“Good-bye, bed,” Lori said. “Good-bye, disco ball.”
“Good-bye, ’70s house,” Jake said. Then he turned to the love of his life. “Let’s go home.”
Join me in Fairview!
I invite you to catch up with me on social media and get to know all the women of Fairview. Learn what Fairview resident will find love next — you can even vote for your favorite characters and lobby for your favorite to be featured in the next book! For now, get to know Catarina. You met her when she reupholstered Lori’s groovy round sofa in her funky conversation pit, and you learned a little bit more about her when she played the violin at Lori’s housewarming party. She runs a successful business in Fairview’s struggling downtown, which is just on the verge of a renaissance. Most people don’t know or care about her unusual background. But her family has its secrets, and one of them is about to rock Catarina’s world — and help determine whether she will find love.
If you enjoyed your visit to Fairview, please consider leaving a review for “Kiss and Tell” on Amazon!
Catch up with Sophia
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Twice Shy
Small-Town Secrets: Book 3
Sophia Sinclair
Chapter 1
Catarina Loveridge woke to the feel of cat paws tapping at her face, as she did most mornings.
“OK, Matchka,” she said, and stretched. The small gray cat tapped at her cheek again.
“Yes, I know. You’re hungry. OK.” She slid out of her bed, naked, and pulled on the crimson dressing gown she kept draped across the foot of her bed. The cat jumped down and raced into the kitchen, waiting by her bowl impatiently until Catarina filled it. Matchka gave it a delicate sniff, ate one bite, and wandered off to the living room, where she began to groom herself.
“So much for you being hungry. You just wanted me to get up, didn’t you?”
The cat looked at her, cocked her head, and went back to the serious business of licking her left paw.
“I guess I’ll shower, too,” she said. “Got a lot to do today, Matchka. I’m going to tear into that ugly green sofa today. I don’t know why they want it reupholstered. It’s still going to be ugly even after I’m done with it. But it’s their money, right, Matchka?”
Matchka ignored her.
Catarina walked down the hall to her bedroom and hung the robe from a hook. She combed out her long black hair, which stretched nearly to her waist, and took a quick shower. Then she braided her wet hair, twisted and pinned the braid into a large knot on the back of her head, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. The sun was just coming up when she lit the gas stove and put a pot of water on to boil. In the meantime, she spooned loose tea into a cup, along with a bit of jam. She walked into the living room to check the orange tree that grew in front of the large plate glass window that overlooked Fairview’s struggling downtown. There was one orange left; when it was gone it was back to the grocery store for oranges. In truth, the oranges this little tree produced were a bit too sour for her taste, but she could compensate for that with extra jam. She rinsed and sliced the orange, adding one slice to her cup and arranging the rest onto a small plate. The water was boiling, so she poured it into the cup and gave everything a gentle stir. While that steeped, Catarina removed a loaf of bread from a wooden bread box and cut off a slice, spreading it with butter and more of the jam. She ate slowly, humming a tune to herself between bites. When she finished her bread, orange and tea, she tidied up the kitchen and walked over to the living room window. It was fully light now, but the streets were empty. In a little while, there would be more traffic. When she was a child, she remembered, the downtown had much more life. Then came years when it seemed no business could succeed. Nowadays, the little downtown was, if not thriving, at least coming back to life a bit. There was a coffee shop and even a bakery on this block, along with several antique shops and a few clothing boutiques. There were still plenty of shuttered storefronts, however.
Her own business, Loveridge’s, took up the bottom story of this building, where she had lived since she was a child. Her father had started the upholstery business when he and her mother had first come to the U.S., and she had taken it over several years before when her parents decided to retire and move back to Europe, after reconnecting with some relatives from whom they’d long been estranged. Her parents’ decision to move had surprised her; she had considered them fairly well Americanized and thought they’d been all but disowned by most of their relatives years ago. But her parents seemed grateful for mended family ties and happy to be back in Europe. They did still return to the U.S. every couple of years to visit Catarina.
Her father had been surprised that Catarina had wanted to learn upholstery. It was heavy work, and Catarina was a small woman. But she liked the idea of running her own business, and she liked living right over the shop. It was a convenient arrangement, and the work kept her strong and fit without any need to visit a gym.
She put on her heavy work boots and headed downstairs. The staircase delineated a strong shift in the appearance of the building’s interior. Her living quarters, full of light, plants, art and books, had a charming bohemian air to them. Downstairs, it was a functional workshop. She kept a few upholstered pieces of furniture in the plate glass window upon which the name “Loveridge’s” was drawn in swoopy gold lettering, but the rest of the space was functional. Tools, furniture in every state of repair and disrepair, and big books of fabric samples crowded the space, yet everything managed to look orderly.
Today she had a new project to start. It was an ugly green sofa with, so far as she could see, zero aesthetic value. Reupholstering furniture cost at least as much as buying new, so most people didn’t bother unless a piece was valuable or beloved. Why anybody would love this hideous monstrosity, she couldn’t imagine. Worse yet, the customer had chosen to replace the old fabric with a newer version of the moth-eaten green it now had. This piece wouldn’t be especially satisfying to complete. However, she gave the customers what they wanted. She sighed and got to work, flipping the sofa upside down with less trouble than anyone would expect from such a small woman.
She began carefully removing the old fabric, taking care not to rip it so she could use the old pieces as patterns on the new fabric. She would have to re-do the old springs and replace the padding, and in the end it would look like an entirely new piece — but would still look ugly, she thought. The woman who had arranged the sofa repair had seemed nice enough but had abysmal taste, she thought.
She was still taking it apart when the bell on her front door jingled. She seldom had an unexpected customer walk in her front door. Usually, people called and made an appointment before stopping in, so she looked up in surprise.
He was tall, with thick, dark hair that was a bit too long, a few curls nearly brushing his shoulders. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a white button-down shirt. He wore sunglasses, but took them off as he walked in, revealing eyes as dark as Catarina’s own.
“Hi, what can I do for you?” she asked, putting down the flat-head screwdriver she’d been using to remove some old staples. She reflexively touched her hair, noting it was still wet but well in place.
“I see you’re working on my mother’s sofa,” he said. “My sister arranged to have it recovered.” Catarina was a bit surprised that Serena was his sister. Serena was, she’d guess, around 20 years older than this man.
“Yes, I’m just starting it,” she said. “Is there any problem?”
; “Not at all,” he said. “She told me today that she had decided to have it recovered, and I just wanted to see what your plans for it are. Can you show me the new fabric?”
Now that was odd, Catarina thought. What was his interest in his mother’s ugly old sofa? But she just smiled.
“Of course,” she said. “I have it here.” She indicated another work table just behind her. On it was a bolt of ugly green fabric, very similar to the old fabric she was removing. She had started placing pieces of the old covering in a stack at the end of the table, ready for use in making new patterns.
The man walked over to the table and ran his hand over the bolt of material.
“Serena was right. This is just as ugly as the old stuff. Mom is going to love it,” he said, and laughed, causing Catarina to laugh along with him.
“It might not be the most beautiful material I’ve ever used,”she said. “But the customer — your sister Serena, you say? — seemed very happy with it. We did look through quite a few sample books before she settled on this one.”
“You must be wondering why anybody would want to keep this horrible sofa,” he said.
“Well ... something like that might have crossed my mind.”
“I wouldn’t be here if not for this sofa, you might say.”
“Now that sounds like a story,” Catarina said. She looked into the man’s dark brown eyes. They were so dark as to be nearly black. She wondered if he had Romany blood, as she did. If he added a couple of gold earrings and tied a diklo around his head, he would look just like the head of a Romany family, she thought. Matchka had awakened from her nap and was regarding the man with curiosity, meowing and repeatedly walking between his legs.
“I’m Catarina,” she said, extending her hand
“Remy,” he said, returning the handshake. Then he reached down and picked up Matchka, cuddling her until she settled in and purred. “And who is this?”
“That is Matchka,” Catarina said. “She seems to like you.”
“Matchka,” Remy said. “Does that have a meaning?”
“It does. It means ‘cat,’ actually.”
Remy laughed. “That sounds like a story.” His eyes crinkled in the most attractive way when he laughed, she noticed. Maybe that was what made her throw caution to the wind.
“Would you like a cup of tea? And then you can tell me everything I need to know about the history of this sofa.” Although she couldn’t imagine how knowing the history could possibly change how she worked on it, she thought.
Remy looked surprised, but then smiled. “I’d love a cup of tea,” he said.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Matchka will keep you company for a bit.” She quickly ran upstairs and put on a pot of water to boil. She looked at her reflection, wondered if she could rearrange her hair without looking like she cared too much about what this customer thought of her. No, she decided. But she added a tiny bit of lip gloss and powdered her nose. Then she loaded up a small lacquered tray with her grandmother’s tea set, jam and orange slices. She included the sugar bowl and a bit of cream, since she didn’t know how he took his tea. By the time she’d assembled all the ingredients, the water was boiling, and she started the tea leaves steeping.
She walked slowly down the stairs, careful not to spill anything or drop her grandmother’s tea set.
“That’s a beautiful tea set,” he said. It was, indeed. It was clearly an antique, beautifully detailed with swirls of color and gold edging. Catarina treasured it.
“Thanks,” she said. “It belonged to my grandmother. I think of her whenever I use it.” She put the tray down at the far side of the work table, away from the fabric. “How do you take your tea? I have my own tradition, but you might prefer just sugar and cream, or plain.”
“Usually plain, but I’m curious to see how you do it,” he said.
“This is how my grandmother made it,” she said. “With jam and orange slices.”
“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll try it. Was that her own invention?”
“My Romany grandmother taught me to make it this way,” she said, watching him closely to see if he reacted to word of her heritage. But he just smiled and watched her preparations.
“Now we let it steep for just a bit,” she said. “So you owe your existence to this oh-so-beautiful sofa?” She hopped up on the edge of the work table and crossed her legs, settling in for a story. He followed her lead.
“Well, I may have stretched things a bit,” he said. “But my parents married against their families’ wishes. Neither of their parents were thrilled by the marriage. She was from a strict and somewhat well-off family, and my father was a poor Italian whose parents didn’t even speak much English. They had hoped for him to marry a Catholic Italian girl.”
So that’s where all that beautiful dark hair came from, Catarina thought to herself. But she said only, “My parents married against their families’ wishes as well.” But Remy didn’t respond. He was deep into a story he had obviously told with relish many times before.
“They decided to elope as soon as he got off work on a Friday afternoon. They had it all arranged, but that day, he broke his leg at work. So there they were, all their stuff already packed up in the back of his truck and him with a broken leg. She couldn’t go back home, and neither could he. But they couldn’t drive off together, either. She wouldn’t think of going off with him unmarried. So they ended up calling his best friend, who took them back to his house. The best friend’s mother called in her own old priest, who barely spoke English. They were married with my father lying down on the old woman’s sofa, and my mother had to be told when to say ‘I do,’ because she didn’t understand Italian at all. And then they went to the hospital and he got his leg set. My mother learned how to drive that very day. There was no way my father could drive a stick shift with a broken leg. They say they drove pretty much the whole way to the hospital in first gear because she was terrified of shifting. Then she drove to the place he’d rented, about an hour away under normal conditions, all in first gear. People were honking at them the whole way, but they didn’t care. Dad was in a lot of pain but kept telling her she was doing fine. Can you imagine?”
“I guess that wasn’t the honeymoon they planned.”
“I would guess not. But my sister came along pretty much nine months later on the dot, so there you go. And later on, my dad bought this sofa from his friend’s mother. Whatever he paid was more than the thing was worth, I’m sure. But they kept it in their house my entire life, even after they could have well afforded something different.”
“And now?”
“Dad is gone, and Mom had a hip replacement recently. She’s having a little trouble so she’s in a nursing home, hopefully just temporarily. They’re doing some intensive physical therapy there. We’re hoping she can come home soon. So Serena thought it would be a good time to recover the sofa, which, as you can see, badly needed it.” He chuckled. “It badly needed it about 30 years ago, actually.”
“So that’s why your sister was particular that the job be done quickly.”
“Yes. We want to surprise Mom when she comes home.”
“That’s a very sweet story,” Catarina said. She picked up her cup and motioned to Remy. “This is ready now.”
“You drink it with the leaves in?”
“Yes. Back in the day, we’d read the tea leaves afterward. My grandmother knew how.”
Remy took a cautious sip. “Hey, this is pretty good. I’ve heard of lemon in tea, but I’ve never had it with an orange slice.”
“I actually grew that orange in my apartment upstairs. The big plate glass window lets in enough light to keep my lime tree and orange tree happy, believe it or not.” While he was peering into his cup, she took the opportunity to study his face. It was remarkable how he looked so masculine and yet so beautiful at the same time. Usually, a man who could be described as beautiful had something of an effeminate look to him, but that was not the case with Remy. At all.
His face was chiseled, but the longish hair and the very long, dark eyelashes and expressive eyes softened his appearance just enough.
“So, do you believe there’s anything to telling fortunes with tea leaves?”
“Well, I am of two minds. On one hand, no, of course not. It’s very unscientific. On the other hand, that doesn’t stop me from reading them anyway.”
“Would you read mine? Just for fun?”
“Of course.” She glanced at his cup. “Take out the orange slice, and drink the rest, leaving just a little tea behind. Like this,” she said, demonstrating with her own cup. He did.
“How’s this?”
“That’s fine. Now hold it in your left hand and swirl, like so. You want to turn it three times,” she said, and reached out her hand to guide his. She felt an electric shock as she did, and he jumped, making her think he must have felt it, too.
“Now set your cup upside down in its saucer.”
His eyes were glued to hers. She decided to lighten the mood. “I see many pieces of reupholstered furniture in your future. Many, many pieces. The complicated ones that are very expensive to have done,” she said, and they both laughed. “No, seriously, you read from the rim and work your way down. You look for patterns in the leaves, or for clumps that resemble certain symbols, which have meanings. This little bit here looks a bit like the letter L, do you see? So at this point, if I were doing a serious reading, I’d ask you if there is anything significant with that letter. Perhaps a lover or a business name.”
“I’m having a sofa upholstered by Loveridge’s,” he said.
“That clears up that!” she said. “Now, quite close here, this looks a bit like a flower. Do you see it?”
“Maybe? Is a flower good?”
Kiss & Tell (Small-Town Secrets-Fairview Series Book 2) Page 20