“Wait. I have a business proposal for you.”
Reed raised an eyebrow and returned to her chair. She took a giant sip of her coffee and waited for Miss Molly to deliver her proposition.
“You see, I’ve owned this business for a very long time.” Miss Molly gestured to the shop behind her. “I’ll give you coupons and gift certificates for your guests.”
“That would be lovely. And an excellent marketing strategy for getting people into your shop.”
“Yes, yes. That’s not all.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“I have an unofficial side business. I’d love to work something out with you, considering you’re in the hospitality business now.”
“Can you tell me more about your side business?”
“Miss Molly’s Matchmaking.”
Reed choked on her coffee, grateful she had already begun to swallow so she wouldn’t spit it out.
“I’m not sure—”
“No, no. I’m not looking for a Vegas room to send my prostitutes or anything. I make love matches. Sometimes tourists. Sometimes residents. Sometimes a combination. I have an excellent rate of success.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“So when I say that you and Rogan make an excellent match, it’s a professional declaration, not a personal opinion.”
“Let’s keep this professional, Miss Molly.” Reed wanted to smile at the audacity of a full-grown woman calling someone Miss Molly, let alone discussing faux business on a Sunday morning in a town that probably considered itself Utopian. But she put on her best business face and entertained her table-mate. Her legs were too tired from painting ceilings all night to want to walk away, anyway.
“It is professional, dear. Anyway, more about your love match with Rogan in a bit. I’d like to propose a partnership of sorts. You provide a discount for customers of Miss Molly’s Matchmaking, and I’ll send couples your way. I have a teenage granddaughter who is brilliant at making brochures. We could do some joint marketing. Maybe we could arrange to have one of your precious cottages designed with my clients in mind.”
“I appreciate the offer of this partnership, Miss Molly, and I will certainly give it some thought.”
Time to fly from this cuckoo nest.
“I know, I know. You’re trying to think of a way to dismiss my proposal without hurting my feelings.”
“I assure you, I have little concern for the feelings of others when it comes to making business decisions.”
“Very shrewd of you, Reed. I’m sure it’s crossed your mind that you need to be mindful of hurt feelings in a small town, though.”
Reed nodded. The woman could see through her, anyway. Why deny the truth?
“Anyway, about Rogan. He’s been through a lot, that boy, but he’s got a fighting spirit.”
Reed sighed. She had to admit, as much as one part of her wanted to avoid any conversation about Rogan, another part of her wished she had someone to confide in about her rollercoaster feelings.
“I may only have one eye, but it helps me to see plenty.”
Miss Molly laughed at her own wit.
Reed laughed, too, and relaxed as the tension drained from her sleep-deprived shoulders.
“Okay, you got me. Rogan and I almost had a thing.”
Miss Molly broke into a wide grin.
“But it’s not going to happen. Don’t worry—I won’t tell your future clients.”
“What makes you think this match won’t happen? I’m seldom wrong. Never wrong, actually. You could ask my husband, but he’s long dead and only answers me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was my one true love and will be with me forever.” Miss Molly held a hand over her heart.
“That’s a lovely thought.”
She meant it, too. She had always secretly dreamed about having that one true love. Surviving a marriage and a divorce had helped her to realize that only the most delusional of women could aspire to such a thing.
“We’re not here to talk about me,” Miss Molly said. “I need to hear why you think you and Rogan are not a match?”
Reed sighed, wishing she could get a refill of her coffee. She needed more caffeine than she had thought. Should have ordered the large.
“We’re opposites. He likes mess. I like order. He has a million kids, I’m not sure I want any.”
“You don’t like kids?”
“I do. At least, I think I do. In theory I love them. But in reality? Not sure I could handle the chaos.”
Miss Molly nodded. “Understandable.”
“Besides, Rogan is completely hung up on his dead wife, and who can compete with that?”
Miss Molly sat silent, seemingly contemplating the disaster of Reed’s confession.
When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. Reverent.
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
Reed’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”
“You think he’s hung up on his dead wife. But you don’t know what his relationship was like.”
“He has the kids to prove it. And he still wears his wedding ring.”
More silence.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, because as I said, he’s not my type.” Reed didn’t know why she was unloading all of this on Miss Molly, other than the fact that she was exhausted, emotionally depleted, and Miss Molly had a way about her that felt… therapeutic. In a probing sort of way.
“I think you’d be surprised about what your type really is.”
“I’m not a teenager. I’m not even a twenty-something. I know what type of person I can be with and what type wouldn’t work.”
“So you’ve been in many successful relationships, have you?”
Damn that one good eye. She could see way too much. How insightful would she be if she had two?
“Okay, you’ve got me there.”
“Reed Peterson, I don’t mean to interfere.”
Ha.
“But I was around when Rogan was with his wife. They may have been married when she died, but they were not in love. He loved her, but they were not a match made in heaven.”
Then why the wedding ring? She wanted to ask. Wanted to know. But it wasn’t her business.
“I’ll say no more. But just know—I’m never wrong.”
Miss Molly stood up slowly, her back slightly hunched as she turned toward her store.
“Consider my proposal and let me know.”
Reed watched the old woman hobble back to her store.
She sat back in her chair again, the air leaving her lungs in a long stream of defeat and self-deprecation.
Coffee. She needed more coffee.
She dragged her tired butt off the chair and started back toward the coffee shop.
Something across the street caught her eye.
In the city, she always kept her gaze blank and facing forward while maneuvering through the crowds. Here, however, the beauty of her surroundings and the quirky nature of some of the citizens had her breaking routine and looking around.
She recognized the young boy across the street. Rogan’s oldest. A group of kids, jumping and walking and high-fiving one another, moved away from him as his posture became more and more sad.
He walked a few paces along the outskirts of the common, then plunked himself down onto the curb.
She took a deep breath and continued to walk forward. It was none of her business.
Kids got picked on all the time.
She had certainly endured her share of bullying.
She wasn’t even certain she remembered the kid’s name. Who was she to want to offer comfort?
She paused to watch him as she tossed her empty cup into an artistically decorated garbage barrel.
The boy picked at his fingernails for a moment. He never stopped looking at his feet. After a few seconds, he picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt beside him.
She didn’t realize she had moved toward him until she had
nearly reached him. He looked up when he heard her coming, and then it was too late to change her mind.
“Hey.” She said.
“Hey.” He replied.
Okay, his name started with a D… Duncan? No. David? No.
“Dylan, right?”
“Yeah.” He continued studying the dirt, dragging the stick in purposeful motions.
“Mind if I sit?”
He shrugged.
She lowered herself to the curb, amazed to see he was actually drawing a picture of a building in the dirt.
“Is that a castle?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
Dylan sat up a little straighter.
“Were those kids giving you a hard time?”
What did she have to lose by cutting to the chase? She was no counselor. She had no idea how to talk to kids. But she knew he was in pain, and unfortunately, for him and for her, she was the only one who could offer a friendly face at the moment.
“It’s okay to talk about it.” She gentled her voice, figuring he wouldn’t want to open up to someone who sounded like a robot.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe not.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “But maybe it feels like one.”
“They just make fun of me because I’m stupid.”
No amount of warning could have prepared her for those words, delivered with such confidence, such authority.
“Excuse me? I don’t know you very well, but I can already tell that you are far from stupid.”
“Exactly. You don’t know me.”
“Dylan?”
He looked up for a splash of a second before casting his eyes downward again.
“Why do they think you’re stupid?”
“Because I am.”
“What does that mean?” she pushed. “Do you get bad grades? Do dumb things? What?”
“I’m ten years old and I can’t even read!” His words shot out like bullets from an automatic weapon. “That’s why I’m stupid!”
His face turned bright red and tears filled his eyes. He wiped them away with the backs of his dirty hands.
She didn’t know what to say. Of course he’d feel stupid if he couldn’t read at age ten.
“You’re a really good artist.” She complimented his dirt drawing. She meant it, too. She had never seen anyone bring dirt to life in such a meaningful way.
“Thanks. But that doesn’t help me on the stupid tests.”
“Yeah, the tests are stupid. But you are not.”
“Whatever.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Dylan. I barely know you.”
He looked up at her again, pausing in his drawing. She had his attention, and she had no idea what to do with it.
“I have a sister who couldn’t read when she was your age.”
His eyes widened.
“It’s true. She hated me because I did really well in school. I was always at the top of my class. She struggled with every single thing she tried to do academically. But she was very, very creative. Way more than me. I think that’s where her brilliance was.”
He still didn’t say anything.
“We found out when she was in sixth grade that she had learning disabilities. Dyslexia, specifically. Have you ever heard of that?”
“Yeah.” His face fell lower, nearly pressing his chin to his chest. “I have that, too.”
“Well, then, how on Earth can you think you’re stupid? Having dyslexia makes it harder for you to learn some things, but I’ve read studies that suggest that people with brains like yours are actually smarter than the rest of us.”
He looked at her in disbelief, then used his stick to scribble out his whole drawing.
“I’m not kidding. Real, scientific studies.”
“Can’t believe everything you read on the internet.” A small smile crept onto his face.
“Oh, so you’re a wise ass, huh? I’ll have you know that I’m a very discerning reader.”
Reed stood up, brushing the dirt off the back of her pants.
“Come on. I’m taking you for an ice cream.”
“Isn’t it sort of early for ice cream?”
“What kind of kid are you? And what kind of rule is that?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s never too early for ice cream.”
He bounded up and tossed his stick over the fence.
“I like your rules.”
Reed smiled.
“While we’re ingesting our morning sugar, I will make you a proposition.”
Suspicion darkened his eyes.
“Nothing sinister, I promise.” She held her hand up in an oath-taking formation. “I’m a really good reader. And I helped my sister when she was struggling, so I was thinking that maybe you could come over, do some work around my property, and in exchange, I could share some reading strategies.”
She knew pride when she saw it, even in the scrawny body of a ten-year-old boy. If she hadn’t made it a give-and-take, he never would have entertained the idea.
After a moment of him chewing his fingernail down to the skin, he finally nodded.
“Perfect. I’ll make a list of things I need done, and you bring a book.”
She tried to ignore Miss Molly’s knowing grin when Reed brought Dylan into the shop and allowed him to choose an ice cream bar from the freezer.
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you for meeting me here.” Cole Stanton exuded confidence, and Rogan could see why the ladies found him so charming. No wonder he had become so successful around the globe.
Rogan had agreed to meet him out of professional courtesy. Cole had only been back in town for a short time. As soon as Cole heard how his father had fired Rogan, he had been on an obvious mission to make amends. Rogan was over it. Self-pity wasn’t his game. But since Cole was an old acquaintance and they traveled in the same social circles, he figured he owed Cole the meeting he kept insisting upon.
“My father’s behavior toward you was deplorable.”
Cole cut directly to the matter at hand.
Rogan sipped his water.
“I have an opening in my company. I want you to sign on.”
Rogan shook his head. He didn’t take charity in any form. Even in the form of a job offer.
“Thank you for the offer. I’m okay, though.”
“What my father did was—”
“Yeah, it was shitty. But I’m over it.”
“You have protections. Rights. Under federal law, you could—”
“I’m over it, Stanton. Look, he did me a favor. I couldn’t work with my leg injury. He gave me a generous severance package. My kids have needed me more since the death of their mother, and work is starting to pour in for me.”
“He should have given you your job back when you were ready.”
“But he didn’t. And yeah, I was pissed at first. But now I realize I’m better off. He was a tyrant to work for.”
Cole nodded his head in agreement.
“No offense.” Rogan offered.
“Hey, I grew up with the dick.”
Rogan smirked over his glass. “Point taken.”
They ate their lunch over small talk and bouts of comfortable silence.
When it was time to pay up, Cole made his offer again.
“I’m not offering to hire you out of pity, or even to rectify my father’s mistakes. I need a good man to lead my crew. I’m cutting back on my own hours to spend time with Ava and our future children. Ben is pulled in many directions and can’t give the crews the hands-on guidance they need. I trust you in my place.”
“Wish I could accept, Cole.” Rogan paused. A few months ago, this would have been the answer to his prayers. But now, with deadlines looming over Reed’s head, he knew he couldn’t desert her. Nor could he allow his time to be pulled away from her projects—he had made a commitment and he’d see it through.
“If you’re holding out for more money, I can oblige.”
Roga
n swallowed hard over the lump that formed when Cole issued his new offer. He could use the money—no doubt.
“That’s very generous.” Rogan sipped his drink.
“Accept.”
“Can’t.” Rogan tossed his napkin to the table, disgusted with himself. He owed it to his kids to accept this offer. He owed it to his bank account. And he owed it to his pride—that long forgotten thing that had taken a beating over the past couple of years.
“I see someone is falling into the trap.” Cole smiled knowingly. “Can’t say it’s a bad place to be.”
“I don’t know what you’re yapping about.”
“Reed Peterson. She has you wrapped around her—”
“Don’t say it.” Rogan growled.
“There’s no shame in falling in love.”
“You’ve been engaged for a minute and suddenly you’re the expert?”
Cole laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Rogan shook Cole’s hand after they exited the diner.
Cole leaned in, quieting his voice, presumably so the town gossips wouldn’t pick up a new headline.
“What you did was heroic, Rogue. Not a lot of men in your position would have done the same. The fact that you lost your job because of my father’s misplaced loyalty is despicable.”
Rogan didn’t respond. He was sick of the whole damned situation. He had put it behind him—he wished everyone else would, too.
“It is what it is. Like I said, I’m over it.”
“You’re a good man, Rogan. I hope Reed appreciates you.”
Rogan changed the subject. “Good luck with that monstrous house you’re building.”
Cole laughed. “We need to be sure there’s plenty of room for all the little ones Ava plans to have.”
Rogan fiddled with his wedding ring as he drove away from downtown, reflecting on the emotions his discussion with Cole had evoked.
He had one stop he knew he had to make before he picked his kids up for their Sunday trip to the park.
Time for some closure.
***
Rogan slowed to a respectable speed and lowered the volume on the radio as soon as he turned into the gates of the cemetery. The ring he wore suddenly felt heavy. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to remove it quite yet.
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