a way to get rid of him. Agreement or no agreement, she didn’t want to find him at the shop when she least expected it. Today she would insist he take money for the chairs and then there wouldn’t be any need to have him sitting out there, getting her all distracted.
Before Sophie knew it, the clock was ticking toward six and people were filling the coffee shop in anticipation of the big matchmaking unveiling. Even though she was glad to have the boost in business, Sophie hoped it went quickly. As soon as she left the shop for the night she wanted to get home to check on her grandmother.
Ever since Sophie’s parents had moved to northern Florida for her father’s job, Sophie had been Grandma’s chief caretaker, and in turn, they’d become close friends. The last few months had been hard on Grandma Watson. Some days, her recovery from her hip replacement went well. Other days, she had too much pain to enjoy her regular activities with her friends, or even to come by the coffee shop for a couple hours.
Recently, the insurance company had cut her physical therapy back to once a week, not nearly enough in Sophie’s non-medical opinion. If there was a local low-impact exercise class, one within walking distance of the house, then Grandma could speed up her recovery and strengthen her bones in the process. That was exactly the kind of thing a community wellness center could provide.
Mildred came rushing in, dressed for the occasion in a multicolored floral housedress so bright, Sophie was pretty sure it could glow in the dark. Mildred’s gray hair was in a wild cloud around her head and she was huffing from the exertion of hurrying. “Hello! Hello! Are we ready for the big announcements?”
Sophie glanced at the clock, then out over the filled shop. “I think so. I set up a microphone for you on the stage over there.” She gestured toward the back corner, where local bands often played on weekends.
“Oh, I’m not announcing,” Mildred said. “Why, I get as nervous as a hen in a kitty litter box when I have to speak in front of people.”
“A hen in a …” Sophie waved a hand, and gave up trying to translate that particular metaphor.
“You do it,” Mildred said, thrusting a stack of sealed envelopes at Sophie. “It’s your shop, and you are the publicity director for the project, after all.”
The thought of getting up in front of a good chunk of the residents of Edgerton Shores, several of whom had been in the pews at her aborted wedding, caused Sophie’s throat to close. “I … I can’t.”
“Sure you can. You’ll be great at it.”
“No, I mean, I can’t get up in front of people like that. The last time I was in front of a crowd …” Her voice trailed off. She thought back to that day a year ago. The running-out part hadn’t been the worst part—it was the stories that had filled the front pages for a long time afterward.
“You ran out on what would have been a disastrous choice,” Mildred said. “Those silly reporters just couldn’t see the truth.”
“All they saw was the fiancée of a man running for state senator ‘ruining his election chances.’” She shook her head. “I’ve never been one for being the center of attention and that. that was far more center than I ever want to be again.”
“How are you ever going to get over this little … hurdle in your life?” Mildred said, laying a hand on Sophie’s arm, “if you don’t just get up there and do it? Besides, you’re publicity director. It’s your job.” She smiled, then gave Sophie a hard nudge in the direction of the mike. That was how Sophie ended up on the stage, calling out names to a crowd of people she’d known since she was a little girl. She stammered and stuttered her way through it, but kept her focus on Lulu and Mildred, making the crowd seem like only two people. Thankfully, the attention was more on the paired names than on the announcer herself.
The matches inspired lots of giggles and applause, especially when Tad Harrison, a cute twenty-something with a cleft in his chin and a ready grin, ended up with DeeDee Lewis, who had graduated two years ago and still had her cheerleader perkiness.
A roar of approval sounded when Lulu was matched with Kevin Ackerman, a local mechanic who stopped by the coffee shop on a daily basis. Given the way he was grinning at Lulu, Sophie wondered if maybe Kevin’s frequent lattes were more a way to see the spunky barista than to quench his need for caffeine.
Good. She was almost done. Then she could get off this tiny stage and back behind the shop’s counter, where she was happiest. Sophie let out a deep breath, then picked up the next match, which like the others was sealed inside a big manila envelope. Inside the envelope were two long questionnaires that had been stapled together by Mildred, So far, Sophie would have to say she agreed with Mildred’s pairings. For the most part, she’d put together people with common interests, and already Sophie could see several conversations springing up among the newly matched couples. Maybe there was something to this Love Lottery after all.
The door to the shop opened, letting in a burst of sunshine, the kind that came just before sunset, and seemed to kiss the world with gold. Harlan Jones stepped inside the shop, doffing his cowboy hat as he did. He took a seat in the back, far from Sophie.
Was he just coming by for his usual Earl Grey? Or had he put in for a match, too? She scanned the room. Only a few single women remained, and for a second, a whisper of jealousy ran through her that any one of them would end up sitting across from Harlan, listening to his Southern drawl and eating up his smile.
Like she cared what that man did in his spare time. If she hadn’t wanted those chairs so bad, she never would have talked to him. He could date every woman in Edgerton Shores and she wouldn’t care one whit.
Sophie shook her head, unzipped the envelope with one finger, then raised the paper in front of her face. She hated this—all eyes on her—and felt heat climbing her neck as the crowd waited for her to speak. “And now for our next match,” she said, “we have Miss Mildred Meyers with—”
“Mr. Art Conway!” Mildred shouted, getting to her feet and hustled across the room to her intended beau. Art leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide, as if he might make a run for it. Several of the women in Mildred’s church group let out disappointed sighs.
Mildred just beamed and dropped into the seat beside Art. “It’s like we were destined to meet,” she said to him.
Yeah, Sophie told herself, if Destiny was cattle prodded into the decision.
Harlan Jones didn’t need a cup of tea. Nor did he need a snack of cookies. What he needed to do was finish booking guests for the rest of the month. WFFM had been struggling for months, and Harlan hoped that by bringing in some celebrities, he’d boost the ratings for the morning show. The ratings had risen in recent weeks, but the sales manager was still having trouble translating that into advertising dollars. In radio, advertising dollars talked—and right now, there wasn’t a whole lot of chatter at WFFM.
While Tobias recovered, Harlan needed to increase the revenue stream, using the formula that had worked so well for him in Texas. Harlan couldn’t blame his brother’s inattention entirely for the station’s troubles. The recession, and a loss of the station’s top broadcaster who’d gone to a rival station in January, had delivered twin blows to WFFM’s bottom line. Now Tobias was recovering in the hospital, his mortgage was three months behind, the station was hemorrhaging money, and Harlan was busy trying to turn the station around to take one more burden off his brother’s shoulders.
He cursed to himself. Damn his brother and his determination to do things on his own. If only Tobias had said something sooner, maybe they wouldn’t have this mess and maybe—
Maybe Tobias wouldn’t be in a hospital room right now. Responsibility for his brother weighed heavy on Harlan’s shoulders. Tobias was an adult, but Harlan had never lost that urge to protect and worry.
In their weekly phone calls, Tobias had barely mentioned the station’s problems. His little brother had always been upbeat, rarely complaining. It was part of his happy-go-lucky, live-for-today personality, but damn, if Harlan had known sooner—