Between The Lines (Main Street Merchants Book 5)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Good thinking,” Regan replied, rather impressed.

  She wasn’t at all surprised to see a Jeep Wrangler parked outside the apartment building where she lived. She wouldn’t have expected Jesse to drive anything less. She smiled at the sign on the side—Climb Every Mountain, with the address of the store. Nothing like a little free advertising while you’re cruising around town. Jesse closed the passenger door for her and then walked around to the driver’s side.

  “So, you like to talk books,” he said as he started the engine. “What’s the best book you’ve read so far this year?”

  Regan thought about cutting him some slack and naming something really popular, but truth be told, her favorite read had been a pretty obscure title. He’d asked for an honest answer, so she gave it. To her surprise, he not only knew the book, but he provided the name of the author before she mentioned it, and they spent the short drive to the gallery discussing the plot and the characterization. His comments were deep and insightful, a pleasant surprise for Regan.

  There were so many cars lined up in front of the gallery, there was no place for them to park. “One of the perks of owning a building right across the street, I guess,” Jesse said as he pulled in to the alley behind his business. “You don’t mind hoofing it a few yards, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Especially since it was the closest parking spot. She’d be a dork not to go for it.

  They locked the Jeep and walked across Main Street. White lights had been twined around the branches of the trees outside the art gallery, which was a little bit of a risk—it was too easy to come off looking like Christmas, which you definitely didn’t want in the early fall. But these lights created a magical starlight look, which, Regan supposed, was the objective.

  She hadn’t seen the inside of the gallery since it had been renovated. Cara had stopped by a few times and said it was amazing, but Regan couldn’t picture it looking any different from the old, rundown antique shop it used to be. As she stepped inside the building, she took a deep breath. It was nothing short of a Cinderella transformation, making the fairytale lights outside even more appropriate. The floors had been redone in a rich, glossy hardwood, matching beams ran across the ceiling, the walls had been completely torn out and new ones built—it was hardly the same building at all.

  “Place looks great,” Jesse commented as he took her jacket and handed it to the coat check girl standing nearby.

  “It’s incredible.” Regan smiled as their new neighbor, Alex, walked toward them. “Hey there. You guys have done a fantastic job with the building.”

  Alex shrugged modestly. “Our contractor did most of it. We just got in the way and complicated things. Thanks for coming tonight.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Regan replied, although she knew that was a big fat lie. She would have missed it if she’d been given a choice. There were two new books sitting on her nightstand, and she couldn’t wait to get home and start them.

  “The artists are over in the left wing—be sure to stop by and meet them,” Alex said. “We have over thirty pieces of art on display, so please, take a look around and enjoy.” He gave a final nod and was off to greet the next newcomers.

  Regan’s eye was immediately caught by a large colorful abstract painting on the wall to their right, and she and Jesse moved over to take a closer look. They followed the exhibit from piece to piece as it curved around the building.

  “Hi, Bryce,” Regan said to the young man standing in front of a watercolor. “You and your brother have a lot to be proud of here tonight.”

  “You think so?” Bryce wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in a mock gesture of relief. “We’ve certainly worked hard enough—now let’s see if it pays off. Alex says I need to stay focused on the vision.”

  “It’s more fun than being focused on the stress,” Regan replied. “Have you met Jesse?”

  “I think we’ve nodded at each other coming and going from work. Thanks for coming tonight, Jesse.” Bryce shook his hand. “Be sure to help yourself to the refreshment table. It’s right over there.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Regan said good-bye and led Jesse around the corner, where she gasped upon seeing the display.

  “It’s D’Angelo’s tiramisu,” she said, snatching up a plate and cradling it between her hands like an ancient artifact unearthed after years of obscurity. “Mine. All mine.”

  Jesse laughed. “I wouldn’t even dream of trying to take it away from you.” He picked up a plate as well, and they continued on through the building, eating as they went. Regan’s appreciation of the displays was greatly enhanced by the sugar rush. A waitress took their dishes when they were done, they congratulated the artists, and they chatted for a minute with Regan’s roommates. As they stood there, looking around, Regan felt very out of place. They’d done their neighborly duty by showing up and they’d eaten some awesome cake. Now what?

  “I think it’s time to make use of your getaway car,” Regan whispered to Jesse, and he nodded.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  She grinned, a very broad, evil grin. “I have an idea.”

  * * *

  “You wanted to come to a bar?” Jesse looked around with amazement as they entered the Watering Hole, a small, dark place three streets to the south of the art gallery. Regan hadn’t told him where she wanted to go—she just gave him directions.

  “You’ve never been here?”

  “Nope. I’m not really into the drinking scene.” He seemed edgy, and Regan could understand that. It was a little hard to see through all the smoke, and a couple of people at the back table were getting a little drunk and disorderly. However, Moe, the owner and bartender, was as good as they came, and he ran a tight establishment. Regan had always felt perfectly safe here, and she really liked it that he didn’t charge for use of the pool table.

  “I’m not here to drink,” she said, motioning toward the back room with her head. “I have something else in mind.”

  Jesse didn’t look too sure about this, but he followed her anyway.

  The green velvet pool table was already in use when they walked in. Regan should have guessed as much—the only pool table in town on a weekend? It was bound to be occupied. The two men who were playing didn’t seem to be very invested in the game, though, so she decided to make things a little more fun.

  “Hey, guys, my friend and I would like to play. How much longer you figure you’ll be?”

  One of the men looked her over from head to toe, probably wondering why she’d dressed up so much to come play pool. She firmed her stance a little bit, letting him know she wasn’t there to flirt. He lifted his chin. “Well, maybe we were planning on the best of seven.”

  That was hardly likely—the guy just wanted to give her a hard time. Regan nodded. “What if I challenge the winner?”

  “Oh, come on. I’m winning and you couldn’t beat me, not in a million years.” His friend chuckled, as though the whole idea was completely silly.

  Regan glanced over at Jesse. He’d probably never even been near a pool table, and this was definitely not his speed. He wasn’t shrinking away, though—he was right behind her, and she knew he had her back. Pretty much literally.

  “What if I take a shot right now, with how things are already set up on the table? If I can get this orange-and-white stripey ball in that hole over there, the table’s mine.”

  The man’s friend laughed again. “You’ve got to take her up on it, Billy. Show her who’s boss.”

  Billy cracked his knuckles. “All right. Let’s do this.”

  Regan grinned and hung her jacket on the coat tree in the corner. This was going to be fun. She turned to Billy’s friend. “What’s your name?”

  “Abe.”

  “Abe, are you going to be our witness?”

  “Um, sure. I guess.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” She studied the balls, then picked up a cue and chalked the tip. She took her time, ignoring the way
Billy shifted from one foot to the other with impatience. Then she aimed for the “stripey ball” and shot.

  “That’s not possible,” Billy sputtered as the ball went into the pocket.

  “Abe, is that possible?” Regan asked, turning toward him.

  “From what I just saw, I’d have to say it’s possible,” Abe replied.

  Billy fumed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “Fine. Table’s yours,” he grumbled.

  “We can call a do-over,” Regan invited. Winners could afford to be generous.

  “’Nother time.” The two men left the pool room, and Regan turned to Jesse with a grin on her face. He hadn’t moved since the little tournament began, and to be honest, she’d nearly forgotten he was even there—stuff like that happened sometimes when she played. She got a little too “in the zone.”

  “That was pretty amazing,” Jesse said, finally coming back to life. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “My dad owned a pool hall the whole time I was growing up,” she said as she gathered the balls and put them back in the rack. “Every day after school, I’d help him run it. I learned a thing or two.”

  “Before you moved to Aspen Ridge?” Jesse asked.

  “Yeah. We moved here my freshman year of high school, right after my mom died.”

  “I was going to say, I didn’t remember there being a pool hall here in town.”

  “This was in Wyoming. So, do you know how to play?” Regan hadn’t meant to start talking about her parents, and now that she had, she’d rather change the subject. She and her mom had been really close, and her dad had tried hard to keep the memories alive, but those were things that were special to her and she didn’t want to share them with just anyone, especially not on a sort-of-blind date.

  “I’ve seen it on TV. Does that count?”

  “Not in the slightest. Come on. I’ll teach you.”

  At first, she expected Jesse to be one of those guys who’d expect her to stand really close while she “taught” him, but he wasn’t like that at all. He stayed a respectful distance away, only leaning in to see the angle of the shot more clearly. He turned out to be a great student—not because he picked up on the game quickly, even though he did, but because he had a really good attitude about the whole thing. He listened to what she said, laughed when he missed, and asked questions about how he could do better. He even got the lingo pretty quickly.

  She’d tried to teach Glenn once upon a time, but when he missed his first shot, he’d just thrown his cue in the corner and stomped off. This was a night-and-day difference, one she really appreciated.

  “You’re pretty much a natural,” she told him as they hung their cues back on the rack.

  “Well, I have seen The Color of Money,” he said as if admitting to possessing some kind of secret knowledge.

  “And you think that helped you?”

  He grinned. “I don’t think it hurt.”

  Regan said good night to Moe, and they left.

  “Thanks for taking me to a bar,” he said as they walked back out to his Jeep. “It was a lot of fun.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Did those two Sprites make you tipsy, or are you okay to drive?”

  “I think I’m okay, but if I change my mind, I’ll let you take over. You were wise and stuck with lemonade.” He unlocked her door, and she climbed in.

  As soon as he opened the driver’s door, she asked, “So, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but you seemed a little weirded out by going into a bar. Why is that?”

  Jesse buckled his seatbelt and adjusted his rearview mirror before answering. He paused long enough that Regan was worried that she’d totally put her foot in her mouth. “My little sister was killed by a drunk driver as she walked to school one day. Let’s just say that we have strong feelings about alcohol in my family.”

  Regan instantly felt terrible. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken you there. I don’t drink either—I never have. I just go for the pool table.”

  Jesse waved it off. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

  “How old was your sister?”

  “She was eight. This was a long time ago—probably a few years before you moved to town.”

  Jesse started the engine, and they pulled out onto the street.

  “How old were you when it happened?” Regan asked.

  “I was twelve.”

  “And did you know the driver, or was it some totally random person?”

  A muscle in Jesse’s jaw twitched. “It was my uncle, actually. He just got out of jail for it last year.”

  Oh, crap. “Um, wow. Listen, remember how I’m really bad at social things? Please forget this whole conversation ever took place. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.” She didn’t want to talk about her own family, but she sure had no scruples when it came to digging into his. She wished she had a time machine and could redo the whole conversation.

  “It’s okay.” Jesse pulled up in front of her apartment. “I had a really nice time tonight. Thanks for going out with me.”

  Yeah, there it was—the brushoff. She’d totally blown it. “I did too. Thanks for taking me. No, you don’t have to get out. I’m fine,” she added when he moved to unhook his seatbelt. “See, here come Logan and Laurie. I’ll walk in with them—no one will kidnap me between here and the front door. Night.” She hopped out and slammed the door, not looking at his face. The first nice guy she’d been out with for a long time, gone. So typical of her life.

  Chapter Three

  “And then he drove away.” Regan finished recounting her evening to Melba and Leslie, who had been a rapt audience.

  “Wow,” Leslie said, resting her elbow on a stack of hardback books that sat on the counter. “That’s really . . . incredible.”

  “You can say it. I’m a horrible, horrible person.” Regan finished dusting the endcap and tossed her rag under the counter. “I shouldn’t be allowed in public ever again.”

  “Actually, I was going to recommend that you get out in public a little more,” Melba interjected.

  “Why? So I can inflict myself on even larger numbers of unsuspecting, innocent people?”

  “No, so you can see that everyone makes mistakes and that you can be forgiven.” Melba patted her on the shoulder. “It’s unfortunate what happened, but it’s not the end of the world. You just need to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start over again. In fact, I think there’s even a country song that goes something like that.”

  Melba made it sound so easy, like the whole thing could just be erased with some positive self-talk and a cookie. Regan had tried cookies. They tasted good, but they hadn’t worked.

  “Or you could do what I do, and buy some new shoes and go dancing,” Melba continued. “I got some really sassy red heels last week, and they sure lifted my spirits.”

  “Red heels?” Leslie laughed. “I’d love to see them.”

  “I’ll wear them tomorrow. I don’t always have to wear sensible shoes to work, do I?”

  Regan enjoyed a good laugh with her coworkers, then returned to tidying up the store. She made some recommendations to a customer who was looking for some sweet and clean romances, and she reunited a little boy with his lost mommy, who had somehow wandered down the next aisle without him. When that crowd dispersed and the store was quiet once again, she looked up to see Jesse standing there, holding a small pink box in his hand.

  “Hi,” she said, not believing it was really him. He’d been on her mind so much, she had to be imagining it.

  “Hi,” he replied, shifting his weight a little. “Can we talk for a second? Are you busy?”

  She glanced around and didn’t see any more customers. Maybe she could make up an excuse about needing to do inventory—she smelled an awkward conversation in the offing, and she’d just as soon avoid it.

  “Go,” Melba hissed from somewhere behind her. Regan was sure Jesse had heard it too, and she winced. No getting out of it
now.

  “Sure. I’ve got a minute.”

  She followed him over to the corner of the store, right between atlases and art history. What could he possibly want to talk to her about? He’d made his feelings pretty clear, with that whole awkward good-night thing.

  “Listen, I came to apologize.”

  Regan couldn’t help it—her jaw actually dropped. She closed it again and tried to act nonchalant. “What? Why would you need to apologize to me?”

  “I was really abrupt with you last night, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m just not used to talking about my past. I hope you can forgive me.” He held out the pink box, and she noticed it had a D’Angelo’s sticker on it. “It’s tiramisu. I have a sneaking suspicion you like it.”

  Regan’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I do like it. However did you know?”

  “Something about the death grip you had on your plate at the art gallery.”

  “Yeah, that would give it away.” She took the box from him—she knew exactly what book she was going to read with it that night. “But I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was really thoughtless, peppering you with questions like that. It must have felt like the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “You were just curious. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been curious about me. And it wasn’t in Spanish, actually—I think you were speaking English the whole time. So the comparison really doesn’t hold.”

  Regan looked down at the box and started to laugh. “Okay, we’ve got to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Saying the wrong thing, feeling like we’ve offended each other, having to apologize. We’re both good people. How about we just give each other—and ourselves—the benefit of the doubt and stop overanalyzing everything to death?”

  Jesse raised an eyebrow. “You mean, in the future? Moving forward? As in, if I asked you out again, you might be interested?”

  Her heart gave a curious little lurch. She hadn’t been fishing for another date, but now that he’d brought it up, maybe she wouldn’t mind so much. “I just might be.”