“Understatement of the year.” Rebecca flopped back into Elle’s comfy overstuffed chair in the far back corner of the Cup. On Friday nights, as soon as Elle turned over the Closed sign this little nook was theirs.
“Becca, they just want you to be happy,” Elle said, rocking slowly and methodically in the old wicker rocking chair, next to the potbelly stove.
“So they say, but come on…” She looked at Elle and Lucky incredulously. They didn’t need to pretend with her. “It’s pretty clear they don’t want to be embarrassed by me and my hobby and my glorified babysitting service anymore.” The thought was so depressing that she reached for another shortbread cookie from the plate set on the ottoman within easy reach of all three of them.
It was their weekly shortbread night, conveniently scheduled just after her family dinner. Sometimes they had tea, half a cookie each and called it a night, but more often they had half a mug of tea before one of them would crack open a bottle of wine. And then the laughing would start and a second box of shortbread would be pulled from the cupboard.
Those were the best nights.
Rebecca drained her tea and hopped up to get the wineglasses from behind the counter, just so everyone was clear what kind of night they’d be having.
“They are easily embarrassed.” Aunt Elle’s eyes twinkled and Rebecca paused. Elle had eaten a thousand of Jane’s poison apples over the years and she put up a good front. But Rebecca could see the tension in her aunt and wondered if maybe the poison was beginning to give her a little indigestion.
Not that Elle wasn’t pressing on with fierce independence.
If only I had that kind of confidence, Rebecca thought watching her aunt. And those legs. I need to do more yoga or something. Whatever it is that’s keeping Aunt Elle in such good shape.
Then Rebecca made her weekly promise to stop eating shortbread… Tomorrow.
“And I think your mother feels threatened by the relationship you and I have,” Elle said. “Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe it’s a good idea for you to work for your parents on Saturdays…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Aunt Elle.”
Lucky traded her tea mug for the wineglass Rebecca offered her. “I think they’d get off your back, if you would treat the after-school program like a business…”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. Lucky could make a business out of waking up in the morning.
“No, come on.” Lucky grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “Listen to me. Let’s say you advertise instead of just rely on word-of-mouth. You offer to teach some free classes at the elementary school to stir up some interest.” Lucky cast an excited gaze to Elle who nodded in agreement.
“She’s right, you could really make a go of the program.”
“See.” Lucky tugged on her hand. “I get it, we both get it—” she gestured to Elle “—your parents suck, but that’s no reason why you shouldn’t commit to doing what you want to do.”
“I’ve committed,” she protested weakly, “I’ve got summer camp…”
“Great!” Lucky beamed, her eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been since New Year’s. “That’s the right idea. Now just do some advertising.”
“Okay.” Rebecca nodded reluctantly. “I hear you. I will advertise. I will make an effort.” She squeezed Lucky’s hand and let go, uncomfortable with all the attention. “I appreciate the pep talk and your belief in me. Thanks.”
“It’s what we’re here for.” Elle smiled and Rebecca handed her a wineglass and took her mug.
“Yeah, to kick your butt every once in a while,” Lucky shouted as Rebecca went into the small kitchen.
She dropped off the mugs at the sink and grabbed one of the bottles of wine that sat above the fridge.
“Consider my butt kicked,” she said coming back into the room. She handed the bottle and opener to Lucky, who always managed to open the bottle without breaking the cork or spilling it all over herself.
The cork popped out of the bottle of red wine and Rebecca and Elle leaned in so Lucky could fill their glasses.
“Where are you on the dateathon at the Cup?” Rebecca asked Elle, forcefully changing the subject.
Elle growled and her rocking took up a slightly more agitated pace. “Well, Max set up the Web site. We’re live, whatever that means.”
Lucky shot Rebecca a wicked grin and Rebecca buried her face in her wineglass to keep from sputtering. Arnold Maxwell, the science teacher out at the high school and a man, who in Lucky’s astute opinion had been pining for Aunt Elle since she moved back to town.
“But I think the good folks of Fenelon Falls need a kick start. So, ladies. Dear friends and conspirators.” Aunt Elle sipped her wine and eyed them with a glint that could only be called predatory. “It’s time for you both to put your friendship where your mouth is. I need guinea pigs for the dateathon.”
Rebecca and Lucky both groaned.
“Hey,” Rebecca said, switching focus. “Speaking of someone needing a kick in the butt, how about you play Cupid for yourself for a change and sign yourself up for that dateathon…”
“Now, there’s an idea,” Lucky agreed. “The town Cupid gets a little of her own medicine.”
“I’m ready. More than ready.” Unless it was the heat from the fire, Rebecca could have sworn that Elle was blushing. “But it’s not like there’s a whole lot of eligible bachelors hanging around Fenelon Falls…”
“Amen!” Rebecca raised her glass.
“Besides, keeping this business from going under is taking all the energy I have right now.”
“So let me pay you more rent—” She’d much rather do that, than sign up for the dateathon. She believed in her aunt, but a dateathon? Yikes.
Elle put her hand up, stopping the old argument before it started. “I think that this dateathon is perfect. Exactly what the Cup and this town needs. I just need some help.” She watched them pointedly. “From my friends.” She leaned forward. “From my dear niece and devoted friend…”
“I can’t,” Lucky said, her voice sad and solemn. “It’s too soon.” She shrugged and pulled at the frayed ends of the afghan over her lap. “I did just propose to a man.” The reminder was needless. Rebecca and Elle had been there at Christmas to help Lucky get over her surprise and grief when the answer had been no.
“Josh doesn’t know what he’s lost,” Elle said, reaching over to squeeze Lucky’s hand.
“You think?” Lucky asked, trying to smile but it came out all wrong. “Josh is my best friend…he knows me better than anyone. He knows me and he still didn’t want me.”
“What was he doing at your shop the other night?” Rebecca asked.
“Annoying me,” Lucky said and then sighed. “He’s just trying to make things normal between us. But then he kissed me and now nothing is normal.”
“A kiss kiss?” Elle and Rebecca asked at the same time.
Lucky nodded. “Guys, I’m tired of even thinking about it. Can we not talk about Josh?”
“Of course,” Elle agreed.
“But he kissed you?” Rebecca persisted. “What does that mean?”
“Becca, please let’s just drop it. My head hurts, my heart hurts.”
Rebecca nodded, reluctantly. One of them was getting kissed. It seemed like something that should be discussed. But Lucky took a sip of wine and kept her eyes downcast and Rebecca could see the glimmer of tears.
Only one thing to do, if wine and shortbread night was going to be saved from becoming a pity party.
“I have a crush,” Rebecca blurted, and as expected Lucky’s eyes lit up. Elle groaned and rolled her head across the back of the rocker.
“You?” Lucky squealed. “A crush?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, though it was on the tip of her tongue to say that this one was different. This one was more. “I just can’t seem to help myself.”
“Who?” Lucky asked. She leaned forward and grabbed a cookie.
“Will Blakely.”
Lucky’s cookie
paused on the way to her mouth, and Elle choked on a mouthful of wine.
Rebecca knew what they were thinking, that she was pinning her star on someone way out of her league.
“He’s dreamy,” Lucky agreed. “I mean seriously hot.”
“And isn’t Penny in your after-school program?” Elle asked.
Rebecca nodded. “Totally doomed, I know.”
“Why?” Lucky and Elle asked at the same time.
“Why?” Rebecca laughed. “Because he’s seriously hot. And seriously out of my league.”
Lucky groaned. “There are no such things as leagues, Becca. There are just people who are compatible, and I bet you and Will are totally compatible.”
“If you sign up for the dateathon, I could get him to sign up and then you’d know for sure.” Elle had a one-track mind.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the ridiculous one,” Elle said. “He’s lucky to have caught your eye. Someone as talented and fun and beautiful as you.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes, but her esteem, which had been smacked down by her mother’s callousness, was able to recover. She smiled at her friends, glad as she was every Friday night that Lucky and Elle were in her life.
“To the three most eligible bachelorettes in Fenelon Falls,” Rebecca said, holding her glass high. “Look out, Cupid, we’re coming for you!”
Elle and Lucky touched their glasses to Rebecca’s. Elle launched into her new Cupid assassination plan and soon Rebecca and Lucky were howling and red wine had sloshed over onto upholstery.
She thought of Will’s sad, handsome face and felt those warm fires build low in her stomach. She thought of his hair, of the curl of his lip, the bright blue of his eyes.
Maybe they’re right, she thought as the fruity red wine slid down her throat. Maybe there are no leagues. Maybe it’s just Will and me and Penny finding each other when we need to most.
CHAPTER FOUR
January 27—Saturday
THE CUP WAS PRETTY FULL for a Saturday. Will managed to get a small table close to the far window and Penny insisted on going to the counter to place their usual order. He liked to go with her—just so he could hear her try to say “macchiato”—but she was going through a very independent streak and insisted on doing everything alone. Like dressing herself this morning.
His dear daughter approached the counter wearing last year’s pink and silver dance recital costume over her jeans and boots— Rugged Barbie brought to life.
He unwound his scarf and chafed his hands together. Though the café was perfectly toasty, this winter was chilling him to the bone.
He usually met Josh here on Saturdays, but something was going on with his friend these days, and Will had a sinking feeling it had something to do with the flagging attendance at the church.
Will was worried Josh might have his eye on greener pastures.
“Hi, there.” Will turned to find Police Chief Brass and his wife, Mirabel standing behind him, shrugging into their coats. They were a study in opposites. Chief was a small, spare man, like a greyhound with a bad attitude and Mrs. Brass was one of those beautiful huskies, all blue eyes and fur.
“Chief Brass.” Will and the chief exchanged firm handshakes.
“Either your daughter is dressing herself or you need some help,” Edward said. Will laughed as they all watched Penny balancing on her toes at the counter talking to Ms. Potter.
“That’s all her,” Will laughed.
“They’re so fun at that age,” Mirabel said, pulling her fur-lined hood up and over her white hair.
“Mirabel, good to see you.”
“You, too, Will. We don’t see you enough,” she said, her smile wide. They were good people and Chief Brass made Will’s job as a county parole officer easier by working hand in hand with the county on efforts to stop juvenile crime in the area.
“I’m not sure your husband would agree with you,” Will said. “Chief and I spend a lot of time together.”
“And he enjoys every minute of it, don’t let him fool you.” Mirabel gave her husband a sideways look. “He just said the other day that you were the best thing to happen to the county since we built the new elementary school.”
Will felt himself begin to blush.
“Now, Mirabel, I didn’t say that. I said—”
“Oh, stop and let the man have a compliment.” She tugged on her gloves. “We need to get going. Have a good day, Will.”
Before following his wife, the chief leaned in a little closer. “We picked up Tony DeLona on Friday night.”
Will hung his head. He’d known it was just a matter of time, but he couldn’t help being disappointed. “What did he do?”
“Vandalism and public mischief. You’ll be seeing his family on Monday.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” He patted Brass on the back and watched him walk out the door.
Penny came back from the counter with two plates in her hand. Muffins for each of them. Ms. Potter followed with two steaming mugs.
“They didn’t have blueberry,” Penny said, setting the plates down with a clatter. “So I got you chocolate chip, like me.”
“Now, that’s the breakfast of champions,” he said with a grin. He leaned back and Ms. Potter slid his machiatto in front of him and he found himself engulfed by her scent—paint, perfume and sugary cinnamon. He had to bite back a sudden, surprising moan.
Penny’s talk about girlfriends had kept him up late fantasizing about all the things he could do with a girlfriend. And that moment with Ms. Potter in the studios hadn’t helped. Not at all. Too many of those fantasies involved her.
He’d woken up like a teenager with a dirty secret.
“Thank you,” he whispered, blinking hard to get his equilibrium back. He was screwed up. The demons of loneliness and lust had him and he couldn’t shake them loose.
“No problem.” She smiled at him and the bright winter sunlight flooding through the windows made her skin glow. And her hair… He’d always thought it was just brown. But it wasn’t. There was red in there and blond.
It was…
“Pretty.” he said aloud and wanted to smack himself upside the head.
“I’m sorry?” Ms. Potter said.
“Um…that’s pretty nice of you to bring the drinks. Thank you, Ms. Potter,” he managed to say without cringing. Even Penny was looking at him strangely.
“My pleasure,” she murmured, her voice low and smoky. “You can call me Rebecca. Or Becca. Everyone does.”
“That’s her real name,” Penny supplied. She leaned in and took a sip from her mug without lifting it. When she sat back she had a perfect chocolate mustache.
“Great, Rebecca.” Her name was sweet on his tongue. He found himself staring at her eyes. They were like whiskey or scotch, gold and amber and fluid in a way.
“Oh!” Penny cried, her attention captured by something over his shoulder. “Elle’s put up more Valentine’s Day cards!” She scooted off her chair and was gone.
“She really loves this holiday,” Rebecca said as they watched Penny bob and weave through the small crowd.
“I can’t seem to cure her of it,” Will said and mentally winced. He sounded like the Grinch or something…the anti-Cupid.
“Well, enjoy your drinks,” she said, turning away from him, and those demons that had a firm grip on his better sense had him reaching for her arm. Contact. Just above her elbow.
“Rebecca,” he murmured and she turned, her hand covering the spot he’d just touched, like she’d been burned by his fingers. He wanted to do it again. “I want to thank you again for your help with Penny. You have a real way with kids.”
“She’s special,” she said with a smile.
“Yes, she is, but I think you are, too.” He swallowed and looked away from the pink climbing her fair cheeks. “You should think about expanding your program, maybe doing something for kids from broken homes.”
“Really?” Her brows creased over her eyes as
if she’d never considered the value of what she was doing for the kids in town.
“Absolutely. I know Tony DeLona’s folks are probably wishing someone would help him talk about how he’s feeling…”
“Tony’s in my class twice a week.”
“See if you can get him to draw a picture like you did with Penny. I’m telling you, art therapy has been gaining respect. Young kids don’t have a lot of the tools at hand to deal with their feelings and things like divorce…” Rebecca’s head was tilted and her careful study made him flustered. “Well, think about it.” He shrugged and broke the edge of his chocolate chip muffin.
“I will,” she murmured but didn’t move. She nodded and then like sunrise a slow smile spread over her face. Dimples appeared in her cheeks and Will took a sip of coffee too hot, because it prevented him from muttering any more foolishness. “Thank you, Will.”
He nodded back, his mouth full.
She returned to the counter and the meager line of customers. He forced himself not to stare after her.
Rebecca Potter is beautiful, he thought and took another sip of his coffee. And I am an idiot.
He had half-baked notions of asking her on a date. Of reaching across a table and touching the pale skin of her wrists. Of watching her smile at him in candlelight.
To cure himself he remembered those taillights driving away two Valentine’s Days ago.
PENNY WATCHED HER DAD and Becca through the shelves that held all the Valentine’s Day cards and books. As Alyssa would say, something was up. Dad shoved half his muffin in his mouth and the dents were back in Becca’s cheeks.
So far, so good. Now, onto the next step.
She turned and faced the small stacks of Valentine’s Day cards. She liked the one with the big tongue that had a knot in it. “You make me tongue-tied,” Penny read.
She didn’t get it, but maybe it was an adult thing. It looked funny and funny was good. Funny was what she was after.
This was the perfect card for Dad. For her whole plan. Penny wanted to get it for Dad and write Becca’s name in it. The thought made her want to giggle and dance. Perfect. It was all going to be perfect. Except for one thing. She didn’t have any money. She couldn’t ask Dad for some because then he’d know and the surprise would be ruined.
Who Needs Cupid? Page 12