Maybe This Time by Joan Kilby

register, paid for it and wrote a quick message to Emma. His journey to the pub after dropping the envelope in the mail took him past the wine bar. He picked up another of the flyers from the gutter along the way. This time he hung on to it. He had a thing about littering, especially in his town.
    Wayne was setting out a sandwich board on the footpath. His shaved head gleamed in the sun and he wore a black polo shirt revealing a thick gold chain around his neck. “G’day. How’s it going?”
    “Getting ready for your big opening, I see.” Darcy glanced through the big plate-glass window at the finished decor. He had to admit, now that it was finished, the effect was appealingly lush and decadent, like a fin de siècle Paris bistro. “The place looks very...comfortable.”
    “If the customers are comfortable, they’ll stick around longer, and drink and eat more.”
    Darcy handed him the flyer. “I found this down the road. There are quite a few of them floating around.”
    Wayne waved it away, completely missing his point. “Keep it. Come on by opening night. First glass of wine is on the house for local business owners.”
    Darcy crumpled the slip of paper in his fist. “Thanks, but I’ll be working, keeping my customers happy so they don’t all end up at your wine bar.”
    Wayne laughed. “Hey, you’re a funny guy. I can see we’re going to be friends.” He started to go inside then paused. “Not a lot of parking around here, is there? Mostly just lining the street.”
    “It’s not usually a problem at night. There’s an overflow lot farther down, next to the dog park.”
    “I don’t want people to have to walk too far, especially if it’s raining.” He tipped his head, a calculating gleam in his eye. “You’ve got parking behind the pub, don’t you?”
    “It’s a small lot.” And it was his. He’d bought the land, had it paved and marked, and he maintained it for his customers. “It fills quickly with pub customers.”
    “Right.” Wayne cocked a finger and pointed it at Darcy. “Gotcha.”
    Darcy stepped away. “I’ll let you go. I’m sure, like me, you have plenty to do.”
    He walked back to the pub fuming. The man’s friendly-like-a-shark demeanor was annoying. What really got Darcy’s goat was Wayne’s shifty and calculating account of the way he’d come to Summerside for a tax dodge and was deliberately going after a rich clientele.
    Really? Darcy brought himself up short. Wasn’t that how successful businessmen operated? Not him, of course. He wasn’t cutthroat. He liked to make a living doing a job he enjoyed and seeing his customers happy.
    Maybe that wasn’t enough anymore. For the first time, he had to admit, he was a tad worried.
    * * *
    T HIRTY-SIX YEARS OLD . She was practically Methuselah. Emma splashed cold water on her face after work, resisting the urge to flop on the couch and watch trashy reality TV. In spite of her fatigue, she really didn’t want to miss her birthday party.
    Going to the new wine bar in Summerside was Alana’s idea. Emma didn’t feel right about patronizing Darcy’s competition. Not that he had anything to worry about. The pub did a roaring business, if his constant presence there when they were married was anything to go by. Besides, Darcy wasn’t worried. He never worried about anything.
    She, on the other hand, worried about everything. And she had good reason to. What had possessed her to begin a master’s degree and continue to work while she was pregnant? The hospital was okay with her taking time off for the birth—that was part of maternity leave. But university continued regardless of major life events like having a baby. She had three exams at the end of the month and a major term paper due the same week the baby was due.
    Add in that she was as big as a house and tired to boot and life was catching up with her. All she wanted to do was crawl beneath the covers and go to sleep for a week. Instead she had to put on makeup and