Asa flashed a sheepish grin. “Becoming a snowbird isn’t what I’d envisioned it to be. Most times I’m so bored I begin talking to myself just to hear my own voice. Now I know what prisoners in solitary confinement experience.”
“How can it be quiet when you’re staying at the boardinghouse? This time of year it’s nearly filled to capacity.”
“I usually keep to myself. I’m not much for board games and discussions that involve grandchildren. And, why not a bookstore? It’s the perfect place to work for a bibliophile.”
Deborah felt a shiver of excitement. It was apparent Asa Monroe was also an avid reader. “Who are some of your favorite authors?”
“American or across the pond?”
“Across the pond,” she said in a clipped British accent.
“Is this a test?” Asa asked, smiling.
“It could be,” Deborah teased.
“Coleridge, Sir Thomas More, Milton, Ben Johnson, James Joyce, E.M. Forster, and Chaucer. Did I pass?”
“Give me a few Americans and I’ll let you know.”
She watched as Asa seemed to search his memory for American writers. “Hannah Webster Foster—”
“You’ve read Charlotte Temple?” Deborah asked, cutting him off.
“Not the book itself, but a photocopy. Do I pass?” he asked again.
“Give me three more.”
“Charles Chesnutt, Henry James, and Sinclair Lewis.”
Pressing her palms together in a prayerful gesture, Deborah pressed her fingers to her mouth. It was more than apparent Asa Monroe was an intellectual and he had no interest in board games. He was also knowledgeable enough to answer questions from customers inquiring about her rare and first edition titles.
“You pass.”
Crossing his hands over his heart, Asa bowed his head. “Thank you.”
Amusement danced in his eyes as they met Deborah’s. She realized the man standing in her store was no ordinary clerk, and she knew she had to even the odds. Her gaze lingered on his hands. They were as exquisite as the rest of Asa Monroe. Again, she thought them beautifully formed with long tapered fingers, well-groomed with square-cut nails. She closed her eyes, fantasizing about how they would feel against her skin. Her eyes flew open as a rush of heat flooded Deborah’s face when she realized the direction her thoughts had taken.
“How would you like a change of residence?” she asked, much too quickly.
Asa’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression mirroring confusion. “Where would I live?”
“Upstairs, there’s a furnished apartment and you can live there rent-free. It’s the least I can offer to offset the low salary. I’ve ordered a new mattress, wardrobe, and blinds, which are scheduled to be delivered on Friday. I’m also waiting for a few other pieces, so by the time we open for business your apartment should be ready.” Her cell phone chimed. “Please excuse me,” Deborah said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans and walking away from Asa to answer the call.
Pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Asa seemed to be deep in thought about Deborah’s offer.
“Do you mind if I see the apartment before I give you my answer?” he asked when she returned after finishing her call.
“Not at all.” She pointed to the back of the store. “There’s a staircase behind the second door on the left that leads upstairs.”
Deborah went back to unpacking books. She’d managed to shelve half the titles in the African-American Literature and Black Studies section when she heard two pairs of footsteps descending the staircase. Asa and Peter Raney, dressed in a pair of coveralls with his name and company’s logo stitched over his heart, were talking about football.
“Mrs. Robinson, where is the other television, and where do you want it hooked up?”
Deborah had had the moving company bring the thirty-six-inch flat-screen television she had mounted on the wall of her Charleston store to the one at the Cove. “It’s in a box against the wall. I’d appreciate it if you would also connect the DVD and tuner.” She’d placed a call to a local electrician to mount the TV on the wall once the cable connection was installed.
“Do you have your audio speakers?” Peter asked.
“They are also in the box.” Peter had done all the electrical work on her house when she’d had it renovated.
Asa moved closer to Deborah. “It looks as if he’s going to be a while. Tell me what you want from Jack’s and I’ll go and pick it up.”
Deborah was so grateful for his suggestion that she wanted to kiss Asa. “I’d like an order of shrimp and grits.”
“You want grits for lunch?”
“What’s wrong with grits for lunch?” she asked.
“I thought people usually ate grits for breakfast.”
She smiled. “Down here we eat grits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Anything else?”
“A large sweet tea.”
“How about dessert?”
Deborah shook her head. “I’ll pass on dessert.”
What she needed was comfort food. For some people it was mashed potatoes but for her it was grits. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Asa took out his BlackBerry, calling in the order to Jack’s Fish House as he walked out the door. Walking behind him, she locked it, then took the HELP WANTED sign out of the window.
She couldn’t believe her string of good luck. First she’d found an empty store in a prime location in move-in condition, and she’d just hired someone who was more than a clerk. He would become her assistant. And it was obvious he was either well-educated and/or an avid reader, and that gave him a distinct advantage when interacting with readers who preferred literature to popular fiction. The furnished apartment would become a perk for Asa—that is, if he decided to move out of the boardinghouse.
Peter programmed the television, resting on its stand on a drop-leaf table that she’d used in the other store for a collection of potted plants. The plants were now in the back porch and she would transport them to the shop for the grand opening. Deborah watched as he worked quickly to hook up the tuner, speakers, and the DVD player. Using the remote device, he turned on the television, smiling.
“Nice picture,” he crooned.
Deborah nodded, smiling. “Thank you.”
“Do you leave it on during the day?”
“I turn it on early in the mornings when there’s not much activity, but once the regulars come to sit and read I’ll turn it off and put in an MP3 with a collection of soft music. For those who just want to watch television I mute the sound and turn on the closed captions.”
Peter adjusted his Atlanta Braves baseball cap. “It sounds as if you’re going to have a nice place here.”
“It is going to be nice,” Deborah said with a modicum of pride. With the delivery of the concert piano, and once she positioned tables and chairs, hung framed prints of classic book jackets, and added the homey touches with plants, a refreshment table with Muffin Corner sweet breads, and an urn with hot water for tea, The Parlor would provide a place for residents and tourists to come, browse, and sit a while.
“I’m done here. If there’s anything else you need, just call me,” Peter said, smiling.
Deborah reached into a pocket of her jeans and took out a check, handing it to him. “I want to put in track lighting and a couple of ceiling fans.”
The electrician pocketed the check without looking at it. “Do you want me to pick up the fans and the lights?”
“Yes. I want fans similar to those upstairs.”
“I’ll pick them up today and install them before the end of the week. Thank you again, Mrs. Robinson.”
Deborah nodded. “Thank you.”
He left through the rear door, and a minute later she opened the front door for Asa, who cradled a shopping bag to his chest.
Chapter Seven
Deborah closed and locked The Parlor door behind Asa. “Something smells delicious.”
Asa peered into the bag. “That’s either y
our shrimp and grits or my crab patties and black-eyed pea soup.”
“I’m so hungry that I could eat a whole pig in one sitting. Come on. We’ll eat upstairs.”
He followed Deborah to the back of the store, his gaze following the gentle sway of her slim hips in her fitted jeans. There was something very sexy about the young widow. Asa hadn’t wanted to believe she had a seventeen-year-old child, wondering if perhaps she had been a teenage mother. A very young teenage mother.
There were things he wanted to know about this woman. What made her laugh, what she liked to do when she wasn’t at work or caring for her children. During the walk between the bookstore and the restaurant Asa couldn’t steer his thoughts away from Deborah Robinson. There was something about her that he found disturbing. Not disturbing like ominous or unsettling, but a welcome distraction from what had become his daily routine.
He hadn’t come to Sanctuary Cove to get involved with a woman but to heal and wait. And he was still waiting—the last time he’d emailed the contact person at DWB as to a potential date for his application’s approval the reply had been his application was still pending. Asa had thought about checking out of the Cove Inn and driving north to Myrtle Beach, but that had been before he’d seen Deborah. He’d changed his mind because there was something about the beautiful widow that rekindled feelings he believed had died when he’d buried his wife and son.
Deborah opened the door at the top of the staircase. When Asa had come in before, the heat on the second floor was unbearable. She’d since opened all the windows and turned on the ceiling fans, and now it was cooler, more comfortable. The fans were noisy, but functional.
“I’m going to have my son put an air-conditioner in the window later this afternoon,” she told Asa.
“Where is the unit?”
“It’s at my house.”
“I can install it,” Asa volunteered. He placed the shopping bag on the kitchen countertop.
Pressing her back against the refrigerator, Deborah gave Asa a long, penetrating look. “So, you’ll stay?”
He nodded. “Only if you intend to hire me.”
She stood up straighter. “I thought we already assumed that you were hired.”
“I never deal with assumptions.”
“Do you want it in writing, or will a verbal confirmation suffice?” she asked, smiling.
He angled his head. “I wouldn’t mind a verbal confirmation.”
Her smile grew wider. “You’re hired.”
“Thank you, boss.”
Deborah narrowed her eyes. “That will be the first and last time you’ll refer to me as your boss. It’s Deborah.”
He nodded. “Yes, Miss Deborah.”
“You just won’t quit, will you?”
“No, Miss Deborah.”
She rolled her eyes upward, then turned before Asa could see her smile. Instinct told her he was going to be good for The Parlor and good for her. He was an interesting man with above average intelligence. She didn’t know why he’d come to the Cove, and it didn’t much matter. Outsiders who came to the Cove were welcomed and treated with respect, and when they prepared to leave it was always with an open Lowcountry invitation to come back real soon.
She turned on the water in the sink, letting it run until it was clear, then reached for a sponge and a bottle of dishwashing liquid. She wiped down the countertop, then the table in the dining area. “You can wash up in the bathroom while I set the table.”
The day before she’d filled the cabinets with plates, cups and glasses from an old set she’d put aside for Whitney if he decided to live off campus. She had just finished setting out plates for two when Asa returned. Whitney still hadn’t told her whether he wanted to attend Howard University in Washington, D.C., or Bennett College in Columbia. Although he’d been leaning toward Howard Deborah knew his ambivalence had come from losing his father. When Whitney mentioned that he’d promised Louis that he would take care of his girls if anything happened to him, she knew he was wrestling with his conscience, that he didn’t want to leave the state because he felt he had to protect his mother and sister.
What her son hadn’t realized was that she didn’t need as much protection as he did. Even if he chose Bennett he would be leaving home for the first time in his life. Her children had never gone to summer camp like some of their friends and classmates, and whenever they did leave the state it was to go to Florida to visit their grandparents. Pearl McLeary-Williams’s sister had moved to Florida to be close to her grandchildren, and whenever Crystal and Whitney went to visit they had children their own age with which to interact.
“I like the colors in the bathroom.”
Deborah’s head popped up when Asa joined her in the kitchen. “I decided on brown and green because I like chocolate-mint ice cream.” The half-bath resembled a tropical oasis with dramatic browns contrasting with cool greens. There were chocolate towels, a jade-green chenille rug, a citrus-scented diffuser, votive candles, and a quartet of small framed prints of Chinese characters symbolizing health, love, luck, and long life, all selected with a discerning eye.
“Is that why you painted the walls in the bookstore green?”
Folding paper napkins, she placed them at the place settings. “I can’t take credit for that. The walls were painted by the former owner. However, I did order two area rugs in a tartan plaid with browns and greens.”
Reaching into the shopping bag, Asa removed takeout Styrofoam containers and two oversized foam cups filled with iced tea, watching as Deborah put serving pieces, flatware, white dinner plates with a cobalt-blue trim, and tall ice tea glasses on the table.
“I think I’m going to like hanging out here. There’s a lot more space than in my suite at the boardinghouse.” The apartment was one continuous space without walls. There were three doors: the one leading into the apartment from the bookstore, another leading out to a staircase to the parking lot, and the one to the bathroom. There were two ceiling fans with blades that resembled large brown banana leaves.
Deborah’s hands stilled. “Too bad it holds heat. It’s probably brutal up here in the summertime.”
“It shouldn’t be too bad with the fans and air conditioner,” Asa said. “I meant what I said about going home with you to get the air-conditioner. After I put it in the window, I’m going back to the boardinghouse to change. If we work together we should be able to finish shelving the books by tomorrow.”
“You don’t have…” The ringing of her cell preempted whatever she was going to tell Asa. “Excuse me.” Reaching into her back pocket, she retrieved the tiny instrument. It was the moving company. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Robinson?”
“This is she.”
“This is Bobby from shipping, and I’m calling to let you know we have a cancellation, so if it’s all right with you we’d like to pick up the stuff from your house and deliver it to Sanctuary Cove tomorrow morning.”
Deborah squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temple. “May I call you back, Bobby?”
“Of course, Mrs. Robinson. When do you think you’ll get back to me?”
“I have to call someone to see if they can be at my house to let in your men.”
Deborah ended the call, then scrolled through her cell directory for Sherilee’s number. Closing her eyes again, she groaned when it went directly to voicemail.
“Sherilee, this is Debs. Please call me as soon as you get this message. The movers are coming tomorrow instead of Friday. Let me know if you’ll be available to let them in.” Hanging up, she began gnawing her lip between her teeth.
“Is there something wrong?” Asa asked when Deborah continued to bite on her lip.
Blinking as if coming out of a trance, she shook her head. “It’s nothing that can’t be resolved.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“You don’t look very sure,” Asa countered.
Deborah forced a smile. “How do I look?”
“Like
a woman with a dilemma. It’s obvious you can’t be in two places at the same time.”
She nodded. “I’ll figure something out.”
Asa pulled out one of the chairs at the table. “Please sit down and eat.”
She sat, staring up at him over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Rounding the table, he sat opposite her, watching as she removed the top from an aluminum dish and ladled a portion of creamy grits topped with large pink shrimp, crumbled bacon, chopped scallions, and melted cheese onto her plate.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?”
Deborah stared at the food, then at the man sitting across from her. “Do you realize there’s enough here for two people?”
“What if we share?” he suggested. “I’ll give you half my soup and a crab cake and I’ll take half your shrimp and grits.”
Her expression brightened. “Okay.” Pushing back her chair, she stood up, Asa rising with her. She took another bowl from the overhead cabinet and a spoon from the cutlery drawer. “Please sit down, Asa. You don’t have to stand.”
“Sorry, old habit.” Deborah could tell Asa was old school, rising when women entered the room, or stood up. He opened doors for them and seated them. He had impeccable manners, something missing in a lot of men nowadays.
Asa ladled soup into the bowl, handing it to Deborah. “I’ve eaten in a lot of places, but the food from Jack’s should definitely be Zagat rated.”
“I don’t think Otis and Luvina would welcome that kind of attention.”
“Why not?”
“Folks here are humble and live very simple lives. The last census documented that about eight hundred people live in Sanctuary Cove. Eight hundred residents who don’t want their Main Street changed, or an influx of outsiders impacting their quality of life. We tolerate tourists who come here in droves during the summer because the tourist dollars keep us afloat. Everyone knows everyone else; we have little or no crime and it’s not unique for people to leave their doors or cars unlocked. A Zagat rating would bring people to Jack’s year-round, shutting out the locals.
“The Cove Inn is our Four Seasons and the Waldorf-Astoria all rolled into one, and Jack’s is our award-winning LeBernardin and Brasserie. The dishes at Jack’s haven’t changed despite the talk about black cuisine being viewed as being out of sync with what now defines healthy eating. All you have to do is look around the Cove and I doubt you’ll find more than a dozen overweight people. We also have the distinction of living well into our late eighties and nineties. Do you want to know why?”
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