Tate felt the corners of his mouth tug upward at the sight of the sleeping baby. Then Phoebe’s lips recaptured his attention.
Carefully, he set his glass down on top of the closed basket and leaned forward, cupping the back of her head with his hand. He eased toward her, his core temperature rising as the tip of her tongue slid across her top lip. That one innocent response was more than he could take and he pulled her toward him hungrily, his mouth closing on hers, his tongue penetrating in heated exploration.
He felt her palm slip down his chest to the bottom of his shirt then reach around to his back, where her nails dug gently into his skin, pulling him closer. His heart began to pound as their kiss intensified, his skin burning at her touch, the bulge in his pants becoming almost unbearable.
Slow it down, buddy. Slow it down.
Mustering every ounce of willpower he could find, he pulled back with a soft growl. “You are amazing, Phoebe.”
The tinge of pink that sprang to her cheeks made him want her all the more, but he resisted. Next time, when they were alone, he’d take it further. All the way if she’d let him.
“You are, too, Tate.” Her words were soft, raspy even, as she began gathering the trash into a small pile.
He reached down, grasped her warm fingers in his. “My firm is having a reception on Saturday night. At the Autumn Room in West Cedarville. I’d love for you to come with me.”
“The Autumn Room?” A look he couldn’t identify passed across her face as she gently removed her hand from his and continued collecting the wrappings and containers. “Isn’t that a really nice place?”
“Uh-huh.” He popped another strawberry into his mouth and tucked the plate into the basket. “Five-star.”
“Well, I don’t know. We have the tag sale that day and—”
“That’s in the morning, right?” he prompted.
Her face reddened slightly. “Yeah. I guess. And I’ve got Kayla too.”
“Bring her.”
She stopped and stared at him. “She’s a wonderful baby, Tate, but the Autumn Room? That’s no place for a child, nor is a company function.”
Confused, he leaned across the blanket and took both her hands in his. “What’s wrong, Phoebe? Tonight was great, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes closed momentarily, but she opened them again and managed a wan smile. “You’re right. I’ll find someone to sit Kayla. I’d love to be your guest.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He released her right hand so he could touch her face, guide her gaze upward to meet his. “We’ll have a good time. I guarantee it.”
Her smile spread ever so slightly, her lips seeming to tremble. Had he done something wrong? Everything had been going so well—
“What do I wear?”
The question surprised him and he studied her, noted the look of uncertainty in her eyes. “Whatever you want. You’ll be beautiful no matter what.”
She slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”
Chapter Ten
After a relatively slow start, the Quinton Lane tag sale was the place to be that Saturday morning. Car after car delivered eager shoppers intent on finding great bargains. The fact that Quinton Lane was known throughout Cedarville proper as a long-standing staple of the community, thanks to that generation’s pride in their hard-earned possessions, certainly helped.
A young family from six roads over had hit the biggest jackpot so far that morning, securing a four-piece oak bedroom set for a hundred bucks. They’d been blown away by the condition of the furniture, while Eunice Weatherby had been pleased to know her late son’s furniture would be a part of the formative years of yet another child.
Phoebe plopped Kayla into the play station she’d set up beside Mr. Borden’s table, then busied herself counting out change for one of his customers while he engaged in an intense negotiation over his boyhood train set. She chuckled to herself, listening to the teenager raising his offer fifty cents at a time until he reached the original asking price.
“Sheesh, he drives a hard bargain.” The youth reached into the back pocket of his jeans and extracted a twenty-dollar bill. “I tried to get him to come down to ten and he wouldn’t budge. At all.”
Phoebe took the money from the boy’s outstretched hand and placed it in the metal cash box. “Mr. Borden was a professional livestock auctioneer when he was a young man. You didn’t stand a chance. Really.”
The teenager laughed. “You mean I was had?”
At her nod, he shrugged. “Ahhh, that’s okay. I still did pretty good. And it’s going to be cool talking trains with him now.”
Leave it to Mr. Borden to make a friend at the drop of a hat. There was something about the man that attracted people to him regardless of their age. “If you get to spend time with him because of that sale, then you’re the one coming out ahead.”
The boy grabbed the box with the train set and grinned. “Yeah, I kinda sensed that. He reminds me of my grandpa out in California.”
“I know what you mean.” Phoebe thanked the boy for his purchase, then watched as he stopped to shake the elderly man’s hand one last time before mounting the black ten-speed leaning against a nearby tree.
After glancing at her wristwatch, she squatted down next to Kayla and smoothed a lock of baby-fine hair from her forehead. “You’re being a very good little helper this morning. And we’re almost done.” She kissed her daughter’s chubby cheek before retrieving a set of stacking blocks that had slipped out of her reach. “Here you go, sweetie.”
Phoebe straightened up and made her way over to Mr. Borden, who was accepting a crisp fifty-dollar bill from a woman in exchange for a set of pristine golf clubs. Her neighbor’s erect posture and face-splitting smile was proof positive he was enjoying the tag sale.
And he wasn’t the only one. Eunice Weatherby had taken great delight in sharing tried-and-true parenting tips with each and every person of childbearing age who stopped at her table. The Haskells had sold all of their son’s old sporting equipment within an hour of the sale’s start, and Mrs. Applewhite had been in her element, running her table with an iron fist.
“Well, Phoebe, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” Mr. Borden gave her hand a squeeze before grasping the top bars of his walker and heading in the direction of the table. “I don’t know how the others did, but I think my stuff brought in a few hundred dollars. Everyone seemed to enjoy what I was selling. Though—” he looked both ways with a mischievous gleam in his eyes “—that young man who wanted my train set was my favorite customer by far.”
Phoebe laughed. “You taught him a thing or two, that’s for sure.”
“Darn tootin’.” Mr. Borden removed the top tray from the cash box and sat down in the lone folding chair, his hands scooping out money. “I’ll count this and keep an eye on your little princess here if you’ll snoop around and find out what everyone else made.”
“Everyone?”
His face reddened slightly. “Some more than others, I guess.”
“You mean one more than others, don’t you?”
He grimaced. “Okay—yeah. I’m curious about everyone, but mostly Gertrude.” He paused for a moment to clear his throat. “Not that it’s a competition or anything.”
“Of course it’s not. It’s not like you take great pride in beating Mrs. Applewhite every chance you get,” Phoebe teased.
“Do I do that?” he asked innocently.
“I see you pushing your walker a bit faster whenever you two are walking side by side. I see you adding fake flowers among your real ones to get more color in the spring, and I know you added an extra bag of chocolate chips to those cookies you brought to the last potluck.”
He coughed, sat quietly, then coughed again. “You caught me. But Phoebe, she makes it fun. She lives to win and tell everyone about it. You know that.”
It was true.
Shaking her head, Phoebe kissed the top of his head and then waved at Kayla. “I’ll be right back
, sweetie. I have some spying to do real quick.”
“I knew you were a good girl, Phoebe Jennings.”
“I think the more appropriate word would be corrupt.” She winked at her favorite neighbor, then went to find the answers he sought.
It didn’t take long to get a total from the rest of her neighbors, since each one had already begun counting. Ms. Weatherby’s furniture collection, clothes and kitchen supplies drew just over a hundred fifty dollars. Mrs. Applewhite’s knickknacks, decades-long book collection and furniture netted two hundred and forty-five dollars. The Haskells came in at two hundred and fifteen with everything from sporting goods and toys, to tools and assorted bits of furniture. Other neighbors who’d gotten into the act had raised a nice chunk, as well.
Armed with a tiny slip of paper she’d commandeered from the Jorgans’ table, Phoebe returned to her starting point. “Okay. The one to beat is Mrs. Applewhite.”
Mr. Borden looked up, squinting in concentration. “How much?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you.” Phoebe tucked the paper behind her back with what she hoped was her most angelic expression. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel bad if you fell short of her take.”
“Fell short?” Mr. Borden exhaled loudly through pursed lips, his wrinkled hand tapping the table in a familiar rhythm.
“That’s not…Is that—”
“It most certainly is,” he crowed. “And I’m tapping it because I’m quite confident my table was the day’s cash cow.”
“Ehhh.” Kayla’s hands shot up into the air, her feet running in place beneath the play tray.
“See?” He pointed at the baby. “Even she wants to know how much I won by.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes in mock disgust and reached for her daughter. “Actually, I think she just wants some lunch. It’s been a long day.”
The elderly man rummaged through the tote bag beside his chair and extracted a package of crackers. He unwrapped the plastic covering and set one into Kayla’s eager hands before looking back at Phoebe. “How much?”
“Two hundred forty-five.”
“Hah!” Mr. Borden grabbed hold of his walker and pulled himself to his feet, his backside dancing around as he put lyrics to the music he’d been tapping. “‘We’re in the money, We’re in the money’…I beat ’em all…yesss, I did.”
Kayla’s hands, covered in wet cracker crumbs, began clapping along to a beat all her own, her squeals of delight filling the gaps between Mr. Borden’s lyrics.
“I take it you did better?” Phoebe grinned at her before looking back at Mr. Borden.
“Two hundred and fifty-two!”
“Seven bucks? That’s all?” Phoebe asked, her lips twitching.
“I beat her, didn’t I? That makes those seven bucks worth far, far more.” Mr. Borden winked at her as he lowered himself back onto his chair and patted the table beside him. “Well, now that we’ve got that squared away, sit. Tell me what’s got you so quiet this morning.”
Phoebe looked at him questioningly. “I’m not quiet. I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
The man shook his head slowly and leaned back against the chair. “I know busy and I know quiet. And while you’ve certainly been the former, you’ve also been the latter.”
Glancing down at her folded hands, Phoebe shrugged.
“Does it have to do with your new fellow?”
Her head snapped up; her cheeks warmed. “Fellow?”
“Tate Williams.”
She considered feigning ignorance for all of about two seconds, but knew it was futile. Somehow, news of Tate’s impromptu picnic had made its way through the Quinton Lane pipeline.
“Now I’m not grilling you. Please know that. Truth be told, I’m glad someone’s finally woken up and realized what a gem you are.”
Her face grew warmer.
“But there’s an uncertainty about you today that I can’t help but notice. And I’m here if you want to talk. You’re like a granddaughter to me, Phoebe. You know that.”
And she did.
“You’re okay with that someone being the infamous Tate Williams?” Her voice was barely audible, causing Mr. Borden to lean forward and mess with the hearing aid behind his right ear.
She repeated her question.
“Tate Williams was always a good boy. A very good boy. That whole mess about the city council and Les Walker’s house got blown way out of proportion.”
“You realize that?”
“Of course I do. Sure, there was a time I wasn’t so certain. Didn’t understand the way things are done in the professional world.” He traced a finger along the top bar of his walker. “I auctioned off pigs, for gosh sake. But Bart set us all straight. At least those of us who would listen, anyway.”
“And Mrs. Applewhite?”
A frustrated sign emerged from Mr. Borden’s chest. “She was one who wouldn’t listen. You think she’s competitive now? You should have seen her back when Tate was a young boy. Mary Williams was a thorn in Gertrude’s side because we all adored her. Drove the woman batty.” He paused to consider his words. “Who knows, maybe that’s why she’s so…well, you know. Anyway, I don’t think she lost much sleep when we all started questioning Tate back then.”
“And now? Why does everyone stand by and let her keep going with this?” Phoebe asked.
“I guess we’re all afraid to cross her for fear she’ll keel over from the stress. You know how she gets. The way she complains about pains in her chest.”
Phoebe heard his words, absorbed them, but then drew up short when something he’d said earlier finally registered. “Did you say Bart went to bat for Tate?”
“I did.” Mr. Borden shifted in his seat, another grimace flashing across his face. “He gave us a dressing-down after Mary’s funeral on account of the cold shoulder Tate received.”
“He was treated badly at his mother’s funeral?” She knew her tone was shrill, even a little angry, but she couldn’t help it. Tate’s lingering hurt made all the more sense now.
Her neighbor dropped his head briefly, in silent agreement.
“Then why didn’t you say something last week, when she was yelling at him in the street after our meeting?” Phoebe asked.
“Most of us were gone, if you’ll remember. I heard the ruckus as I was walking home, but couldn’t hear or see well enough to know what was going on.”
She stood beside the table, mulling over everything she’d just heard, her heart aching for the man who’d gone out of his way to make Tuesday evening so special for her and Kayla.
“Then how—” She swallowed and tried again. “Then how did you know I was with Tate?”
Mr. Borden cocked an eyebrow.
“Mrs. Applewhite told you?”
He nodded.
“What did she say?”
“That you and Tate had a picnic in the green space on Tuesday night.”
A chill coursed through her veins. “Is that why she’s been standoffish with me the past few days?”
“I’m afraid so. She thinks you’re cavorting with the enemy.”
Phoebe snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
He cocked an eyebrow once again.
“Oh.” She leaned against the table and quietly surveyed the aftermath of their tag sale. Unwanted items, empty tables and colorful signs were strewn along the sidewalk as far as the eye could see. Remnants of their desperate race to save an age-old neighborhood treasure. Yet the same people who were hanging on to the good old days had turned their backs on one of their own.
A gentle finger under her chin forced her focus back to her elderly neighbor. “So why are you quiet? Is it Tate?”
“No. It’s me.” She sighed. “Or, rather, the me I’m not.”
“I don’t follow.” Mr. Borden looked genuinely confused. “What could possibly be wrong with you?”
Phoebe crossed her arms and squinted at the afternoon sun. “I’m different than he is.”
“Different?”
“In the same way I was different from Kayla’s father.” She grasped her grandmother’s locket between her thumb and index finger and slid it back and forth on its delicate gold chain. “I wasn’t raised around money, I didn’t go to charm school, and to me, throwing a classy party means homemade cakes and apple pie, not French pastries and chocolate fountains.”
“I’d take your cakes and pie over that fancy stuff any day of the week.”
Tilting her head, she mustered a smile for her friend. “Of course you’d say that. You’re kind and sweet and—”
“And I’ve been around the block a few times in my life, young lady.” Mr. Borden dropped his forearms to the table. “The reason I’d take your kind of party over that highfalutin stuff is because nothing beats warmth and sincerity in my book. Nothing.”
Phoebe glanced at Kayla, her voice beginning to tremble. “Not everyone has the same book, though.”
Mr. Borden reached out, grasping her hand in his. “Then those are the books you leave on the shelf, Phoebe.”
“But I know I could have—” she faltered momentarily before carrying on in a rush “—could have fit into Doug’s world. I can do anything I put my mind to. Problem was, he didn’t believe in me enough.”
“His loss.” The elderly man squeezed her hand until she met his eyes. “He gave up the best part of life when he turned his back on you and that little angel over there. And there is no doubt in my mind he will regret it one day.”
“But Kayla lost, too.”
“I don’t agree.” Mr. Borden waved in the baby’s direction. “That is one happy and loved child. She’s confident in her place in your life. If that man couldn’t see past his prestige and fancy lifestyle to consider his own offspring, then she’s better off without him.”
“He offered to support us for life.”
“Support and love are two different things. I admire you for turning him down. You and your daughter will be better off because of it.” Mr. Borden pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his walker. “Will times be rough as a working mom? Sure. But you know we love you, and we’ll all do what we can to help.”
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