trees.
For the second time that night, Wes felt an unexpected rush of relief. Her mom really was out of town. He turned away and crossed the street to the café.
* * *
S HE SAW HIM as soon as she opened the door at the Lemon Drop. The café tables were mostly small and round, seating four people comfortably and six if they were really good friends. Wes was all alone at a table near the window, his big frame dwarfing the chair. The young guy from the mayor’s office was standing next to him.
“Hey,” Wes said, raising a hand. “Over here, Posy.”
She edged past the two tables between them and then eased her bag down under the table.
“Posy, did you meet Ryan yesterday?”
The guy held his hand out and she shook it. “Nice to see you again, Ryan.”
“You, too.” He turned back to Wes. “Well, you probably don’t want to talk business.... Like I said, I don’t think the variance is going to be a problem. The presentation at the zoning hearing will probably be just a formality at this point. I know several of them were donors to the fundraiser Posy’s mom ran—Chloe Chastain reached out to a lot of the local businesspeople.”
“Perfect. We’re announcing the results of the fundraiser at Equipment Day tomorrow.”
They chatted for a few more minutes and then Ryan said goodbye.
She picked up a menu and flipped it from front to back. “See anything that looks good?”
“I sure do,” Wes said. “Were you fishing for a compliment?”
“No!” Posy said. “I meant the menu.”
“Of course you did.” He put his menu next to his plate. “I’m having a burger. And you look really nice tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you own the cheesy-pick-up-line manual or did you borrow it from some guy on the team?”
“Sincere statements of fact are never cheesy. You do look nice.”
The open collar of his shirt emphasized the lean and chiseled lines of his shoulders and neck. A few strands of curly dark hair showed above the unbuttoned second button.
“You look very nice tonight, too,” she said. In a world where “very nice” was a synonym for “drop-dead sexy,” that was.
He asked questions about Kirkland and she answered as honestly as she could, describing the good and bad of growing up in a small town that prided itself on a reputation for clean and cute. She knew it wasn’t universally true, but for her, the daughter of a Main Street shop owner, there’d always been the message that the town was watching. Judging.
On the other hand, the more he told her about the Hand-to-Hand project, the more certain she was that it was a great fit for Kirkland. People were generous here with time and money and his program offered a breadth of interests that would draw volunteers, she was sure.
They’d each had a piece of pie and as they were waiting for the waitress to bring the bill, Posy pulled out her purse. She opened the zippered inside pocket where she kept her emergency cash and pulled out the check she’d written to the Fallon Foundation.
Her hand shook, bumping against his as she handed it over. “Sorry,” she said. “I never wrote a check that big before.” She felt sick to her stomach, looking at her signature, but she wasn’t sure if that was from relief or worry. She couldn’t believe she’d just written a check to a charity for an amount that was very close to her annual salary. She hoped her mom’s house would sell quickly and that she’d be able to pay her aunt and her cousin back.
Wes held the check. “I’m still floored that a simple blog posting could pull in this kind of money.”
Posy realized a woman had stopped next to their table and she looked up.
Chloe Chastain. Of all the rotten, rotten luck.
“Posy,” Chloe said. “What a surprise. When your mom left town suddenly, I assumed she was visiting you.”
“She’s actually on a silent retreat out at the Knoll.”
“A silent retreat,” Chloe said. “Trish?”
Chloe had always been pretty, with big
For the second time that night, Wes felt an unexpected rush of relief. Her mom really was out of town. He turned away and crossed the street to the café.
* * *
S HE SAW HIM as soon as she opened the door at the Lemon Drop. The café tables were mostly small and round, seating four people comfortably and six if they were really good friends. Wes was all alone at a table near the window, his big frame dwarfing the chair. The young guy from the mayor’s office was standing next to him.
“Hey,” Wes said, raising a hand. “Over here, Posy.”
She edged past the two tables between them and then eased her bag down under the table.
“Posy, did you meet Ryan yesterday?”
The guy held his hand out and she shook it. “Nice to see you again, Ryan.”
“You, too.” He turned back to Wes. “Well, you probably don’t want to talk business.... Like I said, I don’t think the variance is going to be a problem. The presentation at the zoning hearing will probably be just a formality at this point. I know several of them were donors to the fundraiser Posy’s mom ran—Chloe Chastain reached out to a lot of the local businesspeople.”
“Perfect. We’re announcing the results of the fundraiser at Equipment Day tomorrow.”
They chatted for a few more minutes and then Ryan said goodbye.
She picked up a menu and flipped it from front to back. “See anything that looks good?”
“I sure do,” Wes said. “Were you fishing for a compliment?”
“No!” Posy said. “I meant the menu.”
“Of course you did.” He put his menu next to his plate. “I’m having a burger. And you look really nice tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you own the cheesy-pick-up-line manual or did you borrow it from some guy on the team?”
“Sincere statements of fact are never cheesy. You do look nice.”
The open collar of his shirt emphasized the lean and chiseled lines of his shoulders and neck. A few strands of curly dark hair showed above the unbuttoned second button.
“You look very nice tonight, too,” she said. In a world where “very nice” was a synonym for “drop-dead sexy,” that was.
He asked questions about Kirkland and she answered as honestly as she could, describing the good and bad of growing up in a small town that prided itself on a reputation for clean and cute. She knew it wasn’t universally true, but for her, the daughter of a Main Street shop owner, there’d always been the message that the town was watching. Judging.
On the other hand, the more he told her about the Hand-to-Hand project, the more certain she was that it was a great fit for Kirkland. People were generous here with time and money and his program offered a breadth of interests that would draw volunteers, she was sure.
They’d each had a piece of pie and as they were waiting for the waitress to bring the bill, Posy pulled out her purse. She opened the zippered inside pocket where she kept her emergency cash and pulled out the check she’d written to the Fallon Foundation.
Her hand shook, bumping against his as she handed it over. “Sorry,” she said. “I never wrote a check that big before.” She felt sick to her stomach, looking at her signature, but she wasn’t sure if that was from relief or worry. She couldn’t believe she’d just written a check to a charity for an amount that was very close to her annual salary. She hoped her mom’s house would sell quickly and that she’d be able to pay her aunt and her cousin back.
Wes held the check. “I’m still floored that a simple blog posting could pull in this kind of money.”
Posy realized a woman had stopped next to their table and she looked up.
Chloe Chastain. Of all the rotten, rotten luck.
“Posy,” Chloe said. “What a surprise. When your mom left town suddenly, I assumed she was visiting you.”
“She’s actually on a silent retreat out at the Knoll.”
“A silent retreat,” Chloe said. “Trish?”
Chloe had always been pretty, with big
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