by Loree Lough
“Bummer. Guess that means you’ll miss the Tidewater race.”
“Yeah. And the Pocono Challenge, too.” She shook off the moment of self-pity. “But it’s no big deal. There are a couple of races in October.”
“Chambersburg?”
“Right. And Green Lane, Pennsylvania, too. But enough about that.” She giggled, too long and too hard. Groaning inwardly, she said, “Any idea when the parts will be in?”
“Two, three days. But that’s just one of the reasons I called today. Are you still interested in building a website for me?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t sound so eager,” Troy whispered in the background. “He’ll think you don’t have any other clients!”
Frowning, she sent a “Shh” warning his way.
“I’m just wrapping up something for another client. How about if I stop by, spend an hour or so watching you work, see if I can get some ideas for your main page?”
Troy shook his head. Noah cleared his throat. “Well, how’s tomorrow, say, after lunch?” She turned her back on her brother and clicked the speaker off. “Works for me. What time does Alyssa get home from school?”
“I pick her up at three-thirty.”
Billie wondered why he didn’t let her ride the bus like the rest of the kids in the neighborhood, then remembered the guy she’d met at the bike shop that day, who’d implied Noah gave a whole new meaning to the word overprotective.
“I’ll see you between one and one-thirty,” she said.
Billie hung up, then faced Troy. “Look. You’ve been a great houseguest, and I appreciate the way you fixed the deck door and reattached that loose gutter. And your chili recipe is to die for. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if you moved in here permanently…if you’d learn to keep your nose out of my business stuff.”
“When you’re right, you’re right. It won’t happen again.” With one hand raised in the Scout salute, he said, “Sorry.”
“No need for apologies,” she told him, heading into her office nook. “As long as you stay out of my business.”
Troy saluted. “Message sent and received.”
Billie fired up the computer, clicked her most recent client’s file and began adding photos to the About Us page.
“You can fool other people, kid, but you can’t fool me.”
She swiveled her desk chair to glare at her brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been alone long enough. It’s okay to like that guy. You know…like that guy.”
“That guy is repairing my bike, so I’m his customer. If I’m lucky, that guy will like my website ideas, and he’ll be my client. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
“You’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s just, well, your voice changed when you talked to him, so I figured maybe you were interested. Let me make it up to you. Pepperoni-mushroom pizza, or subs for supper?”
Billie did her best to dismiss his “your voice changed” comment. “Pizza sounds great.” There’d be plenty of time to rehash the conversation later.
Troy went back to his online job search as she scanned the internet for other bicycle shops. She wanted to see what was missing from those websites and ensure Noah’s site stood out from the others. It didn’t take long to figure out what she’d change about the examples. Photos on the home page were too large, distracting from the business message. And either there were too many tabs, or those provided didn’t perform a specific function.
She opened a blank page and began typing.
LANDON DESIGNS WEBSITE PROPOSAL
CLIENT: NOAH PRESTON, OWNER, IKE’S BIKES
In recent months, this shop has noticed an increase in competition in the Baltimore vicinity (see list of stores below). A website designed to serve existing patrons, while attracting new ones, will provide people with more accurate comparables.
To effectively capture the market from its competitors, Ike’s Bikes website design must implement a marketing strategy focused on this goal. This will start with a needs analysis session to identify the key elements of the site, different customer types and all necessary calls to action. The session will be followed with a content plan focused on specific goals, and will move into the design phase, which will include the following:
Billie paused and thought for a second before beginning to type a bulleted list of the pages she would include on Noah’s site: Home, Types of Bikes, Bike Parts, Rides/Events, Rentals/Repairs and Contact Us. Each page would include a defining paragraph and photographs.
After supplying a list of similar shops in the area, she printed the proposal onto Landon Designs letterhead, slid it into a hunter-green pocket folder, slapped her label on the cover and set it aside. Tomorrow, when she visited him at the shop, Billie would ask him to turn on his computer so she could show him her own business website. He would be impressed by the number and variety of clients she’d acquired since opening the doors to Landon Designs three years earlier. Feeling suitably prepared, she went back to updating another client’s site.
Hours later, she noticed the clock in the corner of her monitor. How could it be after midnight? Working the kinks out of her neck and shoulders, she walked into the kitchen, and was immediately greeted by a bold black message printed on the pizza box lid: “BUY A TIMER,” it said, “AND YOU WON’T GET HEARTBURN FROM EATING COLD PIZZA AT MIDNIGHT.” And beneath it, a smaller line that read, “Or make your brother eat alone.”
Poor Troy. She had been too caught up in work to even notice the time. Billie grabbed a slice of pizza and bit into the now congealed cheese. Not bad. She took another bite. She’d risk the heartburn.
*
BILLIE SHOULD HAVE taken Troy’s advice. She’d tossed and turned all night, waking up and falling asleep more than a dozen times, thanks to dreams of those life-altering moments under the glaring delivery room lights.
She got up and trudged into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker, then grabbed Troy’s sweatshirt jacket from the hook beside the door and carried a slice of pizza onto the deck. A light rain was falling, so she pulled up the jacket’s hood. A motorcycle buzzed by out front, and on Main Street, the squealing brakes of a school bus pierced the otherwise quiet morning. It had rained hard last night and she inhaled the scents that rode the autumn breeze: of roses, planted all around the deck. Damp leaves, fluttering against the fence. Bud, her elderly neighbor, frying bacon. Her coffee, spewing into the carafe.
Leaning into the railing, Billie watched a chipmunk scamper through the mulch surrounding the sunflowers, its cheeks puffed to three times their normal size as it prepared for the winter. She loved it here, in this place she’d bought and paid for with her half of the settlement, arranged by Chuck’s attorney.
An odd feeling engulfed her, something between resentment and melancholy. Even after all this time, Billie still didn’t fully understand why her ex had left. She’d loved everything about being married, even the things that most women complained about, like socks on the floor and toothpaste tubes squeezed from the middle. Living alone all through college had taught her that she wasn’t cut out for a solitary life, so having someone who shared her views on politics, menu changes at their favorite restaurant and what to save their money for had felt like a fairy tale come to life.
She frowned as the same old questions resurfaced.
If Chuck felt that strongly about not having kids, why hadn’t he said so when she’d told him about her dream of having a big family? Had he expected her to change her mind once she saw how delightful her life could be with him at the center of it? If she hadn’t pressed him to have a baby, would he have stayed? Would she have wanted him to…?
Bud’s cat, Inky, padded up and wound figure eights around her ankles, alternately purring and meowing in the hope Billie would share a pepperoni slice. Stooping, she fed him a sliver of meat, then stroked his glossy fur. The coffeemaker hissed, signaling a full pot. She peeled off a tiny blob of mozzarella, and the cat licked it from h
er fingertip. “Life,” she said, “is a little bit like you. Soft on the surface, rough and raspy when you look a little deeper.”
“I hope writing greeting card verses isn’t on your bucket list,” Troy said, joining her on the deck, “because that was awful.”
Meowing, Inky rubbed Troy’s calf. “Sorry, pal,” he said, hands extended. “I got nothin’.” He met Billie’s eyes. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you, because as any sane person knows, if you feed a stray cat, it will keep coming back.”
“Inky isn’t a stray.” Billie stood up. “He belongs to Bud.”
As if on cue, Inky sauntered toward the corner of the yard, leaped onto a fence post and disappeared.
Troy nodded toward the half-eaten slice of pizza in Billie’s hand. “That’s a horrible breakfast. I’m telling Mom.”
“Go ahead,” she said, smirking, “and I’ll tell her…” The joke fizzled even before she completed the thought. If he ever found out that she’d heard him crying himself to sleep, he’d be mortified.
He followed her into the kitchen. “Tell her what?”
She filled two mugs with coffee, buying time to think of something. “That you leave wet towels on the bed.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I could, so don’t push your luck.”
“So what time is your meeting with Noah?”
Her brother’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. But she needed to choose her words carefully, or risk heightening his belief that her interest in Noah was more than strictly business.
Pouring Lucky Charms into a bowl, Billie said, “Are these a regular item on your grocery list? Because I haven’t had them since I was ten years old. Eight, even.”
“Nice try, but I’m not that easily distracted. But don’t worry. I know when to back off.”
She didn’t intend to give him a chance to prove it. Billie carried the cereal bowl to her room, and before closing the door, hollered, “I’m going to take a shower, so don’t run the hot water, okay?”
When she returned to the kitchen, the note propped against the salt and pepper shakers on the table said, “Appointment with Realtor. Back by suppertime.”
She’d known he wouldn’t stay with her permanently, but this visible proof of it tugged at her heartstrings. Tossing the note into the trash can, Billie grabbed the file folder containing her proposal for Noah’s website, locked up and headed toward Ike’s Bikes. Her ankle hadn’t felt this good since that day on the trail, and she decided to walk to the shop. While waiting to cross Main Street, she heard someone call her name. Turning, she saw her next-door neighbor jogging up behind her.
When he caught up, she said, “I’m not speaking to you, Bud Kirk. You made bacon and didn’t invite me over.”
“You smelled it, all the way from your place?”
“That’s the price we pay for having back doors that are twenty feet apart.”
“That, and a northerly wind.”
“So how are things, Bud?”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m glad I ran into you this morning.” He looked uncharacteristically serious.
“I just thought you had a right to know…that young fella who’s staying with you had company the other day. Tall, good-looking brunette.”
“That young fella is my brother. Troy has had a run of bad luck lately, so he’s staying with me until he can figure things out.” She remembered the note Troy had left on the table this morning. “The woman is probably his real estate agent.”
“Your brother. No kiddin’?” Bud took a moment to process the information. “Never would have guessed it. I didn’t see any resemblance.”
“People say that all the time,” she agreed. “What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
“I’m having a little procedure next week, and wondered if you’d keep an eye on Inky for me, feed the fish, water the plants.”
“What kind of procedure?”
“Doc wants to install a couple stents in me. Says it’s no big deal…unless I don’t cooperate.” He winked. “That’s why the bacon. My last hurrah, y’know?”
“I’m happy to take care of things for you.”
A horn blared and a driver bellowed, “Yo! Buddy boy! How goes it!”
Billie didn’t recognize the man, but Bud did. No surprise there. He knew just about everyone in town…and every bit of juicy gossip about them, too.
“It goes,” Bud yelled back. He faced Billie again. “So where are you headed, all dressed up?”
She’d worn a simple coral sheath and matching sweater with black ballet flats. It must have been the silver hoop earrings and bracelet that made the outfit seem dressy. Either that or he’d grown accustomed to seeing her in jeans and khakis.
“I’m meeting with the owner of Ike’s Bikes.” She glanced across the street and saw Noah through the shop’s huge window, leaning casually against the counter as he talked with a customer. “If it goes well, he’ll hire me to design his website.”
“Noah?” Bud shook his head and whistled low. “Now, there’s one eccentric dude.”
“What do you mean?”
“He can talk for half an hour straight without really saying anything. You know me—once a detective, always a detective. I looked him up to see if I could find out where he’s from, what kind of work he did before moving here, what happened to his wife.” Bud shook his head again. “Came up empty. It’s like he didn’t exist before coming to Ellicott City.” Frowning, Billie’s neighbor aimed a thick forefinger at her. “Just between you, me and the lamppost here, I’m guessing witness protection. But you keep that under your hat, you hear?”
Billie nodded. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. I just want this job. If I get it, he’ll be my hundredth client.”
“What do you mean, if? You’re the best in the business, and half the shop owners on Main Street know it. And if Noah has talked to any of them—and I’m sure he has, if he’s thinking about a website—he knows it, too.”
Bud’s bright blue eyes narrowed. “That’s how he heard about you, right? From one of his neighbors?”
“Actually, we met when I walked my bike to his shop for repairs. When I told him what I do for a living, it didn’t seem like he hadn’t heard it before.” She thought of everything the guy in Gucci clothes had said about Noah’s overprotectiveness toward his little girl. Maybe Bud was on to something with his witness protection idea. “He seemed nice enough when he drove me home that day, so I wouldn’t have to hike back up the hill.”
Bud glanced at her ankle. “Ah, right. The Great Cannondale Fall.” Then he met her eyes. “No need to look so worried. Just because a man keeps mostly to himself doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.” Her neighbor nodded toward the shop. “And anyway, if the way he takes care of his little girl is any indicator, I’d have to say he’s good people.”
If that were true, why did he seem so secretive? And why did he only look relaxed and happy when Alyssa was around? “If you have time when you’re through with him,” Bud said, walking backward toward his house, “stop by and I’ll show you where I keep Inky’s stuff.”
“Will do,” she said. The light changed again, and Billie crossed the street as a customer exited the bike shop.
“Saw you talking to Bud,” Noah said when she walked up to the counter. “From where I was standing, it looked like a pretty serious conversation.”
“He’s having surgery next week, asked me to take care of his cat while he’s hospitalized.”
“For what?”
“His doctor wants to insert stents in his heart.”
“That’s the last thing I’d expected you to say. Bud seems healthy as a horse. Jogs everywhere.” Noah put down the wrench he’d been holding. “Plays a mean game of tennis, too.”
Well now, that was odd. Bud hadn’t mentioned playing tennis with the bike mechanic. “I believe it. He keeps a treadmill, a weight bench and an exercise bike—the kind with handlebars that move—in the middle of his living room.
”
She handed over the folder, and as Noah opened it, said, “That’s just an overview, to give you an idea how I’ll develop your site.” Billie almost tacked on if I get the job, but thought better of it.
He gave the proposal a cursory glance and slid it back into its pocket. He’d told her that he’d given up trying to build his own site, due to negligible computer skills. Hopefully, she hadn’t jumped the gun, drafting it without first discussing it with him in more detail
She pointed at the big PC in the corner. “Is it already on?”
“Yeah….”
Billie pulled up her website, and as Noah looked over her shoulder, she explained how she’d built the others in her portfolio. She noticed that he exuded a clean, crisp scent that reminded her of the white soap her grandmother had been so fond of. He took a half step back. “Impressive. But you don’t have to sell me. Your reputation precedes you. I trust you to give me my money’s worth.”
Had one of their neighbors recommended her? Before she had a chance to ask which one, he picked up the wrench and walked to his workbench.
“When we spoke on the phone yesterday, you said something about watching me work. I don’t get it, frankly, because really, there isn’t much to see. I fix bikes. And sell them. But hey, it’s your time.”
“I know it seems odd,” she said, following him past the twin rows of shiny new bikes that flanked the narrow aisle, the racks of cycling apparel and shoe displays. “But when I’m dealing with a service or a business that’s new to me, watching helps me describe people’s work ethic.”
Using the wrench, he pointed at several packages on the bench. “Those are the parts for your bike. You’re welcome to hang around while I install them, but if you nod off from boredom, don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Warned, by a man who could very well be in hiding from a sinister past. A sense of unease settled around her as she tried to think up a reasonable excuse to leave.
Instead, she asked, “Do you ever rent bikes?”
“I keep a few that customers can borrow.”
“What about races and rides? Do you keep up with organizers, and send flyers to your customers?”