“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” The girl finally reached out and grabbed it and shoved it into her messenger bag.
“How much does she owe you?” Spence reached into his wallet with what one of the women’s magazines had once declared the sexiest smile in sports.
If she had known Spence Gregory would be eating some of her fudge, she might have had second thoughts about tossing it around indiscriminately.
“She said I didn’t owe her anything. It’s a gift to welcome us to town,” Peyton stated.
Spence looked just as stunned by the gesture as his daughter had. “Wow. Thanks.”
He should be astonished. Charlotte sincerely doubted anybody in town would be standing with open arms to welcome back their native son. As far as many people were concerned, Spence Gregory had taken the clean, charming image of Hope’s Crossing and, as her brothers might have said, hawked a loogie all over it.
“Wow. Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome,” she lied gruffly.
His smile deepened as he gazed at her without a trace of recognition. There was a certain light in those hazel eyes, something bright and warm and almost...appreciative.
The nerves in her stomach sizzled. Oh, how she would have loved to be the recipient of that kind of look from him when she was fifteen. Back then—okay, even as recently as a year ago—she never would have dreamed it was ever within the realm of possibility.
Instead of making her giddy, having Spence Gregory smile at her now, after all this time, only infuriated her.
She deliberately turned away from him to his daughter. “Peyton, come back anytime. I’ll see what I can do about the cinnamon fudge.”
The girl gave her a hesitant smile that meant far more than her father’s well-practiced one. As she did, Charlotte became aware that the browsing couple that had been in her store for what felt like hours was in the middle of a whispered argument.
Finally the husband stepped forward. “You’re Smoke Gregory, aren’t you?”
Spence stiffened, his friendly smile melting away. “Yeah,” he said tersely.
“I knew it. Didn’t I tell you I knew it?” he crowed to his wife. “And you said he wouldn’t dare show his face in public!”
“Darwin, hush!” she said, her face turning scarlet.
Spence had gone completely rigid, a hard, solid block of granite in the middle of her store.
“Well, I just want you to know, we’re big baseball fans. We love the Pioneers. We live in Pendleton and drove to Portland several times just to watch you play.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. You were a darn good ballplayer. Shame about everything else.”
“Isn’t it?” he bit out.
“And for what it’s worth,” the woman said, her face still red, “we don’t think you killed your wife.”
Charlotte could only stare at the couple, appalled, as what little color was left in Peyton’s pale features seeped away like spring runoff.
Fury sparked in Spence’s gaze and Charlotte shivered at the heat of it. He placed a big hand on Peyton’s shoulder, who went taut.
“Good to know,” he said coldly.
“Could we have your autograph?” the woman asked in a rush. “Our grandson followed your whole career. Had a poster on his bedroom wall and everything, right up until...” Her voice trailed off at something she saw in Spence’s dark features.
After a moment, he seemed to take a deep breath. He lifted his hand from Peyton’s shoulder. To Charlotte’s astonishment, he managed to look almost calm.
“Do you have anything for me to sign?”
After an awkward pause, the husband of the couple grabbed one of Charlotte’s printed Sugar Rush napkins and thrust it at him, along with one of the pens she kept by the register in a pretty beaded canister she had made.
Spence used the countertop to sign the napkin with a flourish. From her vantage point, she managed to read the message upside down. Generic and succinct. Best wishes. Spencer Gregory. Along with the number forty-two he had famously worn through more than a decade as a starting pitcher for the Portland Pioneers.
The wife gripped the napkin and Charlotte realized they had dropped all their purchases atop a bin full of root beer barrels. They left the store without buying anything, leaving behind a vast, echoing silence in the store.
Charlotte never expected she would have a moment’s sympathy for Spence Gregory, not after everything, but in light of that painful encounter, she couldn’t help a little tingle of dismay. Was it like that for him everywhere he went?
“Are you ready to go?” he asked his daughter.
She nodded and headed for the door.
“Thanks again,” Spence said. He cocked his head, his gaze narrowed. “You look familiar. I have a feeling I’m going to be saying that a lot now I’m back in Hope’s Crossing. Did I know you when I lived here before?”
For a horrifying moment, Charlotte didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t recognize her. How could she tell him they’d sat across from each other a couple nights a week at her dad’s café for years? That she spent night after night helping him with his English homework?
That he had once broken her heart into a million tiny glass shards?
She had to say something, even though she knew perfectly well what his reaction would be.
“Yes,” she muttered.
He scrutinized her harder, obviously trying to place her. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me out.”
She didn’t have to do anything. Just for a moment, she wished one of her older brothers was around to politely encourage him to leave her store. They were just as big, just as tough as Spence Gregory. In fact, she thought Jamie might even be bigger.
“Charlotte Caine,” she finally murmured.
Just as she expected, his eyes widened with disbelief first and then astonishment.
“Char... Of course. Wow. You look fantastic!”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice clipped.
“Really fantastic. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“You didn’t.” She pointed out the obvious.
“True enough.”
“I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you. Somehow I hadn’t heard you were coming back.”
“You mean nobody has started a petition yet to keep me away?” He said the words in a joking tone but both of them knew it wasn’t far from the truth.
“Not that I’ve signed yet.”
Though his mouth quirked up with amusement at her pointed reply, she thought she saw just a hint of bleakness in his gaze. Again, she felt that flutter of unexpected sympathy.
“Harry Lange brought me in to be the director of the new recreation center in town,” he answered. “I’m starting tomorrow.”
Of course. She should have known Harry Lange was somehow involved. The town’s richest citizen didn’t seem happy unless he was stirring up trouble somewhere. Still, this seemed a bold move, even for him. Why would he select a man for the job who had, by the skin of his teeth, just barely avoided going to prison for supplying steroids and prescription drugs to his teammates? And whose wife died under mysterious circumstances the very day those charges were thrown out?
“I suppose getting engaged at seventy years old can make a man lose a few brain cells,” she answered.
The words tasted ugly on her tongue and she wanted to call them back. Usually she liked to gi
ve people the benefit of the doubt, but she just didn’t have it in her to be objective when it came to Spence Gregory.
His mouth tightened and he looked almost hurt, though she knew that couldn’t be true. What did he care if she welcomed him with somewhat less-than-open arms?
“Apparently,” he murmured. “Yet here I am. For the next six months, anyway. It’s a temporary position.”
That was something, anyway. She could endure anything for six months, even having him back in the same zip code.
“Let’s go, Peyton.”
“Okay.”
Peyton looked subdued instead of angry now and Charlotte directed her sympathy where it rightfully belonged—to a young girl who had lost her mother far too young and spent her days under the cloud of her father’s scandal.
Having to live with the man many considered responsible for her mother’s death couldn’t be an easy situation for a young girl.
She gave her a warm smile. “See you around, Peyton. It was really nice to meet you. Enjoy the fudge.”
“I’m sure I will,” she mumbled. She pushed open the door and walked out into the summer afternoon.
Spence hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something else, but he finally lifted a hand in a wave and followed his daughter.
After the door closed behind them, Charlotte pressed a hand to her stomach, fighting the urge to rush over and flip the sign to Closed, lock the door and sag against the counter.
She liked to think she was a pretty good person most of the time. She volunteered at the animal shelter, she always paid her taxes on time, she tried to throw a little extra into the collection plate at church on Sundays.
She didn’t consider herself petty or vindictive. She was friendly with just about everyone in town, even the cliquey girls who had once made her life so painfully hard at school and had grown into cliquey women with the same prejudices.
But a small acrid, angry corner of her heart despised Spence Gregory with a vitriol that unsettled her.
What was Harry Lange thinking? She had to wonder if Mary Ella knew what her fiancé was up to, bringing back the man who had once been the darling of Hope’s Crossing but was now considered a pariah.
Maybe it was one of Harry’s twisted schemes. The man appeared to have been turning over a new leaf in the past year since reconnecting with his son Jack and the granddaughter he didn’t know existed, but maybe it was all for show. Maybe Harry wanted the recreation center he had basically financed to fail so he could sweep in and somehow make money off it for his own purposes, perhaps as a tax write-off for a business loss.
Whatever the reason, she couldn’t believe she would be the only one in town upset at this new development, though she had very personal reasons to be angry about the return of Spence Gregory.
The cowbell clanked suddenly and, for an instant, fear spiked that she would have to deal with him again, while she was still trying to come to terms with his return.
Seeing Alex McKnight rush in, her long blond curls flying behind her, was a sweet relief.
“Hi, Alex.” She even managed a smile, envious, as always, at Alex’s effortless confidence. She was smart and sexy and a brilliant chef—and was comfortable enough in her own skin that none of it mattered to her except the chef part, of which she was fiercely proud.
“Guess who I just saw walking Front Street?” Alex said, her green eyes wide.
“Spencer Gregory,” she answered dully.
“Wow. You are good.” Alex looked surprised and a little amused.
“Not really. He just left the store.”
“Can you believe it? The guy must have balls as big as ostrich eggs to show up back in town like nothing ever happened.”
“Take it up with your stepfather-to-be. Apparently he hired Spence to run the new rec center.”
Alex’s eyes widened for an instant and then she shook her head. “The man is insane sometimes. What goes on inside Harry’s head?”
Charlotte didn’t know. And right now she didn’t want to talk about either Harry Lange or Spence Gregory.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Actually, I came in to ask you a huge favor.” With a cheerful grin, Alex let herself be distracted. She seemed so happy lately since she had started seeing Sam Delgado, a new contractor in town.
Charlotte was thrilled for her, she really was, but sometimes she couldn’t help an insidious little niggle of envy. While Charlotte found their developing relationship wonderful for the two of them—especially since she knew firsthand how deeply Sam cared for Alex—Charlotte had once entertained hopes herself toward the man when Sam had first come to town.
He had endeared himself to Charlotte forever by reaching out to help her troubled brother Dylan, offering him a job with Sam’s construction company despite Dylan’s new limitations. Her brother had refused—no big surprise there—but Charlotte wanted to think the offer had meant something to Dylan. It had certainly meant something to her—so much that she had asked Sam to go to the town’s annual Giving Hope Day gala.
She had hoped the two of them might hit it off and that he might ask her out again. Sam was new in town. He hadn’t even known her before the changes of the past year and a half and she had hoped that might give her a slight advantage, but it had become obvious fairly quickly that Sam was completely tangled up over Alex.
During these past few weeks since the two of them had come together, it was transparent to all they were crazy about each other. Alex gave every appearance of a woman deeply in love.
“I’m glad to help,” Charlotte said now, pushing down that spurt of envy. “What can I do?”
“You don’t even know what it is, and you’re already agreeing to help. That’s one of the things I love most about you, Char.”
She cherished all her friends who had supported her on her recent journey toward reinvention, in no small part because they had loved her just as generously eighty pounds ago. “You know I’ll help in any way I can. Unless you need me to rob a bank or taste test one of your new fattening dessert recipes.”
Alex grinned. “Nope. This one is easy. A friend of Sam’s has been in town helping him with all the work coming his way. He’s thinking about making his temporary stay in our fair little hamlet a permanent thing. He’s a single guy, really sweet but a little lonely, I think.”
Charlotte braced herself, guessing what was coming next. Her friends seemed to feel a compelling need to set her up on dates with eligible men lately. First Claire McKnight just happened to know a new police officer in her husband Riley’s department she thought would be perfect for Charlotte, then Evie Thorne had wanted her to go out with a business associate of her husband, Brodie.
She was beginning to wonder if she had subconsciously started sending out some secret bat signal that she was single and desperate. Which so didn’t describe her at all. Okay, she was single. But she hadn’t yet descended into desperation.
“I don’t know.” She stalled for time.
“Come on. It will be fun. Sam was thinking we could take him out to dinner to celebrate his move here. Maybe go up to Le Passe Montagne.”
“Not Brazen?” Charlotte asked, surprised.
“Well, obviously that’s the best restaurant in town but Sam knows how hard it is to get a reservation there.”
“Even when a guy is sleeping with the chef?”
Alex grinned, looking completely pleased with the world. “Even then. If you want the truth, I did suggest
we just meet there but Sam seems to think I don’t relax when I’m eating in my own restaurant. Imagine that.”
Charlotte laughed, despite the lingering disquiet over Spence’s reappearance. It was hard not to laugh around Alex, who deserved every bit of the success her new restaurant was enjoying.
“I think I can picture it. He knows you well, doesn’t he?”
Her friend made a face. “So we were thinking next week sometime, maybe Saturday. I’m giving you plenty of advance notice. Will that work?”
“I’m not really crazy about blind dates,” she said, which was a rather monumental understatement.
“Don’t think of it as a blind date. Just a few friends getting together.”
“Two of whom happen to be seeing each other.”
“Well, yes. Come on, Char. He’s really a nice guy and we want to make sure he feels like he has a few connections in town besides us.”
She swallowed a sigh, imagining how awkward it would be to go on a double date with Alex and Sam Delgado, considering her prior interest in Sam.
She opened her mouth to politely decline but clamped it shut again. Just the night before while she had been eating her Healthy Choice dinner for one, she had promised herself she would try to get out more. She had no real reason to say no, other than a little embarrassment at unrealized dreams. And heaven knows, she had enough of those lying around to fill a darn auditorium.
An image of Spence Gregory, lean and dark and muscled, filled her head but she shoved it aside.
“Sure,” she said quickly before she could talk herself out of it. “Dinner would be lovely. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Perfect. We can talk next week but let’s tentatively plan on a week from Saturday, about seven. Does that work?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to love Garrett, I promise.”
“I’m sure I will,” she lied as Alex gave a cheery wave and left the store.
Customers came in right behind her and Charlotte was grateful for the distraction they provided. She didn’t need to think about blind dates or old hurts or how, after only a few minutes with Spencer Gregory, she once more felt fifteen years old—fat, awkward, shy—and desperately in love with a boy who barely knew she was alive.
Wild Iris Ridge (Hope's Crossing) Page 30