voice drew their attention to the door. He nodded to Liv, pleased. “It looks wonderful, Liv.”
She colored at the praise. “Really? You like it?”
His expression underscored his words. “I love it. You’re one talented young lady. And working in reverse like that? That’s a rare ability few artists possess.”
Her blush deepened. “Thanks, Mr. Harriman.”
“Brooks,” he corrected her. “If you ever want a job, kid, come see me first.”
Liv raised her chin, surprise and pleasure vying for her features. “Seriously?”
“Honey, my offers are never less than serious.”
“That’s for sure,” quipped Rita. She watched the exchange between Brooks and Liv, her heart tripping just a little bit faster.
Liv respected Brooks. It was obvious in her manner, her attentiveness, her awareness of detail in his presence. Something about him inspired others to reach a little higher, go a little faster, try a little harder, that indiscriminate quality that screamed leadership in calm undertones.
Brooks slid his gaze to Rita’s, offered her a half smile that made her heart pump faster than normal, then returned his attention to Liv. “You say the word, kid. You’re hired.”
“Mom?”
Liv turned toward Rita.
Rita sat back on her stool, worked her jaw, then eyed them both. “She’s been wanting to get a job,” she explained to Brooks, her gaze shifting from him to Liv and back. “And I can’t think of any place I’d rather have you work than here.” Brooks smiled.
Liv whooped. “Really, Mom? You don’t mind?”
Brooks raised a hand of caution. “You still need to help your mother with Skeeter.”
“And keep your grades up.” Not that grades were a problem with Liv, not since Rita had reinstated herself as the mother, relieving Liv of responsibility. Liv had endured a couple of tough years, but she seemed determined to move on with her life, taking charge of her dreams. At fifteen, her attitude was pretty remarkable after what she’d gone through.
“Can we work around that?”
“Absolutely.” Brooks arched a brow and indicated the showroom with a slight jerk of his head. “If I have you here to help Tootsie and Ava on the sales floor while learning cool things about fine carpentry on the side, I think we’ve got a deal, kid.”
“And Ava will love not being dragged in for extra shifts,” Toots noted. “She loves being here but with two little kids, she only has so much time. When we’re crazy busy it definitely takes a crew on the sales floor.”
Liv’s hug surprised Brooks. Rita saw it in his face, his eyes, the girl’s embrace taking him aback before he returned it. He winked at Rita over Liv’s head. “I get artwork from this one and cookies from you. I love knowing your family, Reet.”
His light words inspired her smile. “Well, we like you, too, and while all this chitchat is fun, it’s not exactly getting the job done. I’ve got to get Skeeter home for bed in just a little bit.” Skeeter.
In all this time, everyone had forgotten that Skeeter was alone in the store.
A crash of something breakable and most likely valuable fixed that.
Liv and the three adults crowded through the door to the showroom. Scattered pieces of a vase lay shattered on the floor, remnants of dried flowers strewn among the broken pottery. Skeets’ face wore a mix of fear and belligerence, not a pretty combination. “It was an accident.”
Liv stepped in first. “Skeeter, it’s all right, I’ll pay for it. I shouldn’t have left you alone out here.”
“I’m fine alone. There’s too much stuff all over the place is all.”
Her tone said they were treading dangerous ground, never a good thing.
“But you weren’t supposed to touch things, Skeet.” Rita stood her ground, not wanting the situation to fly out of control but unwilling to downplay Skeeter’s responsibility.
“I didn’t,” she protested, her hands flying up. “I was just backing up and knocked into the stupid thing. Everything’s in the way here.”
Rita colored, embarrassed.
Brooks grabbed a short broom and dustpan from behind the counter. “It is close in here,” he told Skeeter. He handed her the dustpan. “If I sweep this up, can you hold this for me?”
She swept him a look of disdain. “I’m not a baby.”
“Then stop acting like one,” Liv told her. “You were supposed to stay by the window and arrange the birds.”
“You were taking too long.”
Rita couldn’t argue with that. Skeeter wasn’t exactly the kind of kid you trusted in a shop full of stuff on her own. Her fault, she knew.
“Hold the dustpan for Mr. Harriman and apologize.”
Skeeter glared at her mother, then Liv.
A young man with a large pizza box stepped in the main door. “Your pizza, sir?”
Brooks nodded toward the cash-register counter. “Money’s right there in an envelope.”
The young man nodded.
Toots accepted the pizza, the teasing scent reminding them supper was at hand.
Rita hoped the smell of food would break Skeeter’s standoff.
Nope.
“I’m not cleaning it up with him.” Her look said she had sized Brooks up and recognized a foe.
“Then clean it up on your own.” Brooks handed her the broom. “We’re eating.”
Dangerous move. Rita watched as Brooks followed Tootsie out back, the scent of fresh-baked, thick-crust pizza assailing their senses.
Liv eyed Skeeter and the mess. “I’ll help since I’m the one who left you alone.”
Rita hesitated, wanting to push Brooks’ point and make Skeeter clean up the mess herself since she rejected his help so rudely, but wanting peace, as well. A full-blown Skeeter attack in the wood shop would not be pretty.
“That’s nice of you, Liv.”
“It’s just a stupid old jar,” Skeets sputtered. She pushed the broom toward Liv grudgingly. “He’s got too much junk here.”
Her comment brought Liv’s back up. She straightened and eyed her little sister. “It’s not junk.”
“Whatever.”
Liv’s hazel eyes went smoke-toned in a heartbeat. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, Skeets. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this table or this vase and I offered to help you because I felt bad for leaving you alone and because Brooks is a real good guy for letting us do this stuff.” Liv took two steps forward, her body language offering a stern warning to errant little girls.
Like Skeeter cared.
“You don’t ‘diss’ what Brooks has in here. Got it?”
Skeeter met the stare-down one-on-one, either brave or foolhardy. “I don’t care what he has. I want to go home. I hate this place.”
“Skeets, let’s get this done,” Rita interjected. “Come on. I’ll sweep. You hold the dustpan.”
“No.”
“You’d prefer to wait in the car?”
“I’d prefer to go home. Now.”
“That’s not an option.” Liv stood her ground, gaze set, eyes fuming. “Brooks