Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  Turning back toward the shop, she regarded him carefully. He had a swipe of red paint across one cheek, but that only made him more approachable. The man was a knock out no matter how you looked at him. The paint spear made him cute. Shocked by her appraisal, her eyebrows lifted. When was the last time she’d thought a grown man was cute? Especially one with a physique like the deputy.

  He grew uncomfortable under her stare, and she realized she was being rude. “I really do have to go,” her words said, but the rest of her said, “I want to stay.” He was easy to talk to and friendly. He didn’t judge her. He was nice. It came to her then; she had a friend in Ned. They had some things in common, and they could have a laugh together. Given her situation, a friend was something she needed. Gaging her words carefully, she hoped she could make him understand how much she appreciated him. “I really do have to go, but this has been… this has been great.”

  He looked so disappointed that she nearly relented, but she knew it was for the best. This pageant was not the time or place to be looking for a new boyfriend. And she was sure she didn’t want to ruin the budding friendship they’d forged. This was new territory, and she had to move carefully and use her head.

  “I have to go.” She turned toward the door, then, with her hand on the door handle, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night at practice, right?”

  For a minute she thought he wasn’t going to respond, but finally he nodded, and an easy grin lit his face. “Sure.”

  All she could manage was a quick nod, and then she ducked out the door before she could change her mind.

  * * *

  Her feet would never be the same. There wasn’t time to waste lamenting the shopping trip she’d survived the day before, and Gloria knew it, but the six-hour trip with Beatrice had been a trying one. They’d managed to select three or four pieces for her new wardrobe, but for the most part, she’d felt like a mannequin all day. A battered and bruised, exhausted, mannequin.

  Her eye wandered to the nightstand. Morning light shone faintly behind her bedroom curtains, but she could see the letter there, propped against her lamp. The envelope was the same, and her name on the front a perfect match for the first letter. It was undoubtedly from the mystery man, but for some reason, she hesitated to open it. She couldn’t shake the vague concern that this new note would say something to shatter her carefully crafted image of the writer.

  But that worry was minimal compared to the thrill of getting another letter. She wanted to savor the feeling of knowing it was waiting for her. The anticipation was so sweet she could almost taste it.

  Giving the letter one more glance she threw back the covers, heaved herself off the bed, and headed for the shower. The practice would be getting underway soon, and she had fittings to do.

  * * *

  Ned pushed the two finished sets into place on the bandstand. They both fit, and they were sturdy. They’d even fit in the back of Justin’s truck without much trouble. He had to give Elliot kudos for good design.

  They’d lucked out and got a warm Saturday to practice outdoors at the park, so Tara had decided to move practice from the high school. Folks were excited now that the sets and costumes were taking shape, and, in true Smithville style, everyone within thirty miles had shown up.

  Even through the crowd, it was hard for him to ignore Gloria fitting choir robes onto Smithville folk, big and small, on the bandstand steps. But she was focused on her work, so he turned his attention back to the sets.

  Justin heaved a big box onto the bandstand. “These are some decorations Winnie offered. I have no idea how old they are, but I figured I’d let you dig through them.”

  “Free is good,” Ned replied, tugging a frayed paper grass skirt from the box. “Not sure this is Christmas stuff though.”

  Justin shrugged. “They’re yours now, whatever they are. I’ve got to go set up tables.”

  Ned watched as his friend turned away, then his gaze fell again on Gloria. She held straight pins in her pursed lips as she worked, and her eyebrows were lowered in concentration. Once in a while she’d reach up and pluck a pin from her mouth and attach it to the costume she was fitting.

  The girl was adorable, and he could feel the pull of her having an effect on him. With a jolt, he realized how much he’d been holding back all these years. Every day he met women in town, and of course, in his professional capacity, he’d been reserved, only doing his job, but now he realized how remote he’d kept himself on a personal level. It had taken letting his guard down with Gloria to see how easy it could be to talk to not only a woman, but to his friends.

  His weekends away were a different thing altogether, but that had nothing to do with how he was in Smithville. Or did it?

  He shrugged, recognizing it was high time he opened up a little and enjoyed great conversation and banter, maybe even with a beautiful woman.

  Turning back to the box of decorations, he pulled out an orange and black spider web with a large plastic spider dangling from a web. These definitely weren’t Christmas decorations.

  His gaze once again roamed to Gloria, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. Ned held up the spider web and made a face of mock horror, causing Gloria to nearly choke on her pins.

  She spat the pins into her hand and laughed out loud, drawing attention. When people turned, she hunched her shoulders, afraid maybe the man they were jesting was close by. But a quick glance over each shoulder assured her that no one was paying attention to the deputy, so she tossed Ned an amused grin and turned back to her work.

  Ned stuffed the spider web back into the box, feeling absurdly proud of himself to have made Gloria laugh.

  * * *

  Practice was winding down, and the crowd thinned. The rehearsal had been long, but successful, Gloria reflected, thinking back on the costumes she’d managed to fit. Now she just needed a month worth of evenings to do the alterations and finish the costumes. With a sigh, she bit her lip, wondering how she’d ever manage to have all the sewing done in time. Tara had mentioned that they’d be closing the spa early each day until after Christmas. That would give her more time, but it would also take a definite bite out of her paycheck. So be it, she supposed.

  As she loaded the costumes into boxes, her thoughts returned to the new letter she’d found on the porch the night before. She’d planned to save it until she got home, but in the end, she couldn’t stand the suspense and had torn it open just before leaving the house. The letter had been only four lines again, but the words had been perfect. Not only because they were kind and supportive, but also because they were romantic and sweet. Her pulse rate jumped afresh at the thought.

  It had read:

  This night I speak, you listen

  Each glance of your eyes begets some new courage in me

  Never in my most reckless, unreasonable dreams

  Have I hoped for this…

  She’d immediately recognized the passage from Cyrano de Bergerac, one of her all-time favorite books, and she looked forward to savoring the letter all over again when she got home. She’d once seen a woman in an old movie save love letters, tying them with a ribbon and storing them carefully in a locked chest. She understood now, how cherished a letter could be. It had only taken a small note left on her porch to make her feel contented and confident. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t noticed one person being rude to her the whole practice. Not that she’d been looking. She’d been drowning in costumes, but still. How refreshing it was to spend an evening in public and not feel like crap afterward.

  Once the boxes were loaded into her car, she headed back toward the bandstand where Tara and Justin, Lizzie and Elliot, and Julia and Chad, along with Ned, were grouped around the sets.

  Justin thumped the deputy on the shoulder. “I think the sets look great, Ned; you’ve done amazing work.”

  Chad nodded. “I agree. Well done.” He turned to Justin. “Will you guys need help moving them? I could bring by a truck?”

/>   Justin shook his head. “Between my truck and Tara’s truck, I think we can handle it.”

  Ned agreed. “Elliot designed them to be easy sizes to haul. That helps a lot.”

  Elliot chuckled. “Thanks! I am the king of making things easy.”

  Lizzie scoffed. “Yeah, sure you are, just like my mom.”

  “What?” Elliot asked, his hand on his chest as if offended.

  Lizzie laughed. “Okay, king…”

  Tara chuckled. “I’m sure he never complains at home and is always helpful, right? Most guys are, especially with housework.”

  Elliot tossed Tara a mock glare. “Not fair.”

  Gloria moved up to the circle of friends, and they passed around a murmur of greeting.

  She took in the group, then puffed out a sigh. “So, how do you think it’s going?”

  Ned pulled a face. “I figure if I had another month I’d be almost finished with the sets. Too bad this thing is supposed to happen in five days.”

  Tara waved him off. “You got this; I’m not worried.” She turned to Julia. “What’s the word on the bake sale?”

  Julia shrugged. “Ladies are signed up. I guess we won’t really know until we see what all shows up.”

  I’ve g—got an idea,” Ned said, drawing the group’s attention. “We could start up a rivalry.” When his friend’s faces remained blank, he tried again. “You know, s—say something to Luanne about how R—Rosetta is baking more for the sale.”

  Tara’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! Mean and sneaky, but brilliant none the less!”

  Justin looked confused. “What good would that do?”

  Chad laughed. “Everybody knows that Luanne prides herself on making the most baked goods for every school or church event. That comment would throw her into overdrive!”

  “What about Rosetta?” Julia asked, always concerned about people’s feelings.

  Ned smiled at her question. “Don’t worry; Rosetta has been t—trying for years to usurp the b—baking throne from Luann.”

  “Nothing wrong with some good old-fashioned competition,” Chad said.

  “As long as it doesn’t turn into hair pulling,” Justin muttered, rubbing his jaw.

  “Well then,” Tara said. “If that’s all, I need to go get Isabelle from Winnie’s place. Do you all have what you need?”

  Just then the wind picked up, causing them all to shrug deeper into the collars of their coats.

  “I’m good, thanks, ” Ned said. “Justin, can you help me l—load these back up?”

  “Sure,” Justin replied, tugging keys from his pocket.

  “I can help with the costumes,” Julia offered. “Want to send some home with me?”

  “I can take some too,” Lizzie offered.

  “Great!” Gloria breathed in relief, motioning for them to follow her.

  As the group dispersed, the women heading off one way, chatting excitedly, the men turned toward the sets. Ned, however, took a moment to watch Gloria as she laughed and chatted with her friends.

  Justin cleared his throat, and Ned jerked to attention, guilt written across his face.

  “You ever gonna ask her out?” Justin enquired.

  “I think she’s warming to you,” Elliot added.

  “You and Gloria?” Chad asked, clearly shocked.

  Put on the spot, Ned frowned.

  “She’s not gonna wait around forever,” Justin lectured.

  “As a matter of fact, I think I saw a twinkle in her eye tonight,” Elliot said.

  “Gloria is a great girl,” Chad backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. Seriously, man, she’s awesome, I think you should—”

  Ned raised his hands, palms out, for them to stop. When the chatter died down, he gave each of his friends a stern look. “Let’s l—load these sets.”

  Chapter Eight

  Marge plopped a plate onto the counter in front of Ned. “There you go. Three eggs, sunny side up and four strips of bacon. Same as always.”

  Eyeing his breakfast in anticipation, Ned unfolded a napkin and laid it by his plate. “Thanks, Marge, looks g—good.”

  “Never ceases to amaze me,” the woman said, propping one fist on her hip.

  “Wh—what does?” he asked absently, diving into his breakfast.

  “Why you don’t want toast, or hash browns, or pancakes.”

  He finished chewing, then swallowed. As he scooped up the next bite, he explained. “I’ve told you a h—hundred times. I don’t eat carbs for breakfast.”

  Willie piped up from the end of the counter. “I don’t think he likes your black toast.”

  Ned choked on a laugh as Marge turned to scowl to the old man.

  “I’m just sayin’,” he muttered. “He may be Eddie Midnight, but he don’t like burnt food.”

  The color drained from Ned’s face, and he froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

  “What are you going on about?” Marge demanded. “Eddie Midnight? Where did you get that?”

  Willie looked up, shocked that anyone was paying attention. “Eh? Well, you know,” he scratched the side of his head. “It was his nickname in high school.”

  “Of course, I didn’t know that,” Marge insisted.

  The old man glanced at Ned then back to the grouchy waitress. “Ned is short for Edward…”

  Marge glanced at Ned then back to Willie. “Okay, but where did you get the Midnight? And don’t you dare say ‘from my toast’!”

  Willie chuckled his signature raspy laugh, sounding more like nails on a chalkboard than laughter, and took a sip from his coffee mug. Finally, he lowered the cup. “Nah, it started when he was little. The other kids would holler ‘Eddie Knight, Eddie Knight, can’t talk right till midnight—’.” The old man’s words broke off as he realized the taunt from Ned’s childhood was cruel. “But that was a long time ago and…”

  Ned withered in his skin.

  “Well that’s no never mind, is it!” Marge huffed. “You just tend to your coffee, or I’ll—”

  “He’s okay,” Ned assured the old waitress. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Marge tossed another angry glare toward Willie, then reached for the coffee pot. As she filled Ned’s cup, her expression softened. “You should be able to eat your breakfast in peace.”

  “Sorry, Deputy,” Willie called out. “I don’t mean to be spoutin’ no secrets.”

  Ned lifted his cup for a sip then nodded to the old man. “You’re fine.”

  * * *

  Gloria glanced up at the clock as she clipped a thread and dropped it into the wastebasket by her feet. Shaking out the little blanket for a better look, she tilted her head to one side. This was the fourth baby item she’d managed to sneak in between pageant costumes, and she was happy to see it finished. Lovingly, she folded the little blanket and placed it in the basket beside her tiny worktable, then stood and hurried into the kitchen. If she hustled, she could get dinner in the crockpot before she had to meet Beatrice to go shopping. Poor Fergus deserved a warm meal, and she had to find the time to make that happen.

  Once the chicken and spices were set to simmer and the lid clanked into place, she dashed to her room to change her clothes. “Beatrice is so concerned that I look appropriate on these shopping trips,” she muttered under her breath. She hated that she had to rush through getting ready, but there were only so many hours in the day.

  Tugging a hanger from the closet, she scrutinized the blouse Beatrice had bought for her on the last trip. The fabric really was beautiful, she reasoned, and the style had appealed to her right off, but the price had taken her breath away. To her surprise, however, Beatrice hadn’t even flinched, she’d simply put it on the pile of clothes to buy, as if it were a no-brainer.

  Slipping the blouse from the hanger, she held it up to her chest and turned to the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. The depth of blue color reflected in her eyes, making them even more blue than usual. She liked that. Folks used to comm
ent on how pretty her eyes were, she remembered, before—

  Banishing the thought of how disliked she’d become, she tugged off her shirt and slipped into the blouse, then turned from side to side, amazed at her reflection. One hand reached up to smooth down the side seam, and she watched in the mirror, intrigued at the way the cut of the blouse accented her feminine curves. Surely it must be vain to enjoy something so lovely, she thought, as she turned her back on the mirror, then looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t a complicated pattern, she realized, surprised that she likely wouldn’t have any trouble making a similar shirt. The neck wasn’t low cut or too prim, and the fit was perfect. If she shopped the fabric sales and saved her coupons… Yes, she decided, she could make herself a similar blouse, and for much less than the store had charged.

  The thought made her feel better as she tugged on a pair of brand new jeans and hurried to the bathroom. Instead of brushing her long red curls up into a ponytail like usual, she parted it on the side and tucked it behind one ear. Her long bangs fell across her forehead, and the color of the shirt made her red curls sparkle.

  After brushing her teeth, she turned to leave, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the sink. The girl blinking back at her was not the one she was used to seeing. Instead of the sexy kitten she’d been a few months back, or the dowdy, bedraggled girl she’d become, she saw a glowing, happy woman. A confident woman. And it felt… magnificent.

  Offhandedly, she wondered what the man who wrote the letters, the one who’d seen her crying, would think of her new look. She certainly didn’t look dejected, outcast, or sad tonight.