Lovebirds

by Lisa Moreau

  “Like what?”

  Emily paused and decided to ignore the question since she couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. “You don’t understand. I have no balance, I’m as graceful as an elephant, and I have no rhythm.”

  “Perfect!” Sydney beamed.

  “How is that perfect? You want to see me fall on my ass, don’t you?” Emily gawked at Sydney, at least as much as she could do so and still stay in her lane.

  “You’re just the type of woman I want to teach. Someone who has a gazillion reasons not to try.”

  “I think you’re overlooking an important fact here. I never asked you for lessons.”

  “I need the practice. For the PowerBar audition, I have to demo how I’d teach a beginner to pole dance. You want me to do well, don’t you?”

  Emily pulled into the Bud’s parking lot, turned off the engine, and faced Sydney. “We’re not done talking about this, but I can only deal with one challenge at a time.”

  When they walked into the store, Fran was standing next to the counter chatting with Bud. They looked good together, and if Emily didn’t know any better, she’d think Fran was flirting, the way she coyly smiled and batted her eyelashes. This setup might be easy after all.

  The smile on Fran’s face fell when she spotted Emily. “It’s about time you showed up.”

  “Sorry that I’m,” Emily looked at her watch, “one minute late. I’d like you to meet Sydney. She’s a friend of mine.”

  Sydney held out her hand, pumped Fran’s arm twice, and flashed a heart-stopping smile. She was certainly charismatic. Maybe it was a good thing Emily had brought her along.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Sydney said. “And good to see you again, Bud.”

  Bud tipped his hat. “Howdy.”

  “When did you two meet?” Fran eyed Sydney suspiciously.

  Emily’s heart stopped, like literally stopped. The jig was up. They were going to get caught for breaking onto her land.

  “Here. Bud’s got the best burritos.” Sydney patted her stomach.

  That was easy. Sydney was a pretty good fibber, much quicker than Emily, anyway.

  “How was your trip to Santa Paula?” Emily asked cheerfully.

  “Dreadful. Ain’t nobody wantin’ to buy figs no more. And now those dang birds are eating my crop. How do I git rid of ’em?” Fran rested her fists on her hips and faced Emily head-on.

  “Well, I know several things you can do, but I can’t really recommend anything until I see the lovebirds firsthand.”

  Fran grunted and immediately turned to Bud. “What’s the number for the California Wildlife Association? They could help me.”

  “No!” Emily said much too forcefully, which scored her a murderous look from Fran.

  “Wait a second,” Sydney said. “We forgot to give Fran her gift.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. That freaking cookbook again?

  Sydney focused on Fran and displayed a smile even more stunning than before. “We heard from a little bird, no pun intended, that you like a certain country-western singer.”

  Fran’s head jerked to Bud, and she glared at him hard, enough to make him lower his eyes and look like he wanted to dive into the bait tank.

  “What’s this about?” Fran squinted at Sydney.

  “We came across something in Santa Barbara we thought you might like.” Sydney reached into her backpack, whisked out the What’s Cooking At Twitty City cookbook, and held it two inches from Fran’s nose.

  The varied emotions that crossed Fran’s face amazed Emily. She went from pissed to confused to shocked to elated in a matter of five seconds. She snatched the book out of Sydney’s hands and looked like she might actually kiss the photo of Conway Twitty on the cover.

  “This…how…what…who…” Fran was actually kinda pretty with her face lit up and incoherently babbling. Emily liked this Fran much better than the scary one.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Sydney shot Emily an I-told-you-so glance.

  “I’ve been searching high and low for this for decades. It went out of print years ago. It’s the only memorabilia I don’t have.” Fran gazed with such wonder and innocence that Emily actually had an urge to hug her.

  “Bud, look.” Fran showcased the book like a game-show host presenting a new car.

  “Would you look at that.” Bud whistled through his teeth. “Maybe you could wrangle me up something. I haven’t had a home-cooked Southern meal since my mama died.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Sydney said. “In fact, why don’t we make dinner for all of us?”

  We? Was Sydney talking about Emily? Hopefully not, considering all she knew how to make were Pop-Tarts.

  “We could come over, if that’s okay, of course, and prepare a feast for both of you.” Sydney nudged Emily with her elbow.

  “Oh. Yes. That’s a great idea,” Emily said, finally getting the message.

  This was perfect. She could gain access to Fran’s farm and set Bud up on a date. It’d be a double date, but that was still technically a date.

  “At my place?” A dark shadow crossed Fran’s eyes, and she frowned. She looked like she wanted to run out the door.

  “We could get to know each other better, and I can give you some tips on how to deal with the lovebirds,” Emily said, hoping that would sweeten the offer.

  “Come on, Frances.” Bud poked her on the arm. “These nice girls are offering to cook for us. You can trust them. What happened was three years ago. Ain’t it about time you got past that?”

  Emily and Sydney exchanged curious glances. What had happened?

  Fran’s eyes darted around until they landed on the cookbook. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt nothing. And I never was much good at cookin’.”

  “Great,” Sydney said. “We’ll buy all the ingredients and make whatever you want.” Sydney reached for the cookbook, but Fran pulled it away. Apparently, she was the only one allowed to touch it.

  Fran flipped through the pages, stopped in the middle, and pointed. “Could you make this?”

  Emily leaned over and read the title. “Chicken-fried steak and hush puppies? No problem.” Emily silently prayed Sydney knew how to create such a dish.

  Sydney pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll take a photo of the recipe so we’ll know what to buy.”

  “Does tonight work?” Emily asked. Everyone nodded. “Perfect. How about we come over at six and eat by seven thirty?”

  Emily grabbed Sydney’s arm and pulled her toward the door before Fran could change her mind. “We better get going. See you tonight.”

  “Hold up, little lady,” Fran yelled. Emily stopped and reluctantly turned around. She’d almost made a clean break for it. “Don’t you need directions to my place?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Emily nervously chuckled.

  Fran scribbled something on a notepad by the register and handed it to Emily. Nodding thoughtfully, Emily pretended to study the address.

  “Thanks.” Emily waved the paper in the air and practically ran out of the store.

  It wasn’t until they were in the car that they burst out laughing.

  “Oh my God. You were so awesome,” Emily said and gazed at her co-conspirator. She felt lighter and happier than she had in a long time. She wouldn’t have traded the past week with Sydney for anything.

  “I told you the cookbook would get big points.”

  “You were right. We make a pretty good team. After we leave Ojai I don’t want this,” Emily motioned between them, “to end.”

  “Really?” Sydney’s blue eyes lightened several shades.

  “Of course. We’re friends. I’d miss our adventures.”

  I’d miss you.

  “Your wife won’t mind?”

  Wife? Oh, right. She was getting married in a few months.

  “Gretchen is reasonable. She’ll understand.”

  “So understandable that you haven’t told her we’re rooming together?”

  “She’ll be okay after I explain eve
rything.” Emily wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Sydney. “Mark October fifteenth in your calendar ’cause you’ll most certainly be invited to the wedding.”

  “Uh. I’ll pass. Thanks.” Sydney motioned toward the keys dangling from the ignition. “We should probably get going. We have grocery shopping to do.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to come to my wedding?”

  Sydney shrugged. “It’s just not my thing.”

  Emily started the car, put it in reverse, and backed out. “You’ll be missing out on a fancy affair. Lord knows our parents have probably moved the location to Buckingham Palace by now.”

  Driving back to the cabin, Emily secretly felt relieved that Sydney wouldn’t be attending the nuptials. Something didn’t feel right about standing at the altar with Gretchen reciting vows while knowing that Sydney was in the audience.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Farm Feast

  Once Emily excused herself to shower, Sydney went downstairs to text Owen. She hated borrowing money from Monica, but no way in hell would she keep the two hundred and fifty dollars after what Emily had said. Sydney wouldn’t be satisfied until the money was in his hot little hand. Then maybe the hard, painful lump in her stomach could dissipate. If she’d known how important the bird story was and how hateful Owen had been, she never would have agreed to his slimy deal.

  A true friend would come clean and admit everything, but Sydney didn’t want to risk losing Emily. It was strange how the bird-watcher had wiggled her way into Sydney’s heart in such a short time. That had never happened before. But then again, Sydney had never met anyone like Emily.

  Sydney propped her feet on the coffee table, grabbed her phone, and typed.

  Deal is off. I’m not spying anymore. What’s your address and I’ll mail your money back.

  Hopefully, Owen would respond soon. Then Sydney could help Emily find the Madagascar lovebirds with a clear, almost, conscience. Within seconds, her phone rang. It was Owen. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  “Did you get my text?” Sydney asked into the receiver.

  “What the hell is this about? We made a deal.”

  “I’m done. What’s your address?”

  “No way. You promised to tell me why Emily is in Ojai, and don’t give me another fake lovebird story.”

  “Look. Get it through your thick skull that I’m not helping you anymore. If you won’t give me your address, I’ll find out the name of your magazine from Emily and mail it to you.”

  “So you told her about our deal, did you?”

  That was a loaded question. If Sydney said no then Owen would snitch to Emily, but if she said yes that would be yet another lie to add to the already high stack of them.

  “Of course.” Sydney glanced at the stairs to make sure Emily wasn’t coming down.

  “You bitc―”

  “I’ll mail you a check.”

  Sydney disconnected and googled bird magazines in Southern California. Since there weren’t many to choose from, it didn’t take long to locate Owen’s publication. She’d mail him a check first thing tomorrow morning. This should fix everything, sorta. Regretfully, she’d told Owen about the lovebirds, but luckily she hadn’t known they were rare Madagascar ones, and he hadn’t believed her anyway. So she had no reason to feel guilty about spying…except that she did.

  * * *

  Sydney obviously knew her way around the kitchen, even one she’d never been in before. She moved at warp speed—mixing, chopping, and frying things Emily had never seen before.

  “What exactly are hush puppies anyway?” Emily peered into clumps of something or another sizzling in a pan of hot oil.

  “Deep-fried cornbread. Haven’t you ever had them?” Sydney glanced at Emily and resumed plopping more balls into a deep fryer.

  Emily chuckled. “Are you kidding? My mom was the food police. Fried wasn’t in her vocabulary.”

  “What did she cook?”

  “Anything that didn’t have gluten, dairy, eggs, sugar, or corn in it.”

  “Wow. No wonder you snuck candy bars.”

  Emily looked through the kitchen window and spied Fran and Bud sitting in a porch swing. They looked like two teenagers, giggling and flirting.

  “I think Fran has a thing for the bait-and-burrito king,” Emily said. “I wonder why she turned down his date offers? And what did Bud mean when he said Fran should let go of what happened three years ago?”

  “Beats me.” Sydney stopped what she was doing and studied the couple. “They do look giddy. Bud might even get kissed if he takes that toothpick out of his mouth for even half a second. Were your parents ever that happy?”

  Emily snorted. “Heck, no.” When she got a weird look from Sydney, she added, “They weren’t the lovey-dovey type. When I was growing up, I rarely saw them hold hands or be affectionate.” Emily stared into space and visualized her parents. “Now that I think about it, they weren’t that close. But I’m sure they love each other. I guess.”

  “Hmm. What about you and what’s-her-name?” Sydney wrinkled her nose and looked like she’d just bitten into a sour grape.

  Sydney very well knew Gretchen’s name. Was she jealous? No. She was probably still miffed that Gretchen got her fired.

  “She isn’t the demonstrative type,” Emily said. “But I know how she feels.”

  Sydney placed breaded steaks into a pan. Emily almost laughed aloud, thinking of the conniption fit her mother would throw if she could see what Emily was about to devour.

  “What about you? Are you the affectionate type?” Emily asked, surprised by how curious she was to know the answer.

  “Sure.” Sydney stuck a fork in one of the steaks and turned it over.

  “Really?” Emily hadn’t meant to sound so surprised. “I mean, considering your anti-relationship stance, I didn’t think you would be.”

  “Granted, most of the women I’ve dated weren’t into cuddling, but if I was with someone special it’d be different.” Sydney looked directly at Emily. “Soft kisses in the park, holding hands in the grocery store, slow dancing…”

  Emily’s body hummed with the recollection of Sydney’s strong arms around her as they swayed to the music. She grabbed the edge of the counter, light-headed just thinking about how close they’d been. Was it getting hot in here? Emily resisted the urge to fan herself with a spatula.

  “I’m going to set the table,” Emily said and headed into the dining room, glad to put some space between them. What was wrong with her? She was engaged. Fantasizing about dancing intimately with another woman wasn’t allowed.

  Emily put thoughts of Sydney out of her mind and arranged the table setting. After she did that, she stepped into the living room and glanced around. No question that Fran was a Conway Twitty fan with numerous posters, albums, and a glass case with concert memorabilia. Emily grinned when she saw the cookbook safely stored in a plastic bag perched in the center of the case. Sydney had been right about that gift after all.

  Emily approached the record player and selected an album, studying the cover.

  “That’s my favorite one.”

  Emily spun around when she heard Fran’s voice.

  “I didn’t mean to be intrusive,” Emily said, afraid she’d been caught snooping.

  “Put it on,” Fran said and sat in a recliner. When the music started, she closed her eyes and rested her head back. After a few minutes, she spoke. “My husband used to sing that to me.”

  Fran had been married? That was surprising. Emily sat on the edge of the sofa, not sure how to respond. She didn’t have a husband now, so obviously something had happened to him, either divorce or maybe worse.

  Fran opened bloodshot, moist eyes and looked at Emily. “That was a long time ago. He’s no longer with us.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Emily reached out and lightly squeezed Fran’s hand. “What happened?”

  “Farming accident. Three years ago.”

  That must have been what Bud was
talking about before. But that didn’t explain all the no-trespassing signs. Why did Fran distrust people so much?

  “Did something else happen?” Emily gripped the armrest, hoping she wasn’t overstepping her boundaries. When Fran gave her a quizzical look, she added, “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you allow anyone on your farm?”

  Fran glared, non-blinking, for a full minute, like they were having a staring contest. Normally, Emily would have backed down and rambled to fill the silence, but she was too curious as to Fran’s answer.

  Finally, Fran said, “Carl, my husband, had kids from another marriage. They didn’t approve of me, and when he died they wanted to take over the farm. After the law sided with me, they were none too happy, so they broke onto the land and vandalized the place several times. Once, they even almost burned it down.”

  “Oh my gosh.” Emily put a hand over her heart. “That’s terrible. Did you have them arrested?”

  “I couldn’t. Carl loved them kids. I warned that if they ever stepped foot on my property again I wouldn’t think twice about having ’em thrown in jail.”

  Who knew Fran had a soft spot? Most people would have immediately pressed charges.

  “So that’s when you put up the signs?”

  Fran nodded. “I know what people think about me. I’m not a cantankerous old woman. I’m just protecting my property. It’s all I have.”

  “I understand. It’s the way I feel about my bird magazine. It’s everything to me, and I’d do anything to save it, which is why―”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Sydney called from the dining room.

  Emily groaned. Talk about bad timing. She was about to bring up the subject of the lovebirds.

  When they got into the dining room, Sydney was poking Bud in the ribs and signaling for him to pull Fran’s chair out. Finally, he got the message and jumped into action.

  “Why, thank you kindly, Bud.” Fran sat.

  “Everything looks mighty fine,” Bud said and scanned the table.

  “Help yourself.” Sydney handed Bud a platter of chicken-fried steak and motioned for him to pass it around the table.