all.”
“When can I expect you?”
Miranda glanced at her watch. “An hour?”
“Perfect.”
She replaced the phone and felt better than she had all weekend. Collecting her purse and sweater, she headed out the door. The early part of the week was generally slow at the gallery. She’d filled in for Will a couple of Mondays that month so he could help his mother and stepfather with the insurance people and the builder remodeling the kitchen.
Will was sitting behind the counter, leafing through a catalog, and stood when she entered the gallery. He didn’t smile at first and neither did she. The old wooden floor creaked as she walked across the room, which made her feel even more self-conscious.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Will said.
“I have time on my hands, so it’s not a problem.”
He grinned at her weak joke.
“You have my check?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, locating the envelope under the counter. He handed it to her but held on to one end. “The thing is…”
“Yes?” she asked eagerly.
“I believe I might’ve been a bit hasty in letting you go when I did.”
“Really…”
He hedged for a few seconds. “There aren’t as many tourists as we usually get this time of year, but…”
“But,” she went on, “the gallery has the potential to bring in a large clientele.” Miranda had plenty of ideas she wanted to share—like a holiday show, sponsoring an art walk, hosting an event for the chamber of commerce. They could invite local artists, serve wine and cheese, consider ways to work with other businesses.
“I believe there’s great potential here, too,” Will concurred. “Problem is, I can’t do it alone.”
“You need an assistant.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but I was foolish enough to fire the best one I’m likely to find.”
Miranda felt sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you saying you want me to come back?”
“You’re cantankerous, insubordinate and a lot of other things I could mention, but two days without you and I was ready to pull my hair out. Pride is a fine thing, but it only carries you so far—and I’ve reached my limit. I want you back. Would you be willing to let bygones be bygones and start over?”
“I think I could do that,” she said, struggling to hide her delight. The knot in her stomach unraveled and the tension eased from her shoulders. “We can talk.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Will smiled.
And Miranda smiled back.
Ten
S itting at her parents’ kitchen counter, Gloria Ashton watched her mother move briskly around, assembling a variety of bowls and wooden spoons. Gloria wasn’t sure what Corrie was making but it seemed to demand a lot of attention. The cookbook was propped open and a dozen ingredients were lined up on the counter.
Roy was in the living room reading the local paper and that, too, appeared to be completely captivating.
“Would you like more milk?” Corrie asked, nodding at Gloria’s half-empty glass.
“No, thanks.”
Gloria had first noticed the tension between Roy and Corrie a couple of weeks ago and tried to ignore it. She figured they’d resolve the problem, whatever it was, without interference from her or anyone else. But that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Is everything okay between you and Roy?” she finally asked. She’d decided just coming right out with it was better than pretending this uneasiness didn’t exist.
Roy rattled his paper and Corrie dropped an egg on the counter, breaking the shell. She tore off a paper towel and used it to shove the raw egg and broken shell directlyinto the kitchen sink. She turned on the water, ran the garbage disposal, then washed her hands, drying them on her apron.
“What was that, dear?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard the question.
“I asked if everything’s all right between you and Roy,” Gloria repeated.
Corrie stood on the other side of the counter, looking into the living room, where Roy sat with the newspaper hiding his
“When can I expect you?”
Miranda glanced at her watch. “An hour?”
“Perfect.”
She replaced the phone and felt better than she had all weekend. Collecting her purse and sweater, she headed out the door. The early part of the week was generally slow at the gallery. She’d filled in for Will a couple of Mondays that month so he could help his mother and stepfather with the insurance people and the builder remodeling the kitchen.
Will was sitting behind the counter, leafing through a catalog, and stood when she entered the gallery. He didn’t smile at first and neither did she. The old wooden floor creaked as she walked across the room, which made her feel even more self-conscious.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Will said.
“I have time on my hands, so it’s not a problem.”
He grinned at her weak joke.
“You have my check?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, locating the envelope under the counter. He handed it to her but held on to one end. “The thing is…”
“Yes?” she asked eagerly.
“I believe I might’ve been a bit hasty in letting you go when I did.”
“Really…”
He hedged for a few seconds. “There aren’t as many tourists as we usually get this time of year, but…”
“But,” she went on, “the gallery has the potential to bring in a large clientele.” Miranda had plenty of ideas she wanted to share—like a holiday show, sponsoring an art walk, hosting an event for the chamber of commerce. They could invite local artists, serve wine and cheese, consider ways to work with other businesses.
“I believe there’s great potential here, too,” Will concurred. “Problem is, I can’t do it alone.”
“You need an assistant.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but I was foolish enough to fire the best one I’m likely to find.”
Miranda felt sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you saying you want me to come back?”
“You’re cantankerous, insubordinate and a lot of other things I could mention, but two days without you and I was ready to pull my hair out. Pride is a fine thing, but it only carries you so far—and I’ve reached my limit. I want you back. Would you be willing to let bygones be bygones and start over?”
“I think I could do that,” she said, struggling to hide her delight. The knot in her stomach unraveled and the tension eased from her shoulders. “We can talk.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Will smiled.
And Miranda smiled back.
Ten
S itting at her parents’ kitchen counter, Gloria Ashton watched her mother move briskly around, assembling a variety of bowls and wooden spoons. Gloria wasn’t sure what Corrie was making but it seemed to demand a lot of attention. The cookbook was propped open and a dozen ingredients were lined up on the counter.
Roy was in the living room reading the local paper and that, too, appeared to be completely captivating.
“Would you like more milk?” Corrie asked, nodding at Gloria’s half-empty glass.
“No, thanks.”
Gloria had first noticed the tension between Roy and Corrie a couple of weeks ago and tried to ignore it. She figured they’d resolve the problem, whatever it was, without interference from her or anyone else. But that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Is everything okay between you and Roy?” she finally asked. She’d decided just coming right out with it was better than pretending this uneasiness didn’t exist.
Roy rattled his paper and Corrie dropped an egg on the counter, breaking the shell. She tore off a paper towel and used it to shove the raw egg and broken shell directlyinto the kitchen sink. She turned on the water, ran the garbage disposal, then washed her hands, drying them on her apron.
“What was that, dear?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard the question.
“I asked if everything’s all right between you and Roy,” Gloria repeated.
Corrie stood on the other side of the counter, looking into the living room, where Roy sat with the newspaper hiding his
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