by JoAnn Durgin
“I don’t consider your general store a charity case, Isabella. Nor am I attempting to throw my money around to buy my way back into my sister’s affections.” Sidney’s gaze settled on her. “I might stay longer than a few days in Evergreen. In that case, I’ll need a bigger, more appropriate gift. Something lasting and meaningful. You said she loves the quilts, so that’d fit the bill nicely.”
“I’m sure Caroline won’t expect anything other than an explanation for showing up unannounced on her doorstep.” Back into her affections? What had this man done?
“Let me get this straight. Are you trying to discourage me from dropping serious money here?” Isabella couldn’t tell whether he was more irritated or incredulous.
“I certainly won’t stop you if that’s what you want, but I have a suggestion.”
Sidney squared his shoulders, those very broad shoulders. “I’m listening.”
“Why don’t you start with the paperweight and, if you’re still in town next week, come back then and pick out a quilt? As a parting thank you for your hospitality gift.” She lowered her gaze. “Something like that.”
Not a chance this guy would last until Sunday. He’d be stir crazy after a good night’s rest.
The corners of Sidney’s mouth curled. “Challenge accepted. I’m going to prove you wrong, Isabella.”
She met his gaze. “You can’t know possibly what I’m thinking.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea. I can read people well. It’s my job.”
Isabella suppressed her smirk. “If that’s true, then you’ll understand that Caroline will place more importance on the opportunity to spend quality time with you. No matter how long you’re staying. Exactly how much time are you talking?”
Be nice, Isabella. She hadn’t meant to sound rude to a paying customer. Sidney’s reasons for coming to Evergreen, or how long he planned to stay, were absolutely none of her concern.
“Depends.”
She should have known a lawyer would come up with such an ambiguous answer.
“I’m aware it’s none of my business, but I’m sure a Top Dog attorney from Boston can’t take too much time away from his important clients and cases.” Just because she considered him a bit arrogant didn’t mean she had the right to be smug. If she were honest, this was the first man she’d allowed herself to be attracted to since she’d left Hartford. The problem was, did it have to be this guy?
“I’ve turned over my current cases to my trusted partners, including Bryce. He’s more than capable, not to mention willing.” Sidney beckoned for her to come closer. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What’s that?” Isabella inched nearer to the counter.
His lips, so close, warmed her skin. A shiver ran through her.
“I’m running away from home.”
Chapter 4
Isabella stared at Sidney. “I see.” But she didn’t, not really. What did running away from home mean to a man like this? She didn’t know him, knew nothing about his life. She couldn’t help but be curious. He seemed to have it all, so why would he want to leave it all behind? Surely he was joking?
You did the same thing.
Isabella’s lovable but slightly dotty Aunt Clara had marched into her Hartford, Connecticut marketing firm in early April last year. Clutching her handbag with both hands, dressed in her Sunday best, Clara announced, “God told me it’s time to sell the store, and I should sell it to you, Isabella.”
Although Aunt Clara quoted her a decent price, why would Isabella want to sell her interest in the marketing firm she co-owned, jeopardize a solid relationship with a wonderful man, and leave her beautiful brownstone to move to a little town in Maine? No matter how quaint and charming, Evergreen might as well be Mayberry. Had Aunt Clara gone off her rocker for good this time?
Besides that, Clara had five children. Surely one of Isabella’s cousins would want to take over their parents’ store? She’d thanked Aunt Clara for the gracious offer, treated her to an early dinner at one of Hartford’s finest restaurants—where she’d tactfully turned her down—and then sent her on her merry way back to Evergreen.
In an ironic twist, Tristan—in his best placating, coaxing tone—had convinced her to reconsider. “Help your aunt out, Isabella. She’s older now and wants to enjoy her retirement, especially since your uncle is gone. Why don’t you buy the store and keep it in the family? You can hire people to staff it, or keep the ones that are there, and it’d give you some fun weekends in Maine.”
Tristan hadn’t said us, but you, a distinction Isabella should have taken as a sign that her life was falling apart around her, but she’d apparently been too busy to notice. Within a month of signing the paperwork to buy the store, everything in her life had gone south. Way south. So, she’d moved north with a small U-Haul trailer hitched to the back of her Toyota Highlander and a Maine or bust attitude. In essence, what had started out as a lark turned out to be her opportunity to reinvent herself and start again. All before the ripe old age of thirty.
Sidney retrieved the gift box and two bags of fudge. “Let’s do this already. Are you with me or not?”
Isabella didn’t bother answering since he’d probably known the answer before she did. “Hey, Tommy?”
“Yeah, Isabella?” His answer came from Hardware, his second favorite section of the store after Auto Parts. They’d received new merchandise this morning, and she hoped Tommy was busy restocking the shelves.
“Can you handle things here for about an hour?”
“Sure. Longer if you need.”
“An hour should be fine, but I’ll call if I’m running late.”
“Sounds good. I’ll hold down the fort.” Tommy came to the end of the aisle and saluted Sidney. “Hope to see you around town.”
“Same here, Tommy.”
Isabella darted into the backroom to collect her purse. It would be good for Tommy to take charge of the store for a short time. She’d left him in charge before but not during the middle of the afternoon. Not that it was a test but—as much as Isabella didn’t want to admit Sidney was right—she could use a break.
She stopped halfway to the front door. “Before we go, would you mind helping me move the pickle jar behind the counter? Even though Ned’s gone for today, I’d feel better doing it now.”
“Good idea. I’ll take care of it.” Before she could move to assist him, Sidney set his purchases on the counter and accomplished the task in short order. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that before the near-miss.”
She forced a smile. “Tradition. It’s my only excuse.”
“Maybe it’s time for some new traditions. New owner, fresh new attitude, that kind of thing.” Following her out the door, Sidney clicked a button on his key fob, and the doors of the sports car lifted in the air like a huge red bird raising its wings.
“That’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Trying not to gape, Isabella was impressed in spite of her resolve not to be wowed by the car. As a general rule, she detested using the word amazing, but no other word seemed appropriate.
“They’re called scissor doors,” he said. “It’s one of the car’s signature features.”
After climbing into the passenger seat, Isabella smoothed her hand over the luxurious black leather. “I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie and should be wearing a gorgeous, slinky gown to do justice to this car. With sequins and boa feathers.” Tossing an imaginary boa over one shoulder, she laughed.
“That’s a thought-provoking mental image.”
She’d led herself right into that one. After she fumbled with her seatbelt, Sidney demonstrated how it worked and then made sure her belt was secure. Although she felt like a clueless country bumpkin, he didn’t make her feel that way so much as her own sense of ineptness.
“Keep your arms inside the car until the doors are lowered.”
“Sweet talker. I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me other than at an amusement park.”
With an amused glance, Sidney walked around the front and climbed behind the wheel. “Glad the car brings out your sense of adventure.”
She should try to curb the silly talk although Sidney’s personality seemed to inspire her natural flippancy. At the marketing firm, her sarcasm and sense of irony had worked to her advantage. In small town Evergreen, some found her amusing. Others, not so much.
After pushing another button, he waited as the doors lowered.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen Caroline?”
“Four months.” He didn’t even have to think about it. After positioning his sunglasses, Sidney adjusted his seat belt.
Isabella drew in a quick breath, mentally kicking herself for not remembering that the Prescott family matriarch, Eleanor, had passed away from cancer four months ago. Caroline, Seth, and little Ellie—two months old at the time—had traveled down to Boston when they knew her mother’s death was imminent. At least Mrs. Prescott had been able to spend time with her only grandchild and namesake before her passing. Their father, Duncan, a well-respected attorney, had recently been moved to an upscale facility for dementia in the Boston area.
Compassion for the man beside her swept through Isabella. “Sidney, I’m sorry about your mom.” Perhaps it was best not to mention his father.
“Thanks.” The muscles in his jaws flexed as the engine roared to life.
From her friendship with Caroline, Isabella knew the Prescott family situation had been disjointed through the years. Old money, high expectations, and strained relationships did not make for an ideal family situation. The odds were high that the man in the driver’s seat had not experienced the same kind of happy home life she’d enjoyed in California. Not even close.
“Ready?” Staring straight ahead, his voice was even and steady.
“As much I’ll ever be.” She needed to lighten the mood. “You do realize you’re not an Indy 500 driver, right?”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” he said. “We can do this one of two ways. You can give me the address so I can program it into the GPS, or you can give me the play-by-play as I drive. Your choice.”
“It’s convoluted, so I’ll guide you manually. Have you seen those rural property deeds where the description says to turn at so many feet and mentions pins, trees, railroad tracks, things like that? The way to Caroline and Seth’s house has a lot of twists, turns, and odd markers.”
“Fair enough. Start by telling me which way I need to go from here.”
Isabella settled into the plush seat. “You’ll need to turn around, but don’t make a U-turn.” She pointed to the closest intersection. “Take the next street to the right, by the Grayson house.”
“That’s one thing I like about small towns.” Sidney smoothly pulled the car away from the curb. “You probably know the names of most people in town and where they live. Dropping by to check on each other is considered neighborly instead of invading someone’s privacy. People take each other homemade pie, sit on front porches, and talk. Really talk, whether it’s about important things or nothing. You have church socials and town festivals and, except for the occasional drunk or scoundrel, get along well. You’ve got each other’s backs and are there for each other in times of loss and stress. You mow your neighbor’s lawn, collect their mail, and watch over their pets when they’re on vacation.”
Isabella found his observations spot-on for a city slicker. “You got all that from me telling you not to make a U-turn? And a lot of people in Evergreen don’t take vacations.”
“Why not?” Following her direction, he’d turned the car around and now sat in front of the stop sign on the side road.
“No big reason except they’re content where they are,” she said. “No reason to see the world when we get so many tourists, especially at this time of year. A lot of Europeans come into Mahoney’s. They chat for a bit, tell us about their country, what it’s like to live there. They show us photos on their phones and impress us with their romantic-sounding accents. Okay, from here, turn left,” she told him. “Then go about a mile, and I’ll tell you where to turn again. You’ve never come to Evergreen since Caroline moved up here? Not even for a weekend visit?”
“Nope.”
“That wasn’t a criticism. And you seem to have us pegged, Sidney.”
“Nothing that wouldn’t describe a few hundred other small towns across America.”
She frowned. “That comment totally negated the nice things you just said. If I didn’t know better, I’d say—deep down—you like the idea of living in a small town.”
“I guess you could say I harbor affection for them. Enough to want to visit, anyway. At the moment, I’m wondering how long it’ll take me to get an itch for the city.”
He earned points for being honest. “You mean how long it’ll take you to scratch that itch?” Although she couldn’t see behind those dark shades, Isabella sensed she had Sidney pegged. As much as she could with someone she’d only met a short time before. “My guess is you won’t last until Sunday.”
“You’re a betting woman, are you?”
“No, not at all. I’m only wondering how much thought you gave to your whole running away from home plan.” She glanced at her watch—3:45. She’d met Sidney within the last forty minutes, and now she was riding in a car with the man. A serial killer wouldn’t ride down the main street of town in a flashy red car, would he?
“Then I guess you don’t want to know the wager Tommy made with me.”
Trying not to squirm, Isabella stared straight ahead. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” She stopped her foot from tapping the floorboard. “Although it sounds like you’re a betting man.”
“I work too hard to squander my money on trivial wagers. I should clarify and call it a challenge since it doesn’t involve the transfer of money.”
“You seem to like challenges, and I suppose calling it that does help it go down a little easier,” she said. Change the subject. Fast. “So, what kind of car are we riding in today?”
“Lamborghini. Aventador.”
“Aventador,” she repeated. “My bad. And here I thought it was a plain old Ferrari or Maserati. Tell me something. Why do men like cars like this? Speed, flash, ego, to get a woman? Be honest.”
“In some cases, all of the above, I imagine.”
“I didn’t ask about some cases. I’m asking you, Sidney.”
He glanced her way for a few seconds before returning his attention to the road. “In my case, it was a nice way to escape Boston.”
She shook her head. “No wonder you’re a lawyer.”
Sidney chuckled. “Be glad this isn’t an Egoista.”
Isabella leaned back against the luxurious leather headrest. “There’s actually a car with that name?”
“Yes, believe it or not. It’s a concept car developed for the fiftieth anniversary of Lamborghini.” Sidney’s gaze darted to her. “If this were an Egoista, you wouldn’t be sitting with me.”
She shifted in her seat. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. You sure know how to deflate a girl’s ego…um, make that self-confidence.”
“The Egoista is a one-seater car with a cockpit like you’d find in a fighter jet. You have to remove the steering wheel to get in and out. In other words, there wouldn’t be room for you.”
“Ah, good to know. I thought you were insulting me.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have explained.”
“I may not be familiar with many Italian words, but I can guess the name Egoista must have something to do with ego.”
“You’d be right. Selfish. Extreme hedonism.”
“Lovely. And what does Aventador mean? Or should I not ask?”
“Believe it or not, it’s named after a valiant bull in the ring in Zaragoza, Spain in 1993. The Aventador starred in one of those Transformers movies.”
“Interesting that a car’s named after a bull. Was it the good movie car or the bad car?”
“Antagonist.”
&n
bsp; “Figures since it’s big, bad, and…intimidating.”
Sidney shook his head. “I find it hard to believe that you’d find much of anything intimidating, especially a car.”
“I find it difficult to believe you know so much about this car if it’s not yours.” She glanced his way. “And I’m not intimidated easily. I was speaking more in general terms.”
“Like the lawyer species comment.”
She shot him a wry grin. “Do you think it’s possible we understand one another, Sid?”
“Perhaps. If you don’t mind, I prefer Sidney.” She could tell he was watching her behind those dark sunglasses.
“What’s your middle name?”
“Jefferson.”
“Sounds fitting. Very patriotic. Landon’s Bed and Breakfast is on the right.” Isabella pointed to the lovely Queen Anne style Victorian home as he stopped at the corner stop sign. They’d already passed the center of town with the post office, Town Hall, and Evergreen Park with its small gazebo.
He pointed to the top of the three-story structure. “What are those pointy gold things on the roof called?”
“With all of Landon’s charm—wraparound porch, lovely stained glass windows, turrets, balconies, beautiful landscaping—you want to know the name of the pointy gold things? As far as I know, they’re called finials,” she said. “That’s spelled f-i-n-i-a-l-s.”
“I didn’t ask how to spell it. I asked what they were.” Was that another chuckle?
“And I was firing back at you for the min-er-a-lo-gist thing. So, since I can tell you’re dying to tell me, what’s this challenge with Tommy all about?”
“I’m thinking it might be more fun to make you wait.”
“Stinker,” she said. “Continuing with our tour, Landon’s original structure dates back to 1856.”
“History buff?”
“I like town history as much as the next person, but the welcome sign above the front door also says so.”
He adjusted a setting on the electronic control panel. “The temperature all right for you?”
“Yes, but could you maybe lower the windows, or the roof, whatever this car does? Seems a crime to waste all this lovely fresh air.”