Mr. Maybe

by M. Kate Quinn

  “No, but I was just about to peruse the internet.”

  “Come to my house for dinner tonight. I’m ordering in. You like Italian?”

  “Sure, but what’s this about?”

  “I just might have a good idea that could solve your problem. Seven o’clock. You good?”

  “I’ll be there. Can I bring anything?”

  “An open mind.”

  Chapter Four

  When Kit came home from Rosie’s, she marveled how, aside from a smattering of sawdust on the driveway, it was like the morning’s nightmare had not happened. God bless Hop. Somehow she’d pay him back every cent.

  She kicked off her shoes and padded into her bedroom, where she stripped off her clothes and made a beeline for the shower. When the water was hot enough, she jumped in and let it stream over her from the new showerhead that had cost sixty-five dollars. As much as she wanted to wash away the pressing question that danced around in her head, it was no use. How the hell was she going to find the money for a new car? With luck, she’d find a lease, and all she’d need would be the money down, but even that could be a couple of grand, one at least.

  Toweled off, she pulled on a pair of jeans, unsurprised they were a little snug. All this walking would fix that. It had to. And no more chili dogs except for emergencies. She selected a peachy-toned T-shirt from her closet, put on a pair of silver hoop earrings, and slid her feet into her comfy moccasins.

  It was too early to head over to Hop’s, so she took the opportunity to walk from room to room in her house, the place she’d fallen so in love with she’d had to have it. Today she needed that reminder. It had taken all her savings and a loan from her mom, who had made a point to say that there was no more where that came from.

  Mom was on a cruise at the moment with a group of her girlfriends, and Kit didn’t even try to report in. Why worry her, and who needed an I told you so?

  She’d been headstrong about buying the house with its charming loft and the view of the river. She had plans for that loft. She took the staircase up to the space with appealingly wide-planked-pine flooring and the quaint places where eaves cut into the lines of the walls. With the exception of a few storage boxes full of books, the loft was empty now, but someday when she had some money, the plan was to transform the space into a library. She envisioned built-ins for her books and a leather easy chair, maybe a floor lamp with a fringy shade. Already she had decorating magazines with dog-eared pages of ideas for the room. But it would be a long time for those plans to come to fruition. First things first.

  The only good thing about the smashing of her car was it had taken the bite out of the news that Co-Co and Brian were getting married. Married! It seemed like a joke, a cruel one. When she and Brian were dating, he’d been one of those guys who never discussed the future. The time she’d dropped a casual inquiry about where they were headed, he’d laughed it off. Carpe diem, baby. That was Brian. Live for the moment. Buy the two-hundred-dollar leather boots if you want them, give your credit card a workout, take a trip to Atlantic City for the weekend with your frat brothers, toss away your girlfriend, and marry her goddamn cousin. Seize whatever goddamn notion came into your goddamn head.

  She went back downstairs and sat on the refurbished Windsor chair she’d found at the used-furniture store downtown. She shoved with two hands at the recalcitrant window frame until it finally gave way. The day’s cooling air rushed in at her, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the way the breeze felt like a caress. She willed the melodic babble of the busy river to quiet her thoughts. Her mind was a tangled maze after this lousy day, but there was no figuring out anything now. She wouldn’t solve her money woes tonight, and if she let herself think anymore about the upcoming joke of a wedding of her witch of a cousin, she’d go find the box of Girl Scout cookies she kept in the freezer right where she hid them behind the bag of frozen broccoli florets. So for now, it was her and the river, her reliable friend, and she savored its presence. This place was worth the sacrifice it took to be here.

  A few minutes later she went into the kitchen and grabbed the chilled bottle of zinfandel. It was time to go to Hop’s.

  ****

  There was a green pickup in Hop’s driveway. He hadn’t said anyone would be joining them, and Kit was kind of disappointed. She had been hoping to just relax and not have to come up with polite chitchat, not after a day like this.

  She knocked on the wooden frame of his screen door and called through the screen. “Knock, knock.”

  “In the kitchen, kiddo. Come on in.”

  The door squeaked shut behind her, and Kit meandered down the hallway. She liked Hop’s house. The low ceilings and knotty-pine walls gave the interior a honey-like glow. Along the walls hung a haphazard placement of plaques that boasted fire-department achievements. He’d been part of the organization for most of his adult life.

  Her favorite, though, was the framed photo of Hop sitting in a banana-yellow kayak on the river. He was a younger man in the picture, and his arms were sinewy and brown from the sun, his chest was broad, and his body lean. He braced the wooden oar crossways in front of him, and with one hand held high, fingers splayed, he waved to the photographer. His face was bright, his smile wide. His wife, Elinore, had taken the photo, he’d explained, and it was taken just before she’d been diagnosed with a deadly form of cancer that eventually stole her away from him. This photo, in Kit’s mind, was one of those frozen moments in time where everything was right and perfect. There were no worries, no hint of the looming sadness on their horizon. It made her happy and sad both.

  She heard voices, Hop’s and another man. She continued down the hallway. Hop sat in the kitchen in his usual seat at the head of the oval golden-pine table, a beer in front of him. On the opposite end sat a younger man with longish dark hair that curled over the neck of his pale-blue T-shirt. He, too, had a beer in one hand and when Hop looked up his guest, turned in her direction. Her heart did a little wiggle, which was ridiculous because excluding Hop, she hated men, all men, not just Brian, although he’d started it.

  That disdain for the species did not render her blind. Whoever this was had a nice face, twinkly eyes that appeared light toned, but in the dimness of Hop’s kitchen, she couldn’t decipher their color. Even from the doorway to the room, she could see he had lashes most women would kill for. And she wouldn’t let herself assess the way that blue T-shirt hugged his obvious fitness. Lordy, this guy could almost make a man-hater rethink her conviction.

  “Kit, meet the newest member of Sycamore River’s Fire Department.” Hop gestured to the cute guy. “Shane Dugan. Shane, this is Kit Baxter, the neighbor and friend I was telling you about.”

  Telling him about? She swallowed the question but allowed her gaze to flash over to Hop. She telepathically sent him a question. What are you up to, old man?

  “Hi.” Shane Dugan stood. He was medium height and solidly built. Inside those faded jeans and T-shirt no doubt was the rugged body of a workman. An errant image zipped through her head of this guy carrying a damsel from a burning building, his strong arms wrapped around her, her weight no test for his physical strength. Lordy, she needed some wine.

  “Nice to meet you.” She thrust the bottle of zinfandel toward Hop. “Here you go.”

  He took it from her and pulled a face. “Still can’t believe you drink pink wine.”

  “It’s the only pink in my life.” She turned to the hot guy at the table. “Not much of a pink fan.” He nodded as if he understood, and her face warmed in a blush. What an idiot thing to say.

  “I hope I have an opener.”

  “You do, Hop. You took mine.”

  He laughed. “Wise guy.”

  Despite herself, she let her gaze flit to Shane. He was grinning. Oh, this fireman had a killer smile. Killer with a capital K. Get a grip on yourself.

  While Hop rummaged through one of his kitchen drawers, Kit took a seat at the table. It was better than standing there like a fool.

  She
met Shane’s gaze. “So you’ve joined the fire department.”

  He gave a nod. “Yes.”

  “Ta-dah.” Hop wielded the wine opener. “I knew it was here somewhere.” He grabbed the neck of the wine bottle and began the task of opening it. “Kit, Shane beat out ten other candidates for the only spot. He’s one smart guy.”

  “That’s great.” She pinned on a courtesy smile, careful that it was not a “you’re cute” smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

  A voice came from down the hallway. “Romano’s.”

  “Great. Food’s here.” Hop pulled the cork out with a good tug of the wine opener. “Kit, go let him in.”

  “Let me get it,” Shane said as he rose from his chair and left the room.

  She seized the moment to charge over to Hop. Her whisper was hot. “What is this, old man?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” His mouth dropped open in mock protest. For effect he put a hand to his chest, as though he were taken aback.

  She pointed toward the hallway but did not move her gaze from the man in front of her. “This better not be a setup. I’ve sworn off men. I hate them.”

  “Oh, you do not. You hate that moron that two-timed you, that’s all.”

  “And you. Let’s not forget you.”

  “Ah. You love me.”

  “If this is a setup, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  “Relax, would you? I’m no matchmaker. Besides, I think he said he has a girlfriend.”

  Her heart thudded. What was wrong with her? This was good news, great actually. The appealing-looking fireman was taken, so the idiot part of her brain could just simmer the hell down and stop cataloging a list of his interesting parts.

  “Why were you talking to him about me?”

  “Just pour yourself a glass of wine and take a chill pill while you’re at it.”

  She punched Hop in the shoulder. “I’m serious.”

  “Oh, now I’m scared.”

  Shane came back into the kitchen, his arms laden with white paper bags turned on their sides. The aroma of basil and oregano wafted through the room.

  “Let me go pay this guy.” Hop took a step away.

  “No, I got it, Hop,” Shane said. “My treat.”

  “Well, now.” Hop turned his gaze to Kit. “That’s very nice of you, Irish.”

  She looked away and poured a full measure of zinfandel into her glass. She took a gulp while Irish dealt with opening the packages and Hop fisted some silverware from the dish drainer.

  Hop carried most of the conversation while they ate, but Shane had an affable, easy way of joining in. She listened while Hop filled the new recruit in on some things about the fire department and the town of Sycamore River.

  “Kit here works downtown at Rosie’s Bridals. She’s the seamstress.”

  Shane nodded, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Machine or needle and thread?”

  “Both since some jobs require only hand sewing. Beading and lace, things like that.”

  “You must have a lot of patience.”

  She flashed a look over to Hop. “Sometimes.”

  She savored another bite of her meal. Romano’s made the best eggplant parmesan, and carbohydrates be damned, she sopped the tomato sauce from her plate with a chunk of fresh italian bread. She would eat salad tomorrow.

  “I’m putting this place on speed dial.” Shane patted his taut belly. “That could be the best chicken Marsala I’ve ever had.”

  “Told you,” Hop said.

  Shane had opened a second beer and took a good guzzle. He cast his gaze over to Hop before he cleared his throat. Up close this new recruit to the fire department’s eyes were a hazel green flecked with gold. Not that she cared one stinking bit.

  He cast those greenish eyes on her. “Hop told me about what happened today with the tree and your car. I’m sorry.”

  Kit took a sip of her wine. She had to do something to break that look he was giving her. Was it pity? A surge of warmth climbed up her face. “Yeah, it was bound to happen because they warned me when I bought the place the tree was dead and had to come down. It’s my fault I didn’t take care of it.”

  Hop wadded up his napkin and tossed it onto his dish. “I, uh, was telling Shane here about how you were thinking of a way to supplement your income to, you know, help get another car.”

  “That’s right.” She said the words slowly and narrowed her gaze at the old man. What was he up to?

  “Well, Shane has a bit of a predicament himself. Tell her, Irish.”

  Shane uttered a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his mop of hair. “First off, Hop sprang this idea on me a little while before you arrived, so it’s news to me, but I guess what he was thinking is, actually it’s kind of crazy, but—”

  “Oh for God’s sake, quit dancing.” Hop waved a hand toward Shane. “Kit, Shane’s got to live in town in order to get the job at the fire department. He’s rented an apartment, but it won’t be available until September first. He needs a temporary place to rent for three months.”

  Her mouth went dry. Locking her eyes onto Hop, she said, “Okay.”

  “It’s okay if you’re not interested,” Shane interjected and then took a slug of his beer.

  “Shane’s willing to pay you twenty-one hundred up front to rent one room for the three months. That’s seven hundred a month for three months.”

  “I can add, Hop, but no, I don’t think so.” She looked over to Shane. “I’m sorry you’ve got this issue, but it’s just not doable.” She slid her gaze back to Hop, willing him to read the venom in her eyes. Through a clench and a lightness she did not feel, she said, “But thank you for thinking of it.”

  “Kit, he’d be no trouble. During the day he’ll be at the academy, and at night he’ll hang out at the firehouse or come here to watch the Mets with me. Right, Irish?”

  “Hop, she’s not interested. Let’s not put her on the spot.” He captured her gaze. “It’s fine. It was just an idea.” His mouth slid into a sheepish half grin. “The idea was a lot to ask.”

  “You could lease a car tomorrow with two grand,” Hop said. “Problem solved.”

  “Why doesn’t Shane stay here with you?”

  “Believe me, I’d love the company, but it’s against the rules. Did I mention Shane’s father was my army buddy? He and I were like this.” Hop crossed two fingers. “Brothers almost. This kid here is like a nephew. I’d never steer you wrong, kiddo. I can vouch for this guy all day long.”

  Kit wanted to kill Hop right here and now. Her face flamed fire, which was handy considering she was flanked by two firemen.

  “Think about it,” Hop said. “Sleep on it.”

  “Hop…” Shane shook his head. “I’ll find something, really. It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I kind of thought it was a crazy idea, too.”

  Hop positioned his hand to the side of his mouth, as if he were telling a secret. “He won’t give you any trouble. He has a girlfriend. She lives in France.”

  “It’s Italy. She’s on business until sometime after Labor Day.” Shane combed his fingers through his hair again. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Hop, I better go.” He turned to Kit. “I’m sorry you got put on the spot like this. Hop meant well. I know he did.”

  Shane touched her arm. His fingers were warm, and despite her mind’s protests, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. His hazel-green eyes glistened, and his mouth curved into a pleasant grin. “Don’t be mad at Hop.”

  Every decision she’d made with regard to men in the last year or so had blown up in her face. She had every reason on the planet to be mad as a hornet at Hop and to storm out of his house. But this codger had been her knight in shining armor more than once since they’d become neighbors. She owed him. And she did have an empty loft and an empty driveway. A perusal of the local newspaper this afternoon let her know the Chevy dealer on Route 10 was holding an early summer special on leases. She cast her gaze ove
r to Shane. He appeared to be a decent guy, and it did seem as if his schedule would keep him out of her hair most of the time. And the fact that she found him physically appealing would fall on deaf hormones because the guy had a girlfriend in Italy. On her life she’d never go near somebody else’s man, hot fireman or not. She was nothing like her duplicitous cousin Co-Co. Maybe all this indignation and protestation was like shooting a gift Hop in the mouth.

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” she and her two glasses of wine said.

  Shane’s grin was broad. “Seriously?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll let you know either way tomorrow. Okay?”

  Hop clapped his hands. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

  Senses? She was fresh out of them.

  Chapter Five

  The next day around noon Kit sat at the table in the workroom of Rosie’s Bridals with an odiferous, foil-wrapped package in front of her. “ ‘Buy the house on the river,’ I said.” She unfolded the foil. The heat from the chili dog wafted with succulent aroma to her nose. “ ‘It’ll be fun to own a fixer-upper. Fun,’ I said. So much fun.”

  Rylee looked up from a carton of supplies she was unloading. “I can smell you a mile away.”

  “I have issues.” Kit lifted the pungent sandwich to her mouth. “Going straight to hell.” She took a big bite.

  “Is this about the lack of money or your cousin coming to the shop today?”

  “Both.” She swallowed. “And don’t forget the fireman factor.”

  “Are you leaning toward renting him the loft?”

  “I don’t know. What would you do, Rylee? I mean, I know nothing about the guy. He could be an axe murderer. Firemen have axes.”

  “Based on what you’ve said, he comes highly recommended by your friend Hop. I don’t think Hop would steer you wrong. Besides, you said this fireman seemed nice.”

  She took another bite and mulled her friend’s words while she chewed. “Yeah, but what do I know about judging men? I thought Brian was the one.”

  A female voice came from out in the main showroom. “Hello,” the voice called with a trail of the o sound. “Anybody home?”