Nora's Guy Next Door

by Jo McNally

  Nora came to a halt in front of the ugliest building in the village. Painted in garish orange, pink and blue, Caffeine Cathy’s was a sharp contrast to the more conservatively decorated shops along Main Street. The harsh colors were out of place in postcard-pretty Gallant Lake. As if confirming her thoughts, she noticed a large For Sale by Owner sign in the window. The café might be ugly, but the aroma was heavenly, and there seemed to be steady traffic in and out the door.

  The interior of the coffee shop was just as eclectic as the exterior. Wide, unfinished planks covered the floor, and the walls were original red brick, covered with artwork for sale. Mismatched tables and chairs, painted in a kaleidoscope of colors, were scattered around the long, narrow space. The counter was across the back, and Nora joined the line of customers.

  One painting caught her eye as she waited. It was a beautiful image of a tall galleon sailing calm waters at night, with stars twinkling above. But the ship was heading straight for a high waterfall that led to a waiting sea monster wrapped in flames. Disaster loomed, and no one on that ship had a clue. What an odd thing to paint. Why didn’t the ship have a lookout? How could the serene sea be leading to such a violent end? She turned away, feeling uncomfortable and knowing that was probably exactly what the artist intended.

  “Come on, Helen, this place is a joke.” An older couple was standing behind her. The man ignored his wife’s shushing, and if anything, he got even louder. His accent said New Jersey. “We could have gone to Ma’s for Thanksgiving, but no, you insisted we come to this godforsaken place in the boondocks. And they call this a coffee shop? I’d give my left arm for a Dunkin’ right now.”

  “Herbie, be quiet!” Helen, wrapped in an aging fur coat that had seen better days, smacked her husband’s ribs hard enough to make Nora wince. “The grandkids woulda’ been bored outta’ their minds at your mother’s. The resort has an indoor pool, and the ski slopes at Hunter are open this weekend, which is the only reason Joey and Mary agreed to come here with their families. So shut up and enjoy yourself.”

  Trying to save poor Herbie from any more spousal abuse, Nora chimed in. “You’re staying at the Gallant Lake Resort? I know the owners, and I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful weekend there with your family. But if you get restless, there’s a casino a little over an hour from here.” That news made Herbie smile, but not Helen.

  “Don’t you even think about going to a casino, Herbert Comisky!” The large woman rounded on Nora. “Thanks a lot. Now we’ll be fighting over that damn casino business all weekend long.”

  Nora stepped back, mumbling an apology. She was definitely losing her Suzy Sunshine mojo. What else could go wrong today?

  “Hiya, honey, what can I get you?” Nora looked at the tall, willowy woman behind the chipped and coffee-stained counter. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a thick braid that hung down her back, and she was wearing a shapeless tie-dyed dress that swept the floor. Literally. The hem was filthy from where it had removed dust and dirt from the old boards. But her dark brown eyes were kind and friendly, and Nora returned her smile, trying not to stare at the woman’s yellowing teeth.

  “I’ll have a cappuccino with a shot of hazelnut, please.” She looked at the dusty glass case sitting on top of the counter. “And I’ll take that last scone, too.”

  “You got it, honey. Give me just a minute.”

  Herbie spoke up again behind Nora. “Gawd, give me strength. That must be Caffeine Cathy herself. Did you see those teeth? She either drinks fifty cups of coffee a day or smokes five packs of cigarettes. And that outfit. She’s a freakin’ hippy...”

  Nora moved toward the register, determined not to let poor Cathy think she was with the obnoxious couple. A large poster was framed prominently on the wall behind the register.

  Life is about the journey, not the destination.

  Two thoughts ran through her mind at the same time. One was that it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. What was the point of a journey without a destination in mind? And the second thought was that this was exactly the kind of “greeting-card sentiment” Hot Produce Guy had accused her of that morning. She rolled her eyes at the memory, then saw Cathy dropping her scone on the floor. The woman shrugged when their eyes met, then she laughed as she quickly retrieved the scone and dropped it into a bag.

  “Three-second rule, right? That’ll be four-fifty.”

  The amount of grime on these floors wouldn’t qualify for a one-second rule, much less three. Nora opened her mouth to protest and heard Herbie snickering behind her. It wasn’t worth making a scene over, especially with those two as an audience. She’d just toss the scone and get back to Amanda’s before anything else could go wrong. She set a five-dollar bill on the counter. Apparently Herbie didn’t think she was moving fast enough, and he gave her arm a nudge. It was the arm that held the coffee she was raising to her lips. The coffee that didn’t have a tight lid. The lid that splattered coffee down the front of Nora’s light pink jacket.

  “You should be more careful, dear.” Helen was biting back laughter, and it took all of Nora’s strength to head to the door without responding. Random swear words were threatening to break free in her head, but she shoved them back in the corner where they belonged. Get back to Halcyon and hide for the rest of the day. That was the only plan that made sense at this point. Until she stepped outside.

  Never a champion at parallel parking, she knew she’d been lucky to find a double spot open near the shop that she could drive straight into. Except it wasn’t a double spot anymore. There was a truck parked behind the car and an enormous Cadillac sedan wedged into the space in front of it, leaving her about five inches to maneuver onto the street. Perfect.

  She did her best, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the Cadillac, the truck and the sidewalk. Finally those curse words broke free in her head, and she was mentally pulling a Hot Produce Guy routine, silently swearing up a blue streak. But she carefully kept the words to herself, even when her bumper nudged the Caddy just enough to set off the blaring car alarm.

  And who came running out of Caffeine Cathy’s? None other than Herbie and Helen, both yelling and waving their arms. She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, closed her eyes tightly and tried to summon all of her Southern breeding. She always said there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved with a smile and a plan.

  She just happened to be running low on both at the moment.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ASHER PEYTON WAS lost in the process of staining the cherry sideboard in the work area of his shop, rubbing the finish to a satin sheen. Back and forth he went with the ball of cheesecloth, working in long strokes with firm pressure. It was a task that took a lot of time and very little thought. Clapton’s bluesy guitar was coming through the speakers mounted on the wall, and Asher was totally in The Zone, focused only on the fine grain of the wood coming to life under his fingers. Until a car alarm went off outside.

  At first he figured someone set off their alarm by mistake, but when it kept going, he tossed the finishing cloth onto the workbench in disgust and grabbed his lukewarm cup of coffee. He walked to the plate glass window at the front of his shop to see what was going on.

  There was a tiny red Mini Cooper nudged up against a big Cadillac right in front of his shop. Whoever owned the Caddy had to know they’d blocked that little car in completely, since their car was halfway into the street. An older couple came running out of Cathy’s shop, waving their arms all over the place like idiots.

  Asher took a sip of coffee and watched in amusement as it took three tries for the guy to silence the alarm with his key fob. From all the yelling, you’d think the red car just totaled their gas hog instead of barely bumping it. The door of the red car opened slowly, and he caught a glimpse of pink.

  Of all the rotten luck. It was that nosy little brunette fr
om the grocery store. The one with the sweet accent and the compulsion to save people. The Fixer.

  She got out of the car and faced Mr. and Mrs. Cadillac with a tight smile. Her chin-length hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing bright spots of rosy red high on her cheeks. A small crowd was gathering—the joy of small-town life. Asher drained his coffee. The Fixer was having one hell of a day. First he’d barked at her in the store, and now this. He started to turn away. Her little parking drama was none of his business, and he had work to do. Then he heard Cadillac Man yelling.

  “Did you not see my car sitting right there? That must be a dye job on your hair, ’cuz you’d have to be a blonde to be this stupid...”

  His wife tugged at his coat sleeve, cell phone in hand. “Should I call the cops, Herbie?”

  Oh, hell, the last thing Deputy Sheriff Dan Adams needed was to get called to Main Street to deal with this nonsense. Before he could stop himself, Asher was outside. He glanced at the bumpers to confirm there wasn’t so much as a scratch on either car. The Fixer had rocked the Caddy just enough to set off the alarm, but not enough to do any damage.

  “Okay, folks, let’s all calm down, okay?” He stepped forward and faced the older man, forcing him to look up to meet Asher’s eyes. The considerable difference in their size and age wasn’t lost on the guy. Good. “Sir, there’s no harm done to your car. Your parking job didn’t leave the lady much room to maneuver. Why don’t you just pull out, and then she’ll be able to leave, too?” And Asher could get back inside his quiet shop, away from all these curious faces.

  The Fixer was handing her insurance card to the fur-clad wife while babbling at the speed of light.

  “I’m terribly sorry, but really, there appears to be no damage, except to my pride, of course.” She forced a laugh, but it fell flat. “Feel free to write down my insurance information, though I’m sure you won’t need...”

  The old guy snatched the card from her hand before she could finish, and Asher’s fingers curled into a fist. He didn’t have a lot of patience on a good day, and today was not a good day. He thought about Sheriff Dan and forced himself to relax again as Cadillac Man spoke.

  “Your name’s Randall?”

  “What? Oh, no. The car belongs to my cousin Amanda Randall.”

  “So you don’t even own this car? Maybe we should call the cops.”

  She put on a bright, tight smile. “I really don’t think that’s necessary...”

  Asher sighed. Miss Fixer was connected to the resort, which meant this jerk was wasting his time trying to cause trouble. He pulled the guy aside as if he was doing him a favor, going so far as to drape his arm casually across the man’s shoulders before digging in firmly with his fingers.

  “Here’s the deal. The Randalls own the Gallant Lake Resort. They also own half the waterfront. You’re not winning this one, pal. Just drive away and let it go, okay?” The words were spoken calmly and quietly. It was a technique he’d seen Dan use many times on hotheads, including during their first meeting, when he’d used it on Asher. To the casual observer, everything looked friendly, but Cadillac Man flinched under the pressure of Asher’s grip.

  The man nodded and shrugged away from him. “Get in the car, Helen. Maybe if we move, she’ll be able to figure out how to drive.” Helen harrumphed but obeyed, slamming the passenger door shut. The big car pulled away. People were dispersing when he looked to the Fixer. Why hadn’t he noticed how unusual her golden-brown eyes were before now?

  “I had that handled, you know.”

  Okay. That wasn’t exactly the thanks he’d expected.

  “You could have handled two people screaming in your face and calling the cops about driving a car you don’t own? Yeah, I could tell. Great job.”

  She squared her shoulders, tipping her chin up. “I had it handled. I was being nice, I was cooperating and I was working on getting them to like me. I didn’t need you to swoop in and save me.”

  “The only thing you were handling was getting the sheriff’s office called. And the sheriff’s deputy would have called Blake Randall, and Randall would have rushed down to resolve your little mess. With an audience. In the middle of town. Was that the plan you had in mind?”

  The red dots on her cheeks got brighter.

  They glared at each other for a heartbeat before something in her seemed to snap. “You know what? I tried to be nice to you in the store, and instead of thanking me, you insulted me and questioned my parenting skills. And now you show up here... Where did you swoop in from, anyway?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. Every time she said that word—swoop—her mouth formed a perfect little kiss. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed the hazel sparks for the first time. She had the eyes of a cat, and she was ready to hiss and spit at him.

  “You didn’t need my help this morning, and I certainly didn’t need yours now. I had it handled. I’ve got this whole damned day handled.” Her hands gestured wildly. He had a feeling she didn’t get worked up like this often. “Now crawl back to whatever cave you live in and let me get on with my perfectly handled afternoon.”

  Sarcasm dripped from her words, and he realized he was smirking at her. A smirk was just one step away from a smile, which meant he was in dangerous territory. But who would have guessed the sweet, Southern Fixer had a backbone?

  He reached up to touch the imaginary brim of the hat he wasn’t wearing and backed away, giving his best Clark Gable impression. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Because frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn about your day.”

  He turned away, pretty sure he heard her call him an “arrogant jackass” as he walked off. He was glad she couldn’t see the rare smile that brought to his face.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, a smile wasn’t even a glimmer of a possibility for Asher. He stared at his son in disbelief.

  “Marry her? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”

  He’d known for a few days that Michael had gotten some girl pregnant, and that was bad enough. But marriage? Michael had been dating this girl, whom he’d met snowboarding, but he’d never brought her by. And now that Asher knew she’d just turned eighteen in April, he understood why.

  He turned to face Michael and wondered for the hundredth time when his son had become this tall, bearded adult. Wasn’t it just yesterday Asher had been watching him play in the yard? The memory of two laughing little boys caused its usual slicing pain, and he clenched his jaw tightly to maintain some semblance of control.

  “You are not going to marry this girl.”

  Michael leaned back against the unfinished sideboard and shook his head with a pitying smile.

  “Oh, I’m definitely marrying this girl, Dad. And you are definitely going to become a grandfather in six months. Nothing’s changing those two facts. You just need to decide how much of an ass you’re going to be about it. Or not.”

  Michael’s eyes were calm and steady, but Asher could see the tightness in his son’s shoulders and the pulse pounding rapidly on the side of his neck. His own stance probably reflected the same. The tension had been part of every conversation they’d had over the past few years. But there was a difference today. There was something in Michael’s eyes that exuded a confidence he hadn’t shown since his brother’s death.

  Too bad Asher would have to squash it.

  “Oh, trust me, boy, I’m going to be a major ass about this. This wedding is not happening. You got some girl pregnant—that’s on you. If she insists on having it, you’ll have to support it, which I’m sure was her plan all along. But she is not marrying you.” Asher turned away, staring through the window of his furniture shop to the dark and silent street outside. “You need to finish your degree and start the career you planned.” He looked back and narrowed his eyes. “Have you even told your mother about this? Does your grandfather know?”

&nbs
p; Michael rolled his eyes. It was something he’d done since he was a kid. His baby brother always made fun of it, telling Michael he rolled his eyes so much that one day they’d just roll right out of his head. Asher’s teeth gnashed together again, this time sharply enough to make his jaw ache. His eyes landed on the bottle of bourbon on the workbench, and he headed for a shot of painkiller.

  “I called Mom this morning. She said she’s too young to have grandchildren.” Michael’s foot kicked softly at a pile of wood shavings on the floor. “She said Grandfather would pay for ‘anything necessary’ to make this ‘problem’ go away.” His fingers made sharp air quotes. “But here’s the thing none of you get.” Michael stood straight, and Asher had to look up just a bit to meet his son’s eyes. It was another unsettling reminder that his son was a man now. “This isn’t a problem to be solved. I love Becky. She’s it for me.”

  Asher scrubbed his hand over his face, then took a drink, letting the familiar burn steady him. “I thought marriage was out of style these days—why the big hurry to tie yourself to this girl in some ceremony?” He drained the glass and refilled it.

  “What can I say, Dad? I’m in love with an old-fashioned girl.”

  Asher snorted. “An old-fashioned girl wouldn’t be pregnant at eighteen. But a clever one would. Can’t you see she’s just using it to get her hooks into...”

  “Careful, Dad.” Michael’s expression hardened. “This baby is not an ‘it’ or a ‘problem’ or a scam or anything else but a child. My child.”

  Michael, more than anyone, had to know the thought of a child was no comfort to Asher.

  “What does her family think of this mess?”

  “You’ll find out this weekend. Her mom is in town, and Becky wants to set up a meet-the-parents brunch after I get back from spending turkey day with Mom in LA. I’ll meet her mother and you get to meet Becky.”