he got back after getting the earplugs, she’d tied her hair up into a crooked ponytail with loose strands of hair sticking out all over the place.

  Her makeup had been perfect that morning, but as the day wore on everything got smudged, her lipstick disappeared, and she had a black smear under one eye that she probably didn’t know about, and he wasn’t going to tell her.

  Stan smiled. She looked adorable. Kind of like she did when they went on day-long treks in the forest that their parents didn’t know about to pick wild berries. Except better somehow.

  Instead of standing there staring like an idiot, Stan approached the two ladies. When Amber saw him coming, she ripped open the envelope, angled the paper toward the light, and started reading the note with Sylvia beside her.

  He stood behind and read over her shoulder.

  Many seasons have lots of cheer

  But Christmas comes only once a year.

  Santa calls out Ho Ho Ho.

  That’s where gnorman will go go go.

  Stan made a quick step back so he wouldn’t get elbowed in the nose when Amber ran one hand through her hair, and she got her fingers caught in the elastic band of the ponytail.

  “I don’t get it. This makes even less sense than the rest of the notes.”

  “It’s also pretty bad poetry,” he mumbled.

  She turned and looked up at him. “It’s a long way from Christmas. We haven’t even hit the hot part of the summer yet. Nothing is decorated, none of the stores are selling Christmas stuff. I have no idea what they’re using as a reference point.”

  “We need time to think about this. We’ll figure it out, just like we did with the party and the balloons.” Not that he thought that was what the Gnapper had in mind, but the bottom line was that it had worked. And thinking of things that didn’t work, he turned to Sylvia. “We didn’t mean to take up so much of your time. By the way, I saw your son the other day and he mentioned that your car was making a strange noise. How about if I take a look at it while I’m here.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s no problem. I’m here.” He looked down at his grease-streaked pants. “Besides, I’m already dirty.”

  “I won’t say no. Thank you so much. I’ll go get my keys. I’ll be right back.”

  Upon her return, he followed Sylvia to the garage and hit the button to raise the door while she got in the car, flicked the hood release, and started the car.

  This one was easy. “Turn it off now.” He poked at the fan belt, which had too much slack. He could have tightened it in a few minutes, but Amber looked ready to fall down, and he didn’t want to take the time to find what Sylvia had done with her husband’s tools, if a doctor would even have tools in the garage. “It’s just your fan belt. Bring it by the shop on Monday and I’ll tighten it for you, no charge. We’ll consider this returning a favor for keeping Gnorman in your yard for a few days.”

  She smiled. “That’s not much of a favor, but I can accept it. Thank you very much.”

  He nodded and led Amber out of the yard, back to his pickup.

  On the way back to Amber’s house, she didn’t say anything, but she kept looking at him rather strangely.

  “What’s up?” he asked when he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  He’d never understood the expression doe eyes before, but with Amber looking at him like that, he suddenly did.

  “You’re such a nice guy,” she mumbled, making it so he barely understood.

  He didn’t know why, but even though she’d said it nicely, he wasn’t sure it was a compliment. Instead it felt like the kiss of death at the end of a relationship. Except he didn’t have a relationship with Amber. He waited for the inevitable We can be just friends, but it didn’t come. They were just friends anyway.

  “Here you are,” he said as he stopped in her driveway.

  “What are we doing here? I thought we were going back to my store, so I can get my car.”

  “You look like you’re ready to drop. Just go to bed. I’ll pick you up for church in the morning, then I’ll drop you off at your store after the service to pick up your car.”

  He didn’t know what he said that was so horrible, but her eyes got glassy, then kind of watery. He opened his mouth to ask, but she bolted out of the car so fast she left him sitting behind the wheel with his mouth hanging open. She unlocked her door and dashed inside, then waved at him before she closed the door. Stan waited for her to peek through the blinds and give him her signal that she’d remembered to lock the door, and drove off.

  Tomorrow he would pick her up, they’d both be dressed up, and maybe after the service he’d make a detour and not go directly to her store to get her car. Maybe, since they’d both be wearing nice clothes, instead of grabbing a quick burger after church like they usually did, he’d take her someplace nice for lunch.

  And hopefully she wouldn’t fight with him and she’d let him pay for once.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I can’t believe you talked me into this. What are we doing?”

  “We’re making sure no one will recognize us.” Stan wiggled his fake mustache. “How do I look? Dashing? Like James Bond?”

  “No. No James Bond I ever saw had a mustache.” Although she had to admit, if she could push the thought of how ridiculous they were acting out of her mind, Stan didn’t look half bad with a mustache, even if it didn’t quite match his hair. Which was probably because he’d sprayed some kind of washout color on it, making his usually monotone dark brown hair an uneven blend of blond and brown because he hadn’t sprayed it on evenly. If he’d gone to the salon, he would have spent a fortune on that look, and she doubted he’d used the whole can. He’d also brushed it back off his forehead, keeping it in place with hair gel, something else he never used.

  “Since you wouldn’t let me take you out for lunch, I figured we had a bunch of extra time, so this is a good idea.”

  Stan was the most innovative person she knew. He always had a wealth of great ideas. However, this wasn’t one of them.

  She adjusted the fake glasses and tucked a few stray strands of her hair back up under the blonde wig. “I feel like Boris and Natasha.”

  He stopped wiggling his mustache. “Who?”

  “Ask your mother. Never mind. Natasha’s hair was black.” She reached up to pull off the wig, but Stan’s fingers wrapped around her wrist.

  “Don’t. We have to arrive looking like this. No one around there can see us putting this stuff on, so we have to be already wearing it when we get into the neighborhood.”

  Amber’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Heat from Stan’s grip seared her wrist. Not that he held her too tight—his grip was gentle, yet firm. But standing close enough to hold her wrist meant he was comfortably close. Except she didn’t feel very comfortable.

  They were still dressed in their church clothes. Today Stan had worn a suit. She didn’t know why he’d dressed up a little better than usual, he just had. He’d even worn the tie that she’d given him for the last garden c
lub banquet. The difference between Stan wearing his coveralls at work to the fitted suit was like comparing Fred Flintstone to Brad Pitt. Except Stan was better looking than Brad. Stan was distinguished and dashing, and very handsome and put together in his suit.

  Amber knew she also looked better than usual. She’d selected a nice dress and shoes with heels that were a little too high for comfort, but they were a perfect match to her dress. Because she wore one of her best dresses, she’d taken extra care with her makeup as well. While she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, with the right highlights and colors, she was by no means plain. Since she wore the good dress and shoes, and she’d even selected a matching purse, she’d wanted to stay put together, especially beside Stan in all his handsomeness.

  For lunch they’d gone to the usual burger place and eaten in the car. After the carhop took the tray and empty wrappers away, it had dawned on her that her lipstick had wiped off. As Stan drove back to his house, she’d touched up her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Strangely, even though she’d fixed her lipstick many times in front of Stan, this time felt different, and he’d watched her so closely that he’d seemed distracted enough that she kept telling him to quit watching her and keep his eyes on the traffic.

  Now here they were, all dressed up, adding the enhancements of disguises, like playing spy games when they were kids, except the dress-up clothes they had on now actually fit.

  With the nuances of a spy mission bouncing around in her head, being so close and being held by a tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious stranger felt exciting. Energizing. Intriguing. Invigorating.

  Romantic.

  If they were characters in a movie, he’d use his other hand to tip her chin up, then his eyes would flutter shut as he leaned down to kiss her.

  With that thought, she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze flittered to Stan’s mouth. She’d never really looked at it before, except for the time he’d fallen out of Aunt Edna’s apple tree and split his lower lip in his final scramble to grab a branch as he crashed down through the branches. She’d had to clean him up and help him wipe up all the blood before his mother or Aunt Edna found out what they’d been doing.

  He still had a scar that she could see if she looked close enough. A little scar, that made her want to stand on her tiptoes and kiss it to make it better.

  Amber blinked, and her eyes lost focus. This was just Stan. What they were doing wasn’t much different than playing Spy vs Spy, except they were bigger. Or rather, too big for games.

  “What? Is my mustache crooked?” He reached up and touched it, pressing it down with his fingers.

  Amber straightened her wig. “You’re fine. I was just thinking that this is like playing out the characters from that spy thing we used to watch on television when we were younger.” An exciting spy thing. With a suave and charming hero. Visions of a young Antonio Banderas flashed back and forth with images of Stan. She didn’t know which one she liked better.

  “Please don’t tell me I look like Inspector Gadget. I was trying hard to make us look real.”

  “Inspector Gadget didn’t have a mustache.” Neither did Antonio Banderas, but that didn’t matter.

  He sighed and grasped one corner of the mustache, like he might pull it off.

  She raised one hand to stop him, then whipped it back behind her before she actually touched him. “No. Keep the mustache. I like it.” Too much. She fiddled with the wig once more and slipped on the fake glasses that Stan had bought for her. “Let’s go.”

  Fortunately no one from Stan’s neighborhood saw them, and by the time they arrived at her competition’s store, most of the tension had eased and she felt almost normal, except that she couldn’t see properly.

  They walked into the store together and immediately started checking the place out.

  “I can’t focus with these fake glasses. Where did you get them?”

  He leaned closer to whisper his answer, even though no one stood within hearing range if he spoke normally. “From the drugstore. They’re reading glasses. I got the weakest ones I could find.”

  “You couldn’t have gotten the wig from the same place, then.”

  “I got it from the consignment store. Tessa had a couple of Halloween costumes in the back. It was with one of them.”

  Suddenly she didn’t feel so elegant anymore, but she couldn’t take it off. “I shouldn’t have asked. Is that where you got the fake mustache?”

  “Yup.”

  She didn’t want to ask what kind of costume the mustache came with right now, but one day she would.

  Instead, she turned her attention to what they were there for and browsed through the store’s gardening accessories. When she glanced over the price tags, she actually could read them quite well. Maybe it was time she got a vision test. “All this stuff is run-of-the-mill that can be bought at any store, including the lumber store.”

  “Then you’re fine. The garden club likes the unique factor, that what you sell can’t be found anywhere else.”

  “But the garden club also needs to watch their money. What if they want to buy something from this new person, now that she’s a member?” She didn’t want to tell Stan that the sales to the garden club were the final factor in whether or not she could make it or close the store. If he knew, she wouldn’t put it past him to buy everything the garden club would have bought, and she wouldn’t allow him to do that.

  For now, the garden club still bought from her, and she would do anything to keep it that way.

  A darling little white-haired lady with chubby cheeks and wearing a festive apron approached them, smiling. “Welcome. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Even Amber had to look down at the sweet woman. Her heart sank at the thought that the owner hired such adorable and helpful sales staff.

  As the woman smiled at her, Amber fought to keep her hands at her sides and not fiddle with the wig. “We’re just browsing. Thanks for asking,” she said, trying to manufacture a fake accent. She didn’t know what kind of accent, and it didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t sound like herself.

  “If there’s anything you want, I can order it in for you. I haven’t been open long, and I want to let everyone know that I’ll do special orders.”

  Amber felt her heart turn to ice. This sweet little old lady was the owner. She didn’t have a chance.

  The lady, whose name tag read Florence, smiled even more sweetly. “I’ve just joined the Bloomfield Garden Club, so I’ve ordered a lot more garden accessories. If you don’t see what you’re looking for, I hope you’ll come back next week when my new stock should be in.”

  She could see her status of being the sole supplier for the garden club’s accessories evaporating in a puff of smoke.

  She rested her hand on Stan’s arm. “Thank you, but I think we’ve seen enough. Come on, Ssss . . .” She barely cut herself off in time not to say Stan’s name. If she said his name in front of the woman, especially since she was a garden club member, she would recognize him at their next meeting, even without the mustache and altered hair. “. . . Sssweetheart. We should go.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she gave him a not-too-gentle tug, hoping he would take the hint.

  His eyebrows quirked. “Sure. Sweetiepoo. We should go,” he said in a voice about an octave deeper than his natural voice. He turned to the woman. “It was nice meeting you.”

  The car door had barely closed before she turned and glared at him. “Sweetiepoo? Whoever calls their girlfriend Sweetiepoo? Couldn’t you get any more original than that?”

  Not looking at her, he inserted the key into the ignition switch and turned it. “My mind kind of went blank when you called me Sweetheart.”

  “What? Why?”

  He twisted to watch as he backed out of the spot, then faced directly forward to drive away. “In addition to
the really bad fake accent, you almost blew our cover.”

  “There wasn’t anyone else in the store. Nothing could have blown our cover.” Except them saying each other’s real names. Or if his mustache fell off.

  “Never mind. We should go over what we’ve learned. She’s selling stuff anyone can buy anywhere.”

  Now that they were far enough away, Amber took off the glasses so she could see Stan properly, even though he wouldn’t look at her. “That’s true, but when people buy stuff for their gardens, unique isn’t always the deciding factor. Sometimes the cheaper thing that everyone else can buy simply matches better. Since this lady is now a member of the garden club, a lot of members are going to want to support her too. The average garden can only have a certain number of ornaments before it starts to look like an overpriced tourist trap. So her new store means lost business for me.”

  “No. You’re a long-standing member, and you do a lot for the club. You’ve got their loyalty.”

  Which didn’t always extend to the pocketbook, something that Amber had learned the hard way when her uncle doubled the interest on her loan payments. Even though she had her favorite brands at the grocery store, she’d started buying the cheaper store-brand products. Yet, she did still go to the stores where members of the garden club worked. They did have her loyalty, just not as much of it.

  “I hope so,” she muttered, part of her wanting to tell Stan why she needed their loyalty so much, but at the same time knowing she couldn’t.

  Stan turned in the direction of Sylvia’s house. “Let’s pay Sylvia a visit and see if there are any new notes with Gnorman, and then I’m taking you out for supper. To the restaurant of my choice.” He quickly glanced at her before he returned his attention to the road. “But first we have to go to my place. I’ve got to get this glop out of my hair. It probably looks pretty stupid.”