by Barbara Lohr
Rolling out of bed, she climbed into an old warm-up suit, pulled her hair into a scrunchie and padded into the kitchen to make oatmeal for herself. Sprinkling it with walnuts and brown sugar, she took the bowl back to her computer and checked her emails.
Then she went on her blog and answered questions. She loved it when people commented on her column. Talking with Vince had given her some ideas. What do single men who don’t like to cook eat?
What did Jackson eat?
That thought took her down all sorts of interesting avenues. Before too long, she’d typed up a Bachelor’s Breakfast Menu. Just as she was finishing, a noise outside caught her attention. She peeked out the window. A truck had pulled up with a dumpster, one of those big metal things that looked like it belonged on a train. Not again. The guy was positioning it behind her car.
Emily stumbled to her feet. No way was she going to be blocked in. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.
Slipping into her slides, she hot-footed it downstairs. No, no, no.
Bursting through the bottom door, she ran smack into Jackson.
“Hey, where’re you going?” He grabbed her arms to keep her from falling.
“I’m registering a complaint.” She pushed away from his firm chest. “Why do you always smell so good?”
Mercy, had she said that out loud? A shredding sound came from Victoria’s space, as if they were tearing out a wall.
Even when Jackson frowned, he looked adorable. She didn’t remember him being this cute in college. Aware that she hadn’t brushed her teeth or showered yet, she kept her distance.
“How long is this noise going to go on? I can’t even work.” She was getting better at recovering after she said something stupid.
Jackson looked toward the other door, which was wide open. Guys were coming out with an old-fashioned sink. Two others came through with a long counter. “Careful with that, guys. I’m repurposing almost everything.”
“Yep, got it,” one of them responded. The old sink and counter looked heavy but not for these muscle-bound men.
Jackson stepped inside and beckoned her to follow. Emily stepped into the dust. “Jackson, they can’t leave that dumpster there. I won’t be able to get out.”
“Of course not. I just want to check a few things.” And he disappeared.
Although Emily had been in the front of Mrs. Miniver’s store, she’d never seen the back. One peek told her that the first door on the right led to the kitchen. The fixtures were from the early days in Sweetwater Creek, all green glass and brass scrolls. Even the large, outmoded stove belonged in a museum. This thing was much older than the harvest gold model in her own unit.
It must be nice to call a guy like Jackson and men would show up and work for you.
Before long he was back, all muscles in his soft gray shirt. “You have sawdust in your hair,” she murmured.
“What? Where?” Dipping down, he brushed his fingers over his head. But little chunks of plaster still nestled in the thick, dark hair.
“Here, let me.” Getting up on her tippy toes, she tousled his hair, which didn’t help at all. Used to her own soft lengths, Emily was surprised at the texture that tickled her fingers, the edges pushing into her palm. I’m enjoying this way too much. She stared down at her hand, the chunks of plaster falling to the floor. Surprised by her unexpected response, she rubbed her hand on her warm-up pants. When she looked up, Jackson’s eyes were deep pools of swirling blue. A girl could drown in them and she sucked in some air. He flinched. She looked away.
“They’re taking out the drop ceiling.” Jackson narrowed his eyes as he glanced up. “It’s such a shame to hide these beaten tin ceilings. The lower ceiling they installed kept the place warm, but it lacks charm.”
“What?” She was feeling warm herself. The muscles, the warm smile. “Why did they drop the ceiling?”
He pointed up. “All these old buildings have high ceilings. They date back to the early 1900s. Some, earlier. People were determined to modernize them with these fake ceilings that dropped them a foot or so. They look terrible.”
“Fascinating,” she murmured. Emily had no clue what he was saying. She rubbed her palms together.
Hands on his trim hips, Jackson looked around. “This is going to be great.”
Emily coughed from the dust.
Jackson took her elbow. “Let’s get you outside.”
As they reached the back door, Victoria bustled toward them. “There you are. I had to park out front.” She was wearing a matching sweater set in spring green. A narrow green stripe on the wide-legged navy slacks made her legs look eternal, especially with the navy ankle boots.
No one dressed like that in Sweetwater Creek. Victoria sure hadn’t found her outfit at Coralee’s. Turning, Victoria caught her staring. “Oh. You.”
Emily lifted her eyes from the boots. Why had she followed Jackson into the store? Her warm-up suit felt heavy in the spring weather, like last year’s tennis shoes.
“Em-il-y.” Victoria gave the name three syllables. Kind of snipped them off with mathematical precision. But the dusty air got to her too. She waved a hand as if clearing the air of everything toxic, including Emily. “Jackson, this dust. It’s going to ruin my clothes.”
“You don’t have to be around for the demolition. Stop in the showroom and make your color decisions.”
“Right. If you say so.” Victoria dropped her eyes demurely. The dust wasn’t the only thing making Emily gag.
“Gotta leave,” she said, sidling toward the door.
Must go back to my garret and eat my porridge.
“I’ll take care of the dumpster.” Jackson followed Emily outside. “The guys can relocate it farther down the alley so you can get out.”
“That would be great, Jackson. Appreciate it.”
He drew closer, tantalizing her with the soapy stuff he used.
“How’s the online thing going?”
“Okay. Sure, fine.” No way did she want to discuss that here.
“Be sure these guys are right before you meet them,” he said. “Ask for recent photos. Then Google their names.”
“Last names aren’t used. How would I do that?”
“Recent photos?” Victoria inched closer in her soft leather boots. “Do you need photos of something?” She glanced from Jackson to Emily, eager to be part of the conversation.
“Gotta go.” Turning to her own door, Emily wrenched it open. In her hurry to get inside, she tripped on the metal threshold.
But Jackson wasn’t there to catch her.
Victoria had led him away.
Chapter 13
Seeing Victoria and Jackson every day turned out to be different than Emily had expected. When she heard their voices outside, she couldn’t help peeking down from the back window. Often they were disagreeing about something. Was it terrible that their fights pleased her no end?
And Jackson was worrying about Emily’s dating? Couldn’t he see that Victoria was a high maintenance girl trying to suck all the life out of him?
But no. Men didn’t see that.
“Okay, I shouldn’t be spying,” she told Sasha, who often joined her at the window. Emily had learned to peek between the slats of the vertical blinds. Keeping them open would be too obvious.
Victoria’s back door and the parking lot were right below her kitchen window. Finally, she decided to focus on the front window, not the back. One glance told her why she was staying here in this apartment, in addition to the low rent. April had arrived and the azaleas had burst into bloom. The bright pink, salmon or white bushes decorated the square.
Concentrating on her blog had become difficult. The mumbling downstairs enticed her to the air vent. This squatting on the floor could become a new yoga posture. From what Emily could tell, Victoria did most of the talking. She recognized that annoying uptick at the end of each sentence. Jackson said very little, which would be, well, Jackson. A man of few words, but he certainly got things done.
&
nbsp; Time to sit herself down and work. Salt is a major culprit in heart disease, she typed, thinking of her many older clients. Read labels when buying any canned goods or frozen products.
Victoria’s fake laugh filtered up the duct system, scraping across Emily’s nerves. She listened for Jackson’s rumble. Ah, there it was. Her fingers rested on the keys. That masculine tone conjured up the image of his strong neck, the way he tossed his head back and laughed.
Leaning toward the heat vent, she listened. Was this a laugh of enjoyment...or tolerance?
Oh, rats. In stretching farther, she hit the delete key by mistake. At least three sentences were gone.
Emily pushed away from her desk. She needed help.
She needed, well, something.
The night before she’d brought home a box of microwave popcorn. After all, she’d been writing about healthy snacks, like walnuts, popcorn and celery sticks. Suddenly she craved popcorn. Tasty kernels popped in her mind. Her socks slid on the floor as Emily raced to the kitchen. She’d work later.
Before long, the popping of corn filled the kitchen, soothing her shattered nerves. The smell was as rich as the lobby of Sweetwater Creek’s old movie theater. She scooped a bowl from the cupboard. Any sound filtering from the floor below was blocked by her current craving. Once the popping stopped, she split open the bag, dumped out the kernels and stuffed a handful into her mouth.
Bliss? Not really.
Her chewing slowed. This popcorn tasted like cardboard. She had a hard time swallowing it. What the heck? Despite what she’d just written for her blog, she snatched the salt shaker from her table, doused the warm popcorn and tried it again.
Almost there but not quite.
Opening the refrigerator, she grabbed a stick of butter, ignoring the tubs of almost-butter. Sometimes you needed the real thing. After cutting slices into a bowl, she stuck it in the microwave. Within seconds she had the real thing–– hot, buttered popcorn. The salty, buttery taste was so good. She imagined the popcorn filling all the hunger voids in her life. Right now, she had a few.
She couldn’t eat fast enough. Although it occurred to her that a few melted chocolate kisses might add more flavor, she restrained herself. Emily felt very virtuous about putting limits on her insane craving. Kind of embarrassing, considering what she did for a living.
Her clients would never know.
Halfway through the bag, she slowed.
While she wiped her fingers on a paper towel, common sense returned.
For shame, Emily. Is this what you’re about?
Salt and trans fats. She could feel her veins clogging.
Was she losing it?
Sadness fell over her like a late winter sunset.
Last holiday season, she’d written a post about emotional eating. Now she was dealing with it herself.
Could she call this bowl of popcorn research?
No, Emily. You may not.
Banging open her trash can, she dropped in what was left of her illicit treat. Thank goodness she’d polished off most of it.
She had to find someone. And not a man who was old enough to be her father. Sure, Vince had been kind of cute with her at the end. She was surprised when he signed up to be a client. But she needed a man who would take her in his arms and whisper all kinds of wonderful things. Stuff that made her forget about popcorn. And chocolate.
This man would be amazing.
“I’m having new business cards printed up,” she told Josie and Bryn on their walk after telling them about Vince. “Maybe my manhunt will turn into a client search.”
“That guy had a lot of nerve.” Josie rolled her eyes. “Trying to pass himself off as a guy in his thirties when his kids were that old.”
“Don't say that, Josie.” Bryn leapt to Vince’s defense. “He’s just lonely.”
Emily marched along in her new lime green walking shoes. “You're right, Bryn. Vince was sad.” As sad as I am when I listen to Jackson and Victoria downstairs.
But she wouldn’t share that. Her friends would think she’d really lost it. “I don't know if he appreciated my comments. He might go back to the casserole brigade that descended on him after his wife's death. But sometimes I think the people you know are safer than the strangers floating around in cyberspace.”
They were walking down Possum Lane, where almost every home had an azalea bush in bloom. Josie threw Emily a pointed look and then checked with Bryn who gave a shake of her head.
Emily slowed. “Okay, you two. What's up?”
“Are you thinking that someone you know now, here in town, might be a better choice for you than these guys you’re meeting? Anyone we know?” Bryn fluttered her lashes innocently.
She shooed them along with her hands. “Keep walking. If you're talking about Jackson, then no. Get real. He has someone. Victoria may be a witch on wheels but she’s gorgeous.”
“And so are you,” Josie said quietly.
“Pfft. That’s ridiculous.” Friends always saw the best in you.
But Josie wasn’t giving up. “Emily, you’re not realistic about yourself.”
Tucking her chin down, Emily picked up the pace. “I haven’t met my forever man yet.” As usual, they’d circled back to the square. “Want to go past Victoria’s Pantry? They’re putting in a new kitchen.”
“You seem to be keeping an eye on things,” Josie said with a wink at Bryn.
“Right, are you the project manager?” Bryn added innocently.
“Stop it, both of you.” But she grinned.
Victoria’s Pantry had become an obsession. Did she envy the woman starting a venture that would make her the star of Sweetwater Creek, while she worked away night and day with her blog? Guilty as charged.
As if she read her mind, Josie asked, “How's your blog coming?”
“My client list is growing. I’m excited. The word is getting out.” She was taking on new clients every week. Maybe her new location had inspired her.
“Why don’t you feature shots of hunky men with washboard abs on your site?” Josie suggested with a twinkle in her eye. “They could be eating a kale salad.”
“No way. That kind of picture usually appears on the workout sites. I focus on food. I like to keep that site completely professional.” Although when she thought of the guys on Jackson’s site, she could totally understand the appeal of men with muscle.
After passing the gazebo, they crossed over to the row of shops that held Emily’s apartment and Victoria’s Pantry. Despite the chaos beyond the squeaky clean glass, Victoria had begun to fill her window with displays of food. Not real food, of course, but the expensive artificial food nicely displayed on old-fashioned china.
“How does she do it?” Bryn murmured, reading the posted menu. “ ‘Croissants and salads. Soups and southern desserts to tease your palate.’ ”
“Tease your palate?” Emily repeated.
“Her daddy takes care of everything.” Hands on hips, Josie studied the display. “Everyone in town knows that. Victor Pomeroy.”
“I can’t wait until she whips up some of this stuff.” Emily’s stomach churned. “She's really got the packaging down. Pretty soon the sweet smell of baking will be drifting up through the air vents, driving me nuts.”
Although it killed her to think about it, she might dash down for a mid-morning break. Maybe having this shop downstairs wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Probably her daddy hired a marketing consultant,” Josie scoffed.
“I’ve seen ads for the open house in the Penny Saver. Hate to admit it, but Victoria’s logo looked pretty darn good.” Emily tapped the window where the date was posted. “Jackson’s crews are working toward this date.”
“We’re going, right?” Josie put her fingertips on the clean glass.
“Hey, don’t be mean.” Emily swatted at her friend’s hands. “Victoria will test for fingerprints if you keep doing that.”
“I’m going to the open house,” Bryn announced. “Wouldn’t mis
s it.”
Emily tightened her ponytail until her eyes felt stretched. “I suppose I’ll peek in. After all, I live upstairs. There’ll be free food and all.”
But could she stand seeing Jackson with Victoria that evening, sharing the glory––together?
“Come on.” Bryn tugged on her sleeve. “This is making me sick. Why do some girls have it so easy? Let’s go check out my latest store display.”
Why indeed. Not that Emily would ever complain. She was grateful for what she had. Her family, friends and Sweetwater Creek. Envy was never attractive and she wasn’t going there. “Come on. Walk-run.” They took off at a fast pace and headed for Bryn’s Blooms. Within ten minutes, they were there.
“Guess I have to wash these windows.” Bryn leaned over, grabbing her knees. They were all panting hard and their breath billowed on the cool morning air.
“Your pansies are so sweet,” Emily said, her ribs aching.
Studying her window, Bryn said, “Once the weather warms up a bit, I’ll pull the flats outside to lure shoppers who pass by.”
“You don’t need a spot on the square. People know what they’ll get when they come to Rookery Road.”
Who was she kidding? A shop on the square trumped every other location. They all knew that.
“Time to get to work.” Taking out her key, Bryn opened her shop and waved good-bye. Emily and Josie headed for home. After a quick shower, Emily wrote a blog post about the glories of filling your freezer with easy-to-thaw, portioned meals. For now, she was leaving salt and sodium intake alone.
Hypocrisy felt so uncomfortable.
Today she had to keep busy. The thumping downstairs resonated in her entire body, making her shoulders tighten. By the time lunch rolled around, she had a neck ache. Sasha had deserted her, frightened by the noise. Getting down on her knees, Emily peered under the bed. Sasha huddled in the shadows, her blue eyes glowing. “Come on out, sweetie. It’s all right.”
