Octavia acknowledged the sentiment with a single nod. “Now, let’s get on with this fitting,” she said. “I need to instruct my attorney to stop stalling and give my husband his quickie divorce. It’s time for me to let go.”
Soon Sandra was kneeling, marking the hem at the bottom of the gown, while her client chattered about the latest happenings in Wintersage. The gossip featured women who were also customers, so she restricted her response to an occasional and noncommittal hmm.
“Oh, I was surprised to hear you and the Jacobs boy were back together again,” Octavia said matter-of-factly.
Sandra gulped, nearly swallowing the straight pin between her lips.
“He’s barely home from his navy stint, and you’ve already snatched him up,” her client went on, oblivious to Sandra nearly choking. “Can’t say I blame you, as he certainly is easy on the eye. Extremely easy.”
Rising to her feet, Sandra pulled the pin from her mouth. “You’re mistaken,” she said. “Isaiah Jacobs is in town, but we’re not together.”
Since the night of the Halloween party, she and Isaiah had been careful. They hadn’t wanted their parents or anyone else to see them together and get the wrong idea about their relationship. Except for early-morning walks on the beach, they hadn’t been anywhere together publicly in Wintersage.
The two of them had continued the nightly cooking sessions, of course, in preparation for the big Thanksgiving showdown. They’d also continued their sessions between the sheets, but Sandra knew her bedroom walls weren’t talking.
“Are you sure about that?” Octavia raised a well-groomed eyebrow.
No way she could know about them, Sandra thought. Like Vicki, her client had simply heard about her and Isaiah’s brief chat at the Halloween party, and jumped to conclusions.
It was time to set her straight, before this went any further.
“I’m positive.” Sandra matched that raised brow with one of her own.
The knowing smile on Octavia’s face said she wasn’t buying it. “That’s strange,” she said easily, then named another of Sandra’s clients, one of Wintersage’s most notorious gossips. “According to her, the two of you looked very much together at an art exhibit in Boston.”
The Modern Furniture as Art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts she’d accompanied Isaiah to last weekend.
Damn, Sandra thought. Her mom was crazy about Isaiah. If she got wind of this, she’d be on the phone with Janelle trying to plan a wedding, a wedding that would never take place.
Sandra exhaled and decided the best tactic would be to enlist her client’s help in squashing the rumors before they reached Isaiah’s folks, or even worse, Nancy Woolcott.
She briefly explained that she and Isaiah were simply friends taking in an art exhibit. “That’s all there is to it,” Sandra said. “So I’d really appreciate you using your influence to put an end to any misleading gossip.”
Octavia shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, dear, but I expect it’ll be difficult to contradict what people have seen with their own eyes.”
“I don’t understand,” Sandra said.
The entire town couldn’t have seen them at the exhibit, and she knew Janelle and Vicki wouldn’t betray her confidence.
“She snapped a picture of one of the pieces on display, and managed to capture the two of you holding hands in the background. It’s on her Facebook page,” Octavia said.
“Damn.” This time Sandra muttered the word aloud.
Octavia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Unfortunately, in this day and age, a cell phone camera and social media are a nosy town’s best friends.”
* * *
Isaiah sat behind his father’s desk at the headquarters of Martine’s Fine Furnishings, examining the company’s profit and loss statements, but not finding the answer to his question in the numbers.
Why?
Despite his wealthy roots, Isaiah had supported himself all his adult life. So he wasn’t oblivious to the recession. However, as the economy recovered in the New England area, profits at Martine’s had remained stagnant, and the company had laid off nearly fifty workers over the past two years.
His parents, due back from Orlando at the end of the week, had called the company’s dwindling earnings simply a rough patch. Martine’s cash position was healthy enough to withstand it. Still, an answer to Isaiah’s question both plagued and evaded him.
Why?
He pushed back from the heavy oak desk that had once belonged to his mother’s grandfather, and rose from the leather executive chair. One thing was for sure—he wasn’t going to find out what he wanted to know sitting in this ivory tower. It was time to put boots on the ground.
He picked up the phone and punched in the extension for the warehouse. “Is Anthony Green working today?”
Moments later, Tony came on the line.
“Have the assistant supervisor take over your shift, and meet me in my father’s office,” Isaiah said. “I need your help.”
Isaiah grabbed his overcoat. Bypassing the elevator, he took the stairs down the three flights to the first floor. He met his old teammate crossing the lobby.
“I’d heard you were working out of your parents’ offices, but after what you said a few weeks ago I wasn’t sure what to believe,” Tony said.
“Take a ride with me up to Nashua.” Isaiah named the location of Martine’s largest store, just across the New Hampshire border. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
As the two walked to the spot reserved for his parents’ cars in the company lot, Tony stopped in his tracks. He frowned at Isaiah’s truck.
“I thought I was imagining things the first time I saw you in it, but this is the same beater we rode around in back in high school,” he said. “Don’t your folks have a spare BMW or Benz sitting in their garage?”
“I prefer mine.” Isaiah opened the driver’s side door. He’d sold the small car, which he’d almost had to fold himself in two to drive, before he’d left Italy. Since he was home for only a few weeks, there was no real reason for him to purchase a new vehicle.
Besides, he’d missed his old truck.
Tony settled into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt over his protruding gut. “Folks are going to think I hitched a ride with a hillbilly,” he grumbled.
Isaiah threw his head back and laughed, remembering his father uttering the same words on their trips to the radiation center.
“So what’s the deal with Martine’s?” Tony asked. “First you say you aren’t taking it over, but you’re in your parents’ offices and they’re nowhere around. Then there’s the rumor circulating about your folks selling.”
Isaiah accelerated on the entrance ramp leading to the highway. “It’s not a rumor. They are selling the business.”
Tony whistled through his teeth. “I knew business has been down, but I didn’t see that coming,” he said. “Your folks sleep, eat and breathe Martine’s.”
“That’s exactly why they decided to sell.” Isaiah explained that his parents were looking forward to spending time together and enjoying the fruits of their labor after years of devotion to the company.
“What does this mean for my job?”
“I wish I had a better answer for you, but I honestly don’t know,” Isaiah said. “There were layoffs even before they decided to sell. I’m sure my folks will do their best to help their present employees keep their positions, but they can’t predict or control what a new buyer will do.”
He switched lanes and caught his old classmate’s shrug in his peripheral vision.
“So what are we doing now?” Tony asked.
“Satisfying my curiosity,” Isaiah said. “I’ve been over the books, and I’m having a hard time figuring out how come sales are still soft in spite of the economy improving.”
“We’re delivering regularly to the more affluent towns, but it’s gradually slowed in middle-and working-class areas,” Tony said.
Isaiah nodded. “I want to visit a few of the stores this week, starting with Nashua and Merrimack, and see if I can get a feel for what’s going on,” he said. “You’ve worked at Martine’s for nine years, so you’ll have insight into things I might miss. Besides, I trust you and your judgment.”
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Located just across the state line and near the Pheasant Lane Mall shopping center, their first stop was one of the company’s most profitable stores, because of New Hampshire’s lack of sales tax. However, even its once robust sales were slipping.
They were greeted by a friendly salesman moments after walking in. Isaiah told the man they were just browsing, and he gave them their space, but let them know he was nearby if needed.
As they browsed the showroom, they were approached periodically by unobtrusive salespeople offering them a drink or to answer any questions.
“The service doesn’t appear to be a problem,” Isaiah said, more to himself than to Tony. Then again, the place didn’t seem to have many customers.
He’d initially expected that inattentive service might be turning off potential customers. That certainly didn’t appear to be the case here, and the staff had no idea of his family ties to the company.
Isaiah walked around the showroom, taking in the heavy, ornate furniture. They were well-made, quality pieces, but while some of the same furniture graced his parents’ large house, it was hard for him to picture it in an average home. Most of it looked more suited for a museum display than actual use.
He sat on one of the sofas of a living room set. Frowning, he turned over the price tag.
Pushing himself off the hard upholstered cushion, he walked over to Tony, who was looking at a bedroom set.
“You see many orders for this one at the warehouse?” Isaiah asked.
“Not really.”
“I’m not surprised. It looks like it belongs in a nineteenth-century English manor.”
Tony scanned the huge matching pieces. “Also, I don’t think most folks have a master bedroom big enough to accommodate the entire set.”
“You get a generous employee discount. You have any Martine’s furniture in your house?”
His old classmate looked down at his shoes.
Isaiah sighed. “Come on, man. I’m asking you as a friend.”
Tony shook his head. “The wife doesn’t like it. She thinks it looks like the stuff in her grandma’s house.”
As if on cue, the bell over the front door chimed and a white-haired couple walked in. A salesman accompanied them to the dining room sets.
“I see your wife’s point.” Isaiah thought of Sandra’s bright, contemporary furnishings and couldn’t help comparing them to the pieces his family’s firm sold.
Martine’s furniture was beautifully crafted, but it was too heavy, too ornate, too big and too impractical for the average customer. He revealed his family ties to the staff and spoke with a few of them. The conversations gave him an idea of what they were up against trying to sell the stuff.
One of the store’s top salespeople summed it up. “Most of the newlyweds and new home owners walk in, take one look at our furniture and walk right back out the door.”
Isaiah drove north to the Merrimack store, where he and Tony encountered a nearly identical scenario.
“Find what you were looking for?” his friend asked on the drive back to Wintersage.
Isaiah nodded. “But I get the feeling all I had to do was ask you in the first place.”
“Don’t get me wrong, your folks are good people to work for and they’ve been fair with me,” Tony said. “However, my opinion is rarely sought out on anything but stock and deliveries.”
If Isaiah were running Martine’s that would be one of his first changes. He’d also clean house at the company’s design department and start from scratch with fresh talent and new ideas.
However, it was a moot point. He was there just a few more weeks, and he’d only wanted to figure out what was going on with the company’s dwindling bottom line. Mission accomplished. He’d tell his parents what he’d found out, and they could do whatever they saw fit with the information.
Isaiah braked at the tollbooth at the southbound entrance to the turnpike and paid the fare.
“So I take it you’re still planning to leave Wintersage in a few weeks?” Tony asked.
Isaiah nodded. “The day after Thanksgiving.”
“Does that mean Sandra is leaving with you?”
The truck swerved slightly as Isaiah did a double take. Where in hell had that come from? With the exception of her girlfriends, no one knew about him and Sandra.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “But why do you ask?”
Tony shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I saw a pic of you two together on one of the social-media sites...”
“Whoa,” Isaiah said, knowing his friend had to be mistaken. They hadn’t been anywhere together in Wintersage, and they definitely hadn’t posed for a photo. “I’m not sure who was in the picture you saw, but it definitely wasn’t me and Sandra.”
“Well, it certainly looked like you two.”
Isaiah faced the road in front of him, not wanting the smile on his face, which he had every time he as much as thought about Sandra, to give him away. “Then it couldn’t have been recent,” he said confidently.
Tony dug into his coat pocket and retrieved his phone. He swiped at the face of it and then held it up.
Isaiah glanced at the screen.
It was them, all right. They were indeed holding hands, and from his expression, it looked as if he couldn’t wait to get Sandra back home and to bed.
Again, Isaiah had to silently admonish himself. It wasn’t his home or his bed, even though he’d slept beside her nearly every night since they’d laid eyes on each other on Halloween. The arrangement hadn’t been planned or even discussed between them; it came into being because they both wanted it night after glorious night.
“So are you going to continue to deny it?” Tony asked.
Screw it, Isaiah thought. While neither of them had wanted their families jumping to the wrong conclusion and mistaking their relationship for a long-term commitment, he and Sandra were both adults. Whatever they did or didn’t do was nobody’s business but theirs.
“We’re just old friends,” Isaiah said.
He caught Tony’s raised brow out the corner of his eye. “Sandra Woolcott is fine as hell,” his old classmate said. “You gonna be able to say goodbye to that in two weeks?”
Isaiah nodded. It wouldn’t be easy to leave her again, but he would.
However, he didn’t want to think about leaving now.
All he wanted to do was get back to Wintersage, because tonight he and Sandra were making sweet potato casserole.
Chapter 12
“Are you sure about this?”
Sandra heard Isaiah ask the question from the bedroom as she checked her appearance in her bathroom mirror. She plucked a bobby pin from the vanity and stuck it in her hair to anchor her updo.
“Not really, considering it’s the last Saturday before Thanksgiving, and I need another practice run on the turkey.” She shook her head at her reflection, remembering their last burned-on-the-outside, frozen-on-the-inside culinary effort. “But Janelle’s one of my best friends, and I need to at least put in an appearance at her father’s victory party. We won’t stay long.”
“You talk to your brother?”
Sandra pulled a red lipstick fro
m her makeup bag. “Jordan was invited, but he’s not coming. Says he’s been preoccupied with the campaign for months and needs to spend time with his son.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Isaiah said. “Is he still considering contesting the election results?”
Sandra spritzed her favorite perfume on the pulse point at her neck. “He’s already filed the petition. He’s waiting for it to be certified by the commonwealth’s election division. I expect that bomb to drop any day now.” She pivoted in the mirror to make sure her form-fitting, backless, red lace dress was on point. “Meanwhile, I’m going to enjoy a pleasant evening at the party Janelle worked hard planning for her dad.”
Emerging from the bathroom, Sandra froze at the sight of Isaiah dressed in a dark suit and pristine white shirt. He’d eschewed the formality of a tie, and the open top buttons of his shirt revealed a hint of the broad chest she used as a pillow every night.
The man looked good enough to eat, and Sandra could hardly wait to get him back here for another taste.
“Wow.” His eyes rounded. “I’m sure you think it’s just a line I use to get into those lace panties of yours, but I’ve really never seen a woman more beautiful than you.”
Already in her stilettos, Sandra didn’t have to stretch far to plant a kiss on his lips. “By now you should know you don’t need a line.” She wiped the red lipstick print off his mouth with her thumb. “One look from you melts the panties right off me.”
Isaiah inclined his head toward the bed they’d reluctantly abandoned to get ready. “Are you absolutely sure we need to show our faces at this party?”
Sandra followed his gaze. “We won’t stay long,” she said. “And since everyone thinks we’re together now anyway, there’s no use going through the pretense of showing up separately.”
He exhaled. “I know. My folks have been on my case, ever since they got back from their weekender in Myrtle Beach, to have you over to the house.”
“Tell me about it. My dad is hoping Dale Mills will miraculously grow on me, but my mother has been grilling me about our nonrelationship since she saw the photo of us together at the museum.”
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