everything.”
“Drop over if you get a chance.”
“Sweetie, I just might take you up on that—and right now, I suppose you two want to eat?”
“You bet.” Jillian’s eyes were shining. “I’m starved. For a bacon and Swiss burger, I think. With onion rings and a chocolate shake—but I’ll have a look at the menu, just in case something else jumps out at me.”
Caitlin’s false eyelashes swept down. When she looked up again, it was straight at Jane. “We’ve missed you around here lately.”
“Oh, well, things have been really busy.”
“I’m still counting on you to do your story lady gig at the picnic Labor Day.” The Labor Day picnic was an annual event in New Venice. The town merchants went all out for it. There were horseshoes and shuffleboard, live bands, beer on tap for the grown-ups, a clown show and face-painting booth for the kids—among other things. Caitlin was heading up the picnic committee this year.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good. And don’t be a damn stranger. You can drop in for a sandwich anytime and be back at your store in twenty minutes flat. I will personally expedite your order.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
“Don’t thank me. Just come around more often.”
“Yes. I will. Honestly.”
“This way.” Caitlin led them through the open doorway to the café and straight to a corner booth. She gestured at the big laminated menus, which were tucked upright between the sugar dispenser and the napkin holder. “Have a look.” The orange sequins on her tight black shirt glittered aggressively with every breath she took. “I’ll send Roxy right over.” She strutted off.
Jillian picked up her menu and spoke from behind it, out of the corner of her mouth. “God. Best butt I’ve ever seen on a woman over forty-five.”
Jane whispered back. “She is one of a kind.”
“And I swear, she’s a 38-D. Just like you. And not saggy, either.”
“Fascinating,” said Jane dryly. “What are you having?”
“I’m looking, I’m looking….”
“Right.” Jane studied her menu, which had a knotty-pine fence on the cover—no doubt to go along with the Highgrade’s extensively knotty-pine decor. Inside, a cartoon miner with a big hat, baggy old jeans and a pickax slung over his shoulder, grinned and pointed at the various menu selections. “The club sandwich is always good.”
Jillian wasn’t listening—or looking at the menu. “I don’t see the Viking Hunk.” The Viking Hunk was Caitlin’s on-again, off-again lover, Hans. He was about Cade’s age, had long blond hair and looked like he’d walked right off the cover of a steamy romance novel.
Jane shrugged. “You’re right. Hans hasn’t been around lately. I think I heard he’s left town again.”
“Ah, the course of true love never did run all that smooth.”
“Here comes the waitress. Quit mangling Shakespeare and figure out what you want.”
They ordered and the food arrived quickly. Jane concentrated on her sandwich and tried not to remember….
That engagement party Caitlin had thrown here for Aaron and Celia back at the beginning of May. The place had been packed for that. There had even been other Bravos, specifically the famous Bravo billionaire, Jonas, from Los Angeles, and his wife, Emma. Jonas was Cade’s cousin and his presence had surprised every one. For over thirty years, Caitlin and her sons had lived as if no other Bravos existed. But Celia—and Jonas’s wife, Emma—were working to change all that.
“Hey, Jane.” Cade’s voice had come from behind her. It was friendly, slightly teasing, nothing in the least pushy about it. Still, she felt pushed, way down inside herself. Pushed and pulled at the same time.
She’d turned and put on a smile. “Hello, Cade. How are you?”
“Doin’ okay. Did you eat yet? I was just going to go and fill myself a plate.”
“Thanks, but I’m not all that hungry right now.”
Those strange, beautiful eyes went from molten silver to ice. “Right. Not hungry.”
She spotted her excuse to escape him on the other side of the room. “Oh, there’s Jilly. I’ve been looking for her…” She left him, weaving her way quickly through the press of people, a slight shudder moving through her at the thought that might follow her, perhaps become more insistent….
But he didn’t.
And then, a few weeks ago—she’d seen him in here again. He’d been in the game room, kind of lounging against the wall, chatting with Donny Verdun, who ran the convenience store at the corner of State and Main. She’d tried to slide on into the café without him spotting her.
But no such luck.
Two minutes after she sat down, there he was, standing by her booth, asking her how she’d been doing, those eyes of his looking into hers, telling her things his mouth wouldn’t dare say.
She’d come very close to rudeness that time, insisting she was in a hurry. Could he please send the waitress over right away?
“Sure, Jane. I’ll do that.” And he was gone.
She’d felt small and mean then—and strangely bereft. After that, she’d decided maybe it would be better if she stopped eating at the Highgrade for a while.
“Yoo-hoo, Janey. Are you there?”
She blinked and looked down at her hands. At some point, she had picked up the tube of paper that had covered her straw. She was wrapping it absentmindedly around her index finger. “What?” She yanked off the flattened tube of paper and dropped it on her plate beside her half-eaten club sandwich.
“You should see your face. Dreamy.” Jillian set down her milkshake and leaned in close. “There’s someone, isn’t there? At last, after all these years. Come on. Tell Jillian. Who is he?”
“Oh, Jilly. Eat your Swiss and bacon burger. We can’t sit here all night.”
Later, back at the bookstore, Jane kept half expecting Caitlin to walk in. But she never appeared.
Jane closed up at ten. She’d walked to the store that morning. Since Jillian, who never walked anywhere if she could help it, had driven over from the house in the afternoon, Jane rode home with her.
They stayed up till a little before two, drinking wine at first and then switching to herbal tea around midnight.
They talked about the things they always talked about. The bookstore. Jillian’s career. Celia.
“I called her last Saturday,” Jane reported. “She sounded great. I forgot to ask her about the Labor Day picnic, though.”
“Where you are playing story lady, right?”
“Right. I know Aaron’s helping out, hiring the bands for it. But I still don’t know if he and Celia are planning to be here for it—and how about you? Will you come this year?”
“Yeah. I could probably be here. I’ll let you know.”
The next morning, Jillian slept in.
Jane had to open the store at ten, so she was up at eight. She sat at her kitchen table with the morning sun pouring in the bay window and sipped her coffee and told herself that life was good.
And maybe Cade would stay away for weeks this time, the way he used to, back before his house was finished.
She smiled a sad little smile and sipped more coffee. Yes, that would be good for her. It really would. But whether he