about going to a casino, Herbert Comisky!” The large woman rounded on Nora. “Thanks a lot. Now we’ll be fighting over that damn casino business all weekend long.”
Nora stepped back, mumbling an apology. She was definitely losing her Suzy Sunshine mojo. What else could go wrong today?
“Hiya, honey, what can I get you?” Nora looked at the tall, willowy woman behind the chipped and coffee-stained counter. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a thick braid that hung down her back, and she was wearing a shapeless tie-dyed dress that swept the floor. Literally. The hem was filthy from where it had removed dust and dirt from the old boards. But her dark brown eyes were kind and friendly, and Nora returned her smile, trying not to stare at the woman’s yellowing teeth.
“I’ll have a cappuccino with a shot of hazelnut, please.” She looked at the dusty glass case sitting on top of the counter. “And I’ll take that last scone, too.”
“You got it, honey. Give me just a minute.”
Herbie spoke up again behind Nora. “Gawd, give me strength. That must be Caffeine Cathy herself. Did you see those teeth? She either drinks fifty cups of coffee a day or smokes five packs of cigarettes. And that outfit. She’s a freakin’ hippy...”
Nora moved toward the register, determined not to let poor Cathy think she was with the obnoxious couple. A large poster was framed prominently on the wall behind the register.
Life is about the journey, not the destination.
Two thoughts ran through her mind at the same time. One was that it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. What was the point of a journey without a destination in mind? And the second thought was that this was exactly the kind of “greeting-card sentiment” Hot Produce Guy had accused her of that morning. She rolled her eyes at the memory, then saw Cathy dropping her scone on the floor. The woman shrugged when their eyes met, then she laughed as she quickly retrieved the scone and dropped it into a bag.
“Three-second rule, right? That’ll be four-fifty.”
The amount of grime on these floors wouldn’t qualify for a one-second rule, much less three. Nora opened her mouth to protest and heard Herbie snickering behind her. It wasn’t worth making a scene over, especially with those two as an audience. She’d just toss the scone and get back to Amanda’s before anything else could go wrong. She set a five-dollar bill on the counter. Apparently Herbie didn’t think she was moving fast enough, and he gave her arm a nudge. It was the arm that held the coffee she was raising to her lips. The coffee that didn’t have a tight lid. The lid that splattered coffee down the front of Nora’s light pink jacket.
“You should be more careful, dear.” Helen was biting back laughter, and it took all of Nora’s strength to head to the door without responding. Random swear words were threatening to break free in her head, but she shoved them back in the corner where they belonged. Get back to Halcyon and hide for the rest of the day. That was the only plan that made sense at this point. Until she stepped outside.
Never a champion at parallel parking, she knew she’d been lucky to find a double spot open near the shop that she could drive straight into. Except it wasn’t a double spot anymore. There was a truck parked behind the car and an enormous Cadillac sedan wedged into the space in front of it, leaving her about five inches to maneuver onto the street. Perfect.
She did her best, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the Cadillac, the truck and the sidewalk. Finally those curse words broke free in her head, and she was mentally pulling a Hot Produce Guy routine, silently swearing up a blue streak. But she carefully kept the words to herself, even when her bumper nudged the Caddy just enough to set off the blaring car alarm.
And who came running out of Caffeine Cathy’s? None other than Herbie and Helen, both yelling and waving their arms. She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, closed her eyes tightly and tried to summon all of her Southern breeding. She always said there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved with a smile and a plan.
She just happened to be running low on both at the moment.
ASHER PEYTON WAS lost in the process of staining the cherry sideboard in the work area of his shop, rubbing the finish to a satin sheen. Back and forth he went with the ball of cheesecloth, working in long strokes with firm pressure. It was a task that took a lot of time and very little thought. Clapton’s bluesy guitar was coming through the speakers mounted on the wall, and Asher was totally in The Zone, focused only on the fine grain of the wood coming to life under his fingers. Until a car alarm went off outside.
At first he figured someone set off their alarm by mistake, but when it kept going, he tossed the finishing cloth onto the workbench in disgust and grabbed his lukewarm cup of coffee. He walked to the plate glass window at the front of his shop to see what was going on.
There was a tiny red Mini Cooper nudged up against a big Cadillac right in front of his shop. Whoever owned the Caddy had to know they’d blocked that little car in completely, since their car was halfway into the street. An older couple came running out of Cathy’s shop, waving their arms all over the place like idiots.
Asher took a sip of coffee and watched in amusement as it took three tries for the guy to silence the alarm with his key fob. From all the yelling, you’d think the red car just totaled their gas hog instead of barely bumping it. The door of the red car opened slowly, and he caught a glimpse of pink.
Of all the rotten luck. It was that nosy little brunette from the grocery store. The one with the sweet accent and the compulsion to save people. The Fixer.
She got out of the car and faced Mr. and Mrs. Cadillac with a tight smile. Her chin-length hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing bright spots of rosy red high on her cheeks. A small crowd was gathering—the joy of small-town life. Asher drained his coffee. The Fixer was having one hell of a day. First he’d barked at her in the store, and now this. He started to turn away. Her little parking drama was none of his business, and he had work to do. Then he heard Cadillac Man yelling.
“Did you not see my car sitting right there? That must be a dye job on your hair, ’cuz you’d have to be a blonde to be this stupid...”
His wife tugged at his coat sleeve, cell phone in hand. “Should I call the cops, Herbie?”
Oh, hell, the last thing Deputy Sheriff Dan Adams needed was to get called to Main Street to deal with this nonsense. Before he could stop himself, Asher was outside. He glanced at the bumpers to confirm there wasn’t so much as a scratch on either car. The Fixer had rocked the Caddy just enough to set off the alarm, but not enough to do any damage.
“Okay, folks, let’s all calm down, okay?” He stepped forward and faced the older man, forcing him to look up to meet Asher’s eyes. The considerable difference in their size and age wasn’t lost on the guy. Good. “Sir, there’s no harm done to your car. Your parking job didn’t leave the lady much room to maneuver. Why don’t you just pull out, and then she’ll be able to leave, too?” And Asher could get back inside his quiet shop, away from all these curious faces.
The Fixer was handing her insurance card to the fur-clad wife while babbling at the speed of light.
“I’m terribly sorry, but really, there appears to be no damage, except to my pride, of course.” She forced a laugh, but it fell flat. “Feel free to write down my insurance information, though I’m sure you won’t need...”
The old guy snatched the card from her hand before she could finish, and Asher’s fingers curled into a fist. He didn’t have a lot of patience on a good day, and today was not a good day. He thought about Sheriff Dan and forced himself to relax again as Cadillac Man spoke.
“Your name’s Randall?”
“What? Oh, no. The car belongs to my cousin Amanda Randall.”
“So you don’t even