Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  Lindy gave a short laugh. “Well, as I mentioned the other day, Echo Ridge is a hotbed of action, a mini L.A.” She glanced at him and they shared a smile. “I thought first we’d stop at Kenworth’s, it’s town central. Actually, it almost went out of business until the store owner’s daughter connected with a New York City marketing wunderkid. Together, they saved the store.”

  “You would have done well with them, I think.”

  “Don’t I wish, I missed it all. But that’s what brought Shennedy into the mix. Now they want to add the second floor. So she’s helping to turn it into a 5th Avenue upscale shopping experience.”

  Although she faced forward, Lindy felt him study her again. “And you, do you like that kind of shopping?”

  Lindy paused. “It’s fun for a day, like playing dress-up and doing movie-star sightings. But at heart, I guess I’m a blue jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.”

  “Yes, I would have thought so too.”

  She hazarded a look at him, then reprimanded herself for doing it. His blue eyes fixed on her in a deeply interested gaze. It made her feel both appreciated and unnerved. The silent study didn’t bother him in the least, and Lindy wasn’t sure what to make of that. Her previous fast-paced business life didn’t accommodate such lingering reflections.

  As they entered the front doors, Lindy nudged Armand to view the decorated window on the right and the poster stand to her left. A six-foot high promotional poster stood of Armand with the cover of his most recent book, Deception & Deliverance, “available at the Book Nook just inside.”

  Lindy paused and smiled. “Nothing like a subtle welcome to Kenworth’s.”

  Armand flushed and took her by the elbow. “I’m sure there are much better sights to see inside.”

  Lindy stored that in her memory. For now, they stopped at Shennedy’s recommended spots— The Candy Counter for handmade chocolates by a girl named Reese, who shared her top favorites including lemon, and Lindy’s favorite, English walnut caramel. Lindy chose a few of Shennedy’s favorite, toffee butter crunch, while Armand purchased a small box for himself.

  Then to the famous soda fountain for an American hot pretzel and Lime Rickey— the latter obviously not as appealing to Armand but he graciously drank it. On to the men’s department where he found signature ties with an American motif ala Andy Warhol for Armand’s brother who currently lived in Lourmarin, a favorite town for artists and writers, with ivy-covered streets and small galleries.

  They toured the second level of Kenworth’s for a few minutes where the builders busily worked on sheet-rocking the boutique style strip.

  Throughout the morning they had chatted enjoyably, switching from 1940 movie stars to ski conditions. Surprised at the ease in conversation and the topics, Lindy could only chalk it up to the charismatic public side of him, although it didn’t feel put on.

  Driving to Echo Ridge Arts, Armand’s phone rang. The oddness of it struck her. Why didn’t he get more calls? Maybe that was the life of a writer. Or maybe it was a romantic interest. Lindy had no idea on that score what his life looked like. But for whatever reason, she had noticed he no longer wore the ring with a G.

  “Bonjour, Britta, comment allez-vous?” A laugh and a pause. “Sehr gut, und du?”

  Wait, was that German?

  “Alright, English it iz. Yez, a very good time.” He glanced at Lindy. “I am not bored at all, I spent it with Lindy at the shop of antiques. I was not much help but good at encouraging.”

  Lindy leaned slightly toward him and the phone. “Not true. If writing doesn’t pan out, he has a career as a shopkeeper.”

  He gave her a grin that reached Lindy’s toes and turned back to the phone. “We are heading to an art gallery. I will come tomorrow, it will be wonderful. À bientôt.” He turned to her. “She wants, how you say, equal time? To tour the library and what the fundraiser iz for.”

  Lindy chose her words carefully. “She’s forgiven you for canceling the reading?”

  His face darkened but he smiled. “Indeed.”

  Maybe it was notoriety he disliked. But still, to cancel an event? Extremely unprofessional, and confusing. It didn’t mix with his gentlemanly ways.

  Arriving at the two-story art gallery, Lindy didn’t have much to offer as it was her first visit also. Finding the owner, Jonah, she asked about the possible paintings that could interest Armand. Both he and Jonah talked knowledgeably and easily about several pieces from Jean Benayoun, a contemporary French painter, as well as some local pieces from Fay that piqued Armand’s attention.

  After the gallery, Lindy allowed the conversation to remain sparse, driving them to Chip’s Diner for an all-American dinner. At four o’clock the place was fairly quiet, before the dinner rush.

  Smiling at Armand, Lindy gestured to the red vinyl booth seats and old-timer-meets-1950s decor. “It’s an Echo Ridge classic. Shennedy brought me here my first night for chicken pot pie. It’s legendary for its healing properties.”

  Once seated, they gave their order to a blonde older waitress named Doris wearing orthopedic white shoes. Two chicken pot pies.

  Lindy sipped her lemonade. “Good choice on the pie. But dare I ask if that’s for the taste or the healing properties?”

  “Possibly both.”

  “I can’t imagine it. Is there by chance too much fame in your diet?”

  He played with his lemonade glass and shrugged. “Zis fame? It iz not what you might think. To be most honest, you are only as good as your next book.” He raised his glass and took a drink.

  Lindy paused before risking the question. “Where is your pinky ring? Did you lose it?”

  His hand froze in mid-air, then he slowly lowered it. “No. I did not lose it.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. What did she say to that?

  With a meaningful look he leaned in. “It was, how you say, a symbol of mon amour. Someone very special to me. A very beautiful woman, inside her soul too, I thought. But…” He paused. “We spent two years together, sharing our hearts, wanting the same things. She helped me very much with the— ” he gestured with his hands in front “bizness side of things, the scheduling, working with the publicity person from New York. At events she helped with the people, all of zat kind of thing. And I wrote. Parfait. And then...”

  Doris approached the table with their order. After thanking her Lindy leaned in to show her interest.

  “And then,” he continued, pausing as if to consider how much to share, “after all we had been together, she found being with the publicity person from New York better than being with me.” He took another drink from his glass.

  Ouch. “I’m so sorry. How long ago?”

  “It started at the sales seminar.” Double ouch. “I broke up for the first time with her six months ago. But our final…conversation…on the phone was last Wednesday.”

  Ah, hence the terse ride home from the airport Friday. And he was the one to break it off. Did that mean she had come back? Or had he simply held on?

  He ran a hand through his loose hair. “My writing, for months, it has how you say, stalled. And only yesterday was the first time I can sit and write many words at a time without the force.”

  “Yesterday?”

  He cocked his head and gave her a meaningful look.

  “I thought you would be exhausted.”

  A quick shake of his head. “No. Exhilarated.”

  Lindy ignored the hum of something stirring inside her. She sipped her lemonade as a distraction and was grateful that the waitress came again, asking if they needed refills. They focused on their food and commented on how good it tasted, even to Armand.

  “And what about you, Lindy Marrshan. Why are you here and not in L.A.?” He used a napkin to wipe his mouth.

  Thankfully, she had taken a bite of food and allowed herself to finish chewing before deciding what to share. “At first, I loved the life. Being young I’d landed a great job, rubbing shoulders with big names and making great money. And I felt we were
doing a real service and creating a new business model— getting people’s products and services to huge numbers of people with one-time energy.”

  “We?”

  She flushed. “Damon. Damon Hunter. My boss, then business partner, and near the end, something more. I found myself falling for him— with his consistent encouragement, I might add— but I had a few hesitations. Those turned into serious concerns. And those turned into non-negotiables.”

  “Ah.” He nodded thoughtfully.

  They sat in silence for a few moments. A part of her wanted to share more of what had happened, and yet she refrained. What did she even know of this man? Except that he felt like the kind of person you wanted to curl up with and gaze at the falling snow or share a crème brulee.

  “Allo?”

  Lindy blinked. “So sorry, what did you say?”

  A hint of a smile started. Armand folded his nicely formed arms. “I said, Do you need more help today at the shop? I have an hour or so to spare. It might be helpful to work more, if you are to open the shop next week. A lot is left to do, no?”

  Moving her plate aside, she nodded. “Yes, a fair amount. I need to finish making vignettes inside the main entry and do something with various pieces that sort of sit there. And then there’s the pop factor.”

  “Ze pop factor iz…”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Because antiques aren’t my thing, I’m still getting my feet wet. But we need a draw, a can’t-wait-to-go-in window display to inspire people to enter the shop. Does that mean a special antique, or a clown out front with balloons, I don’t know.”

  “Clowns?” Then he saw her smile. They would have to work on the humor translation.

  After he paid for lunch, despite Lindy’s protests, they headed to the shop. This time, she procured two white aprons from the back. With a few minutes’ discussion of where to start and what antiques needed moving or tagging, they worked together in companionable silence.

  From a discreet distance, Lindy occasionally watched him. The irony wasn’t lost on her. A tall, well-built cover-model handsome European man a la international bestselling writer hauling antique dressers at her whim. At times he paused and glanced around the room as if to gauge what would work best. Then he asked her opinion. Other times he would quietly hum bits of what she supposed was a French folk song.

  In the meantime, Lindy cleared the rectangular area in front of the woodstove to perfection, swept and polished, with only the two chairs from the other day in front of it. She paused, leaning on the broom, considering what to do with the bigger part of the space. A smile stole across her face, thinking to that quiet but lovely moment of his leaning down and kissing her hand…

  Armand stood beside her. “We make this a thoughtful place, no?”

  Lindy gave him a questioning look. To which he responded by pointing to a rolled up Channing Persian-style rug. She nodded in understanding. After moving the chairs, they lugged the piece over and unrolled it on the floor. The faded tufted wool held a swirl of reds and golds and held a host of history. An antique worn golden loveseat was moved to sit across from both chairs to create a makeshift square. To finish the furniture ensemble, a tufted teal ottoman begged to be used as a table while Lindy found a twin to the melon-colored French footstool for a foot rest.

  They stepped back to survey their handiwork. A cozy flickering fire in the woodstove window backlit the entire eclectic ensemble. Lindy had added a few trailing plants, book baskets with classics and even an 18th century Bible, and a low lit lamp. It worked.

  He turned to her, a content expression mirroring her own.

  “Ah, one more thing.” He walked to coat rack by the stairwell, retrieving something from his coat pocket and returned to her, producing a silver chocolate gift box. “I wanted to save it for later, a thank you for your kindness.”

  Speechless, Lindy processed what he said. These were from Reese’s candy counter. Opening the box, her mouth fell slightly open. English walnut caramels, her favorite.

  “Armand, that…that is so thoughtful. And sly, I might add.” The lightness helped her play down the warmth of connection spreading through her body. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “To tell a truth, I thought of something more. You want to get more business in this place, yes? What if here,” he pointed to the shop, “you sell some other people’s, how you say, patisserie? Perhaps the chocolates, and the apple cider pastries you brought to me the other day? In my country, the patisserie is a place to stop, have a café, to talk, to laugh. We eat something very good and pause to enjoy each other’s company.”

  Lindy clapped a hand on her chest. “Yes! Armand, how could I be so oblivious? It’s, how you say, parfait.” She attempted the rolled sound without crisp consonants. “Seriously, this space right here with these lower attached counters. They could have a tea tray of goodies or a stand with a glass dome over them.” She turned to the wood stove area. “I’ll bet Shennedy has ideal chairs at the Big Barn, like fun antique looking ones that we can set near the ‘thoughtful area’ in a few twos and threes. And that’s all we need. It’s a cozy place, made for looking around and considering a meaningful purchase.”

  With her hands on her hips, she turned to take in the shop with a new perspective. Yes, it fit. A tea shop addition, but simple, and food provided by other vendors so no need for a food handler’s permit and that headache. And more time for customers to peruse the goods and ask Shennedy questions and make a connection.

  A joy welled within her, a feeling she’d forgotten. It wasn’t exactly business, or success, or even problem-solving. It was something more that she couldn’t define.

  Armand stood close to her with a quizzical look. “You are happy, yez?”

  Lindy couldn’t refrain and gave his hand a quick squeeze then let it go. “Yes…very happy.” Ecstatic. “If you hadn’t helped me, I’d still be schlepping around here dusting who knows what and stressing about what to tell Shennedy.”

  She looked up at him with a smile, prepared to be casual. But he looked down at her, unabashedly. He slowly took in her joy, her face, her being. Lindy paused, unsure of what to do. After a heartbeat, his hand trailed down her arm and found her hand, gently squeezing it back. It only lasted a few moments, but she felt a shiver of a shift.

  Wood in the stove popped with a sudden sound that startled them both. Lindy gave a nervous laugh.

  “Well,” he glanced around suddenly, “you’ve got things very good. I must return to the computer.” He took off his apron and with a slight bow gave it to her, then he climbed the stairs.

  Several minutes later, while organizing the tea cart, Lindy caught herself humming a possible French folk song.

  Back at the house that evening, Lindy was surprised that Shennedy felt energetic enough to sit at the kitchen counter for chicken tortilla soup and biscuits, although still wearing her favorite worn pink bathrobe. She was just going on Day 4 of recovery, after all. Lindy finished putting dinner preparations away and sat down next to her.

  Shennedy held her spoon in mid-air. “Are you actually humming?”

  Lindy blushed. “Oh, just a little tune. Thing.” She reached for the salt.

  “Oh my gosh.” Shennedy put her spoon down with a clang. “I’ve been in a med haze and you’re having a fling. What is going on? No I mean, seriously, what is going on? You’re up early, you’re cleaning out the store room and actually happy about it. You even cooked soup tonight. And you’re humming. I’m such an idiot. Who is it? What’s his name? And it better not start with Damon.”

  Lindy toyed with her biscuit. “Your imagination is what’s going on. And soup is one of the five things I can make, okay. There’s nothing that way, nada. The shop is coming together beautifully, that’s all. I can’t wait for you to see it. Armand made the most ingenious suggestion today— ”

  “Ah ha!” Shennedy scooted her bowl to the side. “Dish it, girl. I mean, no surprise there, not to me. That Armand is ooh-la-la. But I thought
you told me he was a prima donna?”

  “What, I said that? Well, maybe, I mean, at one time. And wait, no, there’s nothing going on.” Which was technically true. No need to mention the nervous wriggles and studying glances and the way he made her feel seen, to her soul…Lindy felt her skin warm at the thought of it. “It’s just that, yes, I’m seeing another side to him. He’s been incredibly gracious with helping me at the shop— ”

  “— helping with antiques?”

  “Yes, his mother collects a bit so he’s familiar with it. He has ideas for what to do with them. He even knows what some of them are, heaven knows I don’t. Very sharp guy.” She stared at her soup, as if looking for clarity. “It’s so unusual— this tall, built, manly dish of a man, and yet he knows all this history and fine art. And savvy. I haven’t had a chance to tell you but today he suggested, basically, we cross promote and sell confections to make it like a tea shop.”

  She stared. Lindy gave a quick explanation of the idea. Shennedy nodded. “You’re right, that is genius and slick. Why didn’t I think of that? What else has he suggested?”

  “Okay, biz wiz, settle down. One idea at a time. But the bottom-line is that, strangely enough, he’s been a huge help. Who knew.”

  “Indeed. Who knew. And is there anything else he’s helping with? Perhaps mending a broken heart, if I may?”

  “Nope. Nothing of the kind.” Definitely not time to share her earlier “moment” with him. Shennedy would have them married by the Harvest Hurrah. “We’re friends and only recently that, I think.”

  A snort from Shennedy elicited a look from Lindy.

  “Besides, it’s too soon after Damon and too soon in getting to know the real Armand.” She paused, stirring her soup. “Something still isn’t right. Britta’s rescheduled him for the reading but I don’t know if he officially knows or is being intentionally vague. But either way, I can tell he really, truly, bone-deep doesn’t want to.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like the attention.”

  “I thought the same thing. But he’s a New York Times bestseller. Even his publicist would have told him if he wants to sell books he needs to play nice with the public, especially in this day and age.” Lindy couldn’t explain it but her gut said the reason went deeper, though no idea why.