Mr. Maybe

by M. Kate Quinn

  “Hey.” He came up to her. “You okay?”

  She laughed a tone that sounded foreign. “Sure. I just wanted to touch base with Rylee about this woman she’s meeting with that has a business deal to talk with her about. Rylee originally asked me to join them, but I told her we had the shower. Since we’re back early enough, I thought I’d pop by.”

  “Okay.”

  They held a long gaze. “Night.”

  And she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Shane left the light on in the kitchen and climbed the stairs up to the loft, his feet heavy. His conversation with Dana swirled around in his head, mingling with the memory of Kit’s eyes when she looked at him as she left to see her friend.

  He still didn’t understand what Dana’s call was about. She was angry and wouldn’t elaborate on how she’d learned he was seeing someone. She’d accused him of two-timing her all along, and that was what hung heavy in him tonight. He was not a cheater, and the moment he’d realized his feelings for Kit, he owned that. Maybe Dana was projecting her own situation onto him. After all, he’d spied the man’s watch on Dana’s nightstand and the two glasses of water by the bed. And somebody had been behind that door of her bathroom.

  He brushed his teeth, washed up with rote moves, his mind too occupied to think straight. Discomfort jabbed at him like a sharp point to his gut. He did not like offending Dana or anyone, even if it was something fabricated in their own head. He wasn’t that guy. Raising Nick those years must have cemented a sense of responsibility in his DNA, and maybe that had been the birth of his ingrained need to rescue.

  He shut the light in the bathroom and crossed the room to his bed, where he sank onto the mattress. He needed to cool his own jets and ignore the knifepoint poking at him. Dana and her lashing out did not need his rescuing. He did hope, though, he’d quelled her accusation so they could both move on.

  He stared at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head, and waited for the sound of Kit returning home, but sleep won him over first.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rylee’s appointment with a former Rosie’s Bridals’ bride, Megan, was already underway when Kit arrived at the apartment. Rylee’s fiancé was there as well.

  Darius and Rylee had an obvious ease about them. Their love for each other all but telegraphed itself to everyone in their company, a touch to a shoulder, a smile from across the room. Kit saw all of it as if her radar had been awakened, her nerve endings like transmitters of matters of the heart.

  But tonight whenever Shane came to mind, she was reminded of his phone call from Dana. She couldn’t wait to get her best friend’s take on it, but it would be a while before this meeting was over and she could get Rylee alone.

  Megan had lost her husband two years before and had been one of the former brides who participated in the fashion show last year. She was a beautiful woman with a sadness in her blue eyes so apparent it could stop someone dead. But her smile was a brave one, an infectious one, and Kit found herself smiling back.

  “Megan, you look wonderful.”

  “You’re all too kind. Thank you.”

  “So, Rylee, catch me up.” Kit took a seat on the sofa beside Megan. Rylee and Darius sat in chairs that faced the couch. There were teacups on the table and a pot of tea.

  “Help yourself to some tea, Kit.” Rylee handed her an empty cup.

  She waved her off. She was too jumpy for tea.

  Rylee pointed to a bundle of plastic-covered garments bent over the dining table across the room. “Darius helped Megan bring the dresses over.”

  “There are twenty,” Megan said. “And each one is prettier than the next. Granted, they need some TLC.”

  “That’s where the genius of Kit Baxter comes in.” Darius flashed a smile.

  The dresses were vintage wedding gowns Megan was giving to Rosie’s Bridals. She was taking over a space downtown where a second-hand shop had been housed. The store went out of business, and she was about to embark on reopening, concentrating on furniture and estate jewelry, not clothing.

  “You must be so excited, Megan,” Kit offered.

  “I’m thinking it’s more like hysteria, but yeah, it’s got me jazzed.”

  “When do you anticipate opening your shop?”

  “There’s a lot of work yet to do.”

  “If there’s anything we can do to help you, give a holler.” Darius was a good resource, and Kit was glad he made the offer. Megan just made you want to root for her.

  Kit got up from the sofa and went to the dresses, and Rylee joined her. They flipped the dry-cleaner bags up to hug the neck of the hanger as they inspected each dress. Some were in better shape than others, but all twenty vintage wedding gowns were salvageable.

  “Megan, these are wonderful.” Rylee’s eyes misted, and in turn Kit’s did as well.

  Rosie’s Bridals belonged to her friend, but Kit was as invested in it and in Rylee as she could be. “Are you sure we can’t pay you for them?”

  “All I hope is that they wind up in the hands of happy brides.”

  “This is going to really give Rosie’s a new burst of life, Megan.” Rylee put a hand to her chest.

  “And we’re going to advertise the hell out of our new division.” Darius put a hand out and slid it across an imaginary banner. “Rosie’s Vintage Couture.”

  Megan clasped her hands. “How wonderful.”

  “And you can count on us to help you get your shop launched.” He lifted his water bottle. “To our contribution to keeping Sycamore River’s downtown the quaint village it’s always been.”

  ****

  After Megan left and Darius went into another room to get some work done, Kit seized the opportunity to get Rylee’s opinion about Shane’s phone call from Dana.

  Rylee tilted her head in contemplation. “Did you ask him about it?”

  “No. I figured if there was something he wanted me to know, he’d have said.” Kit leaned her head back against the sofa cushion and spoke to the ceiling. “What am I doing, Ry?”

  “You’re feeling it out, friend.”

  She rolled her head to meet Rylee’s gaze. “We must not forget that I’m an idiot.”

  “We’re talking about Mr. Maybe, I presume.”

  “This pretend boyfriend story is backfiring on me. It’s like I made up a nice little world and then moved right in. That’s how it feels tonight anyway.”

  “That phone call probably meant nothing. Don’t project what Brian did onto this guy.”

  “I know. Shane couldn’t be more different from Brian. That much I do know. The rest?” She shrugged. “The wedding is soon. After that who knows what will happen?”

  ****

  The house was dark when she returned home. She was disappointed. Somehow she just wished she’d had a chance to talk with Shane, see his face. She was falling for him. Her heart was still tender, and each pang felt like a jackhammer, but still she could not deny Shane had given her the hope she had sworn not to feel. Was it just weeks ago he sat at Hop’s kitchen table for the first time? Had she known then how she’d feel now, would she have agreed to this arrangement? The answer was yes. At least she could admit the truth.

  After putting on her pajamas, she went into the kitchen for a drink of water. She stood at her favorite spot and looked out the glass pane into the night. The lights were on in Hop’s house. She wondered how he was doing with Smokey.

  She looked at the display on her fitness tracker. It was after midnight. What was he doing up at this hour? Was the kitten okay? Should she call him?

  Shoving her feet into a pair of garden clogs and tugging on her college sweatshirt, Kit slipped out the door. She crunched over the gravel toward Hop’s stoop and peered into the small window on the door. Hop sat with his back to her at the kitchen table. She swallowed and rapped on the door. Instantly, he turned and saw her.

  He lumbered down his hallway and opened the door. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

&nb
sp; “Why are you up at this hour?”

  “Do you ever answer a question?”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh for God’s sake, kid, you coming in or what?”

  She followed him into his kitchen. An empty glass sat on the table next to a bottle of scotch. A newspaper was splayed on the surface.

  “How’s the kitten?”

  “He’s sleeping on my goddamn bed.” A rueful smile curved one side of his mouth. “Little fur ball.” He studied Kit. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

  She unzipped her sweatshirt and sat next to him. “You have chamomile tea?”

  He scrunched his face. “Do I look like I’d have tea made out of dead flowers?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind.” She pointed to the empty glass. “Looks like you’ve already had a beverage.”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “What keeps you up tonight, old man?”

  He twisted his mouth sideways. “They want me to retire.”

  “What? Who does?”

  “The town. The department. It’s past my expiration date, I guess.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

  Kit surveyed the newspaper on the table. It was open to the classified section, which in this small town wasn’t even a half a column long.

  “You looking for a new job, Hop?”

  “No. Maybe. There’s nothing anyway unless I want to sell solar panels to unsuspecting patsies.” He scoffed. “Or replacement windows. There’s nothing for me in here.”

  “Is there some kind of age limit on being in the fire department?”

  “Not to be a volunteer member, but to be a paid officer, yeah, you can’t be older than seventy. I’m seventy-two.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t get old, kid.”

  Her heart lurched for this man who had grown to mean so much to her. “You know, Hop, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You could do all the things you like. Kayaking on the river, tinkering on things around here, and didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to buy a trailer and take it cross-country? Maybe now’s the time.”

  A wry smile claimed his mouth. “That’s what Ellie and I wanted to do. It was our dream.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. What did one do when they had a dream that included someone else who was no longer here?

  “Every single minute I’d be wishing Ellie was there with me.” He turned to her with shiny eyes. “I still miss her.”

  “I know.”

  “Ellie and me, we were happy. Don’t get me wrong, kid. We fought like hell sometimes.” He grinned. “She always won, but that’s beside the point.” He poured a scant amount of the brown liquid into his glass and chugged it. “We had everything. Look around you. See this little place with the cracks in the ceiling and the damn moody plumbing? We were as happy as if this was a palace.”

  “Sounds—” Kit swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “—sounds lovely.”

  “Kid, if you ever listen to anything I say, listen now. The right partner means everything. All the other stuff, the bills, the worries, the ups and downs, they mean zilch when you’ve got the right person at your side. The problem, though, is if they leave you.” He shook his head. “That damn cancer beat us both up, I’ll tell you.”

  She pushed up from the chair and went to the cabinet where Hop kept his drinking glasses. She withdrew a glass that matched his, came back to the table, and poured herself a little of the scotch. She hated scotch, but right now it was all she could think to do. She swigged, then grimaced and coughed. She slammed her glass down. “Bleh.”

  Hop chuckled. “Lightweight.”

  “I drink pink wine, Hop, not this battery acid.”

  “Yeah, and tea made out of weeds.” He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work.”

  “Hop, I think the right next chapter will come to you. Give yourself a little time to let the dust settle, and it’ll hit you. You’ll see.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Here’s the thing, I guess. When a new chapter starts, you have to go for it. Believe it’s going to be a good one. If you don’t believe, you’ll never achieve. I didn’t make that up. It’s on a poster at the firehouse.”

  All she could do was nod.

  “How are you doing, kid?”

  “You were right. I am a piece of work.”

  “You feeling like him over there?” He motioned his head in the direction of her house. “You starting to like the guy?”

  “What do you mean, feeling like him?” Her heart whirred in her chest.

  “He came to talk to me, but you didn’t hear this from me, you understand?”

  “He went to see you? About me?”

  “He’s sweet on you.” A teasing light came into his dark eyes. “No accounting for taste.”

  She punched her fist into his thick shoulder. “What did he say exactly?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Since when?”

  “Come on, Kit. I said too much already. Let’s just say the guy’s thinking about what’s going to happen once this wedding happens.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “I still can’t believe you roped that poor guy into a charade.” Hop folded up the newspaper. “Now I know where you get it from. That mother of yours roping me into this nonsense with a little cat. Don’t get me started.”

  “Careful, Hop. Before you know it, you and Mom are going to be buddies.”

  He slapped the newspaper. “Okay, you. Time to call it a night. Past my bedtime. I’m as old as dirt, apparently.”

  He pushed up from the chair and carried his glass to the sink. She followed and placed her glass beside his. Standing there at his sink, she put her head on Hop’s shoulder, an impulse that surprised her. “You’re not past your expiration date, Hop. Not to me.”

  “Thanks, kid.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and briefly tucked her close. “Starting over stinks.”

  She nodded. “Like garbage.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kit woke the next morning with a vivid memory of last night’s dream. She was on the river in a yellow kayak, paddling with gusto, her arms aching with the effort. She was chasing something, or something was chasing her. She woke panting.

  Since it was only five in the morning, too early to get ready for work, she got up, shrugged into her flannel robe, and strode into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. She cast a glance to the loft and guessed Shane was gone already. She looked out the window to the driveway. His missing truck confirmed her suspicion.

  She toasted herself a bagel. While she waited for it to be browned just right, she had a good rebellious feeling watching the heat bars toast the carbohydrates that would soon be her breakfast. The wedding date was creeping up on her, and she hadn’t lost all the eight pounds she’d put on since Christmas. On a good day the wretched bathroom scale said she was down half of them. Most days, three. Today “so what” sat on her lips, and it tasted sweet. She was done trying to fit herself into someone else’s mold or someone else’s cocktail dress.

  She spread a light coating of cream cheese on the too-hot bagel and took a bite of the edge so as not to burn the roof of her mouth. She ate half and tossed the rest in the trash. Her mind was on Shane. She wished he were home so she could tell him about her visit with Hop and his having to suddenly come up with a new path for himself.

  The conversation would wait until later. Shane had said he was coming home right after work to study for the upcoming test. Maybe she’d make dinner for the two of them. Something celebratory. She’d even stop off at Danziger’s Bakery after work and get a fudge brownie for them to share. To hell with the phone call from Dana that had had her worried. She was sick to the point of nausea of overthinking everything. For once she was just going to go with her feelings, ride them out, as if she were in Hop’s yellow kayak.

  She knew it now—she hadn’t been running from anything i
n her dream. She’d been rushing toward Shane. And tonight, God help her and her urge to fish out the other half of that bagel from the trash can, she was going to tell it all to the fireman.

  Chapter Thirty

  That night Kit got home later than she’d wanted. The grocery store had been a mob scene, and traffic through town did not cooperate after her pit stop at the bakery. When she pulled into the driveway, Shane’s truck wasn’t there, and she was glad for the chance to get dinner started. She hoped she could pull off the meal since she’d never made the recipe before.

  He’d told her that one of the guys at the firehouse made pasta carbonara, and she’d found a doable recipe on the internet. Apparently, it was all in the technique.

  She unloaded her wares and took out her deep-frying pan. She stuck the six-pack of beer on the fridge shelf, chilled the wine she bought, and set the table.

  The impulse buy of a bunch of daffodils made her happy. She arranged them in a vase and put them on the table.

  She went into her room and changed into jeans and a blue button-down shirt. She rolled the cuffs up to her elbow as she stepped into the bathroom. She fussed with her hair, spritzed some fragrance at her neck, and applied lip gloss. Before she doused the bathroom light, she heard Shane’s truck, the tires crunching on the gravel the telltale sign. Her heart giddyupped in her chest. Boldness felt good yet scary. She pulled in a deep breath. She remembered her dream of the kayak. If you don’t work the oars, you’ll be at the mercy of the river. She would no longer let an outside force be her guide.

  She walked down the hallway and found Shane in the kitchen. The look on his face was not what she’d expected. In her mind’s eye she’d seen his broad smile and his bright eyes. She even imagined him pulling her into his arms and twirling her around with ease, as though she were as weightless as a feather.

  The Shane standing in front of her was not that guy. His mouth was pressed into a seam, and his eyes glinted with a kind of confusion. Suddenly she felt silly. She wished she’d skipped the daffodils. They sat on the table with their heads bowed as though even they felt embarrassed.