Town Square, The by Ava Miles Page A

that.
    “You have your pride.”
    “Darn right,” he responded, rapping his knuckles on the table for emphasis. A man’s pride was important. Hadn’t Harriet’s father and so many others lost everything out of damaged pride?
    “I worked at the paper throughout school to pay for rent and tuition.” And got a little financial aid, which he didn’t need to mention, in addition to what his parents had been able to contribute. “I didn’t sleep much, but New York isn’t that kind of a town.”
    Her mouth tipped up. “No, it’s not. Do you miss it?”
    He looked around the tavern at people he’d known all his life. He liked being known here. Being cared about. He hadn’t felt that way in New York. “I like Dare for its strengths and understand what it’s not able to offer me.”
    “And what’s that?” she asked.
    “Sophistication. I doubt I could get a decent Manhattan here, but I still ask Vernon, the bartender, to make one for me. And the anonymity. No one knew who I was in the city, and there’s freedom in that. I was just Arthur Hale, and sometimes that felt nice.”
    “Yes, Dare’s prying eyes are a little tiresome.” She leaned against the booth, finally relaxing that prim pose. “Is everyone still staring at us?”
    He glanced over and winked at old Mrs. Withers, whose mouth dropped open when she realized she’d been caught staring.
    “You’re terrible,” she managed with a laugh, resuming her picture–perfect posture.
    “Sometimes,” he responded, his gaze resting on her face. That face with skin so bright and clear it reminded him of the clouds on a summer day in Wildflower Canyon.
    They grew quiet.
    Bertha finally brought their food. Harriet picked at her steaming roast beef while he went straight for the creamy mashed potatoes, his favorite.
    “My mother died when I was eight,” she said as she forked the green beans. “My dad dove into his work more after that. Before, I remember us all laughing, and him working less.”
    Reaching across the table for her hand would only cause more talk. He put his utensils down to show he was paying attention. “I’m sorry.”
    She smoothed some curls behind her ears. “Me too.”
    They continued to eat and talk, sharing stories from the past. He started to see a fuller picture of who she was and still knew there was so much more. But they had time. She was staying in town until she and her sister decided on their next steps.
    And even while he told himself to protect his heart from the woman across from him, somehow he couldn’t. He’d always known when a risk was worth it, and there was no question that she was.
    He stole looks at her often enough that he noticed when her eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder to see Vera Henry digging a toothpick into her front teeth like she was digging for clams.
    “Ah, people around here like their toothpicks,” he said, clearing his throat to cover up his laugh. So far as he could tell, no one used toothpicks out East, especially women and certainly not in public.
    “Apparently,” she managed and snapped her red–painted mouth closed.
    “Just another difference between Dare and the big city.” He fished a toothpick out of the white plastic holder next to the horseradish jar and extended it to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it? My dentist swears by them.”
    Her mouth twisted like she was fighting a smile. “No thank you. My toothbrush seems to do the job just fine.”
    He shoved one into his mouth like his dad did after every meal and flashed her a smile. “You’re missing out.”
    And then she laughed, the sound like a train whistle, bold and yet oddly sweet. “You’re incorrigible.”
    They enjoyed the banana cream pie, and he discovered she liked to bake, especially around Christmas. She told him stories about learning from their maid, Joanna, who’d been like a mother to them after their own had passed. She still wrote a letter to her every week.
    After he paid the bill,