by Nancy Naigle
PRAISE FOR NANCY NAIGLE
“The camaraderie of a small town is captured in all its glory in this story of rediscovered love, lies and deceit. Trust comes in small doses and is lost just as easily as the clever plot unfolds, especially when unusual characters provide surprises.” - RT Book Reviews on Sweet Tea and Secrets
“Fabulous, fabulous read! Be sure to have a tissue with you as you read this sweet book. [Life After Perfect] is full of emotion and heartfelt struggles of love and life.” Tabitha Jones - A Closet Full of Books
ALSO BY NANCY NAIGLE
THE ADAMS GROVE SERIES
Sweet Tea and Secrets
Out of Focus
Wedding Cake and Big Mistakes
Pecan Pie and Deadly Lies
Mint Juleps and Justice
Barbecue and Bad News
STANDALONE BOOKS
Sand Dollar Cove
Christmas Joy
InkBLOT, cowritten with Phyllis C. Johnson
under the pen name of Johnson Naigle
THE GRANNY SERIES
cowritten with Kelsey Browning
In for a Penny
Fit to Be Tied
In High Cotton
Under The Gun
Always On My Mind : Pick Your Passion Novella 1
Come A Little Closer : Pick Your Passion Novella 2
THE BOOT CREEK NOVELS
Life After Perfect
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Nancy Naigle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503938908
ISBN-10: 1503938905
Cover design by LEADesign
To my daddy, for all the neat car memories from my childhood.
Even if he did wreck the Porsche right before my sixteenth birthday, and bought me a Vega instead. Yes, it still stings, but I treasure those memories of him driving with the top down wearing that blue-and-white Porsche Club jacket. Coolest dad ever.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
The oppressive heat took a toll on folks this time of year in Boot Creek. The humidity hung on Megan’s skin and permeated her hair, now three times its normal size. As she sorted through her mail, the envelopes clung to each other, damp and lacking that crisp sound of paper she’d normally expect as she opened them.
August. It was always hot in North Carolina in August, but for some reason this summer seemed heavy—like winter and spring had gorged on too many baked goods. Megan missed the normal hustle-bustle of neighbors out on Main Street grabbing lunch and finishing up errands, but it was so stifling that people were staying inside. The mayor had even suspended the road-crew work until this heat wave passed.
Megan dropped the junk mail in a trash can next to the light post on the corner of Main Street, then ran her freshly painted nail under the seal on an envelope from the town of Boot Creek. They hadn’t wasted a moment billing her for Daddy’s prized possession. She’d only had the 1958 DeSoto Adventurer convertible for a few weeks.
Apparently since the old car had antique tags, she got a flat rate regardless of the value. She wasn’t sure how much the car was worth, but word had traveled fast that it was hers now and the offers she’d already received were impressive.
Johnny Morris had offered to put in a whole new air-conditioning system with dual zones at Balanced Buzz, her candle business, in exchange for Daddy’s car, but there was no way she could part with that car. Daddy was a lot of things, including an embarrassment at times, but she was a daddy’s girl and that car meant the world to him, so it meant the world to her.
That car wasn’t going anywhere, even if Balanced Buzz could really use that air-conditioning upgrade. This time of year it just didn’t pay to make candles in the hot part of the day. The air-conditioning in her old building worked hard enough without her adding heat from melting beeswax to the equation. So Megan adjusted her hours to keep the expenses down and profit margin wide. And that was fine with her, because she always had been a night owl.
To her, the value of Daddy’s car lay in the memories they’d shared riding around in it. Enough memories to fill that car, and that was really saying something. That model had to be one of the longest two-door cars ever built. Darn thing just barely fit in her garage bay.
And seeing’s how she lived in what used to be a gas station with commercial-sized mechanics bays . . . that was saying something. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that this car wouldn’t fit in the garage of a modern-day home.
Lucky for her, daddy had hooked her up with the gas-station-turned-house and workshop when she graduated from college. Maybe that was the reason he’d left the car to her and not his way-too-young-for-Dad, go-go-dancin’ bride, Tiffany.
The thought of that girl made Megan bristle. To be fair, Tiffany wasn’t a dancer anymore, but it was no secret that Daddy had discovered her at Headlights Bar off the interstate a few exits down. Not one of his finest days.
Tiffany had no clue how special the car was. She’d begged Daddy to sell it and buy a new sports car. Something flashy and red. No surprise that Tiffany had gone right out and bought herself a bright red Corvette as soon as that life insurance check cleared the bank. Thank goodness Daddy had updated his will. Tiffany never would have let Megan have the car otherwise. Even though everyone knew that was Daddy’s intention. Tiffany was a gold digger from the word go.
Standing there on the corner of Water Loop Way, Megan felt her heart squeeze. A rush of heat soared through her body. Don’t let this be a heart attack. This wasn’t the first time she’d had that sinking feeling and pain in her heart right down to her gut since Daddy died. Now the DeSoto was hers, and that was all she had left. This bill made him being gone feel that much more final. Was that enough to give a gal her age a heart attack?
She pressed her hand against her heart and took in a breath. Relax. Sweeping a hand under her nose to chase that tickle that came right before tears fell, she straightened and inhaled deeply.
Tucking the rest of the mail into her purse, she shifted on her feet. How long had she been standing there? The pavement was scorching. She wished she’d worn her tennis shoes instead of these strappy heels. When she’d put them on, she’d thought it would be a good short walk to break in the shoes she’d be wearing in Angie’s wedding, so her feet wouldn’t be killing her all night at the reception next weekend. Bad idea. She crossed over Cabot Street and tugged on the door to Mom’s shop, Bootsie’s Bouquets.
Brightly colored summer blooms filled tall hand-painted cones that Megan had painted for Bootsie, her mother, years ago. They
’d held up well. Next to the flowers, racks of beautiful ribbon that Mom made special buying trips to pick out looked like a kaleidoscope of texture and color. Across the room, an antique breakfront painted whimsical lavender and distressed with turquoise accents held a hefty inventory of Balanced Buzz candles. Mom was Megan’s biggest fan. She hand sold a fair share of candles each year, but most of Megan’s sales came from her storefront on the Internet.
“Good morning, Mom.” She forced an easy smile, hoping that Mom wouldn’t notice the panic she’d been feeling just moments before.
Bootsie raised a hand in the air from behind the counter where she was ringing up a customer.
Megan headed straight for the glass-front refrigerator where the fresh flower arrangements were stored. She opened the doors, holding her arms out to the side. Her skin drank in the cool air, and thankfully her heart rate began to slow. It was only three lousy blocks from her house to Sew ’n Sew Formal where she was meeting Angie and the others for the final dress fitting. And after only one block, she was sticky with sweat. Crazy. How gross to go to a dress fitting feeling like you just finished a hot yoga session? She watched her mom walk her customer to the door. The man carried a long white box with a generous lipstick-red ribbon tied around it. Roses, no doubt.
“There a movie playing in there?” Bootsie asked.
“Real funny.” Megan smirked, but the truth was that phrase gave her pause. Not because it was something Mom had always said. No, it reminded her of Dad. And Mom knew it. Her parents may have been divorced for going on eight years, but no one knew Daddy better. He’d made that comment a million times when Megan was growing up—and that memory tugged at her. But not like most dads would have said it, because he wasn’t complaining. He knew looking in the fridge for a sweet treat was a waste of time. She got her sweet tooth from her Dad, but Mom had been such a health nut there’d never been anything besides fruit and yogurt. Luckily, he’d rescue her from the waste of time standing there wishing for a cupcake or soda, suggesting they go out and hunt down a snack together. Living one block off of Main Street had made life very convenient for that, and it was probably all the extra time they’d spent together dodging Mom’s health-nut kicks that had made her closer to him.
“It’s hotter than h—”
“Don’t even say it.” Bootsie narrowed her gaze.
“Heck. Hotter than heck out there.” Megan let the door slam, thankful for that last rush of cool air that pushed against her. Even now, close to thirty, Mom ruled.
“You trying to make some sort of new fashion statement?”
Megan looked down at her soft pink blouse, opened over a bright pink tank top and faded blue jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”
Her mom homed in on her feet.
“The shoes?”
“Yes. I can’t say that high heels and blue jeans is exactly a good look. Although it is nice to finally see you wearing something a little ladylike.”
Mom was always hounding her about being a lady. It was old when she was thirteen, and now closer to thirty . . . it was still not welcome advice.
Bootsie’s lips bunched. “You know you can’t wear open-toed shoes without your toenails painted. Totally taboo.”
Megan wasn’t sure what made her mother think she was the fashion police, but still, there she was, ready to make an excuse. “I’m just wearing them to the fitting, and we have pedicures set up for Thursday. I promise I won’t let anyone see me. Besides, I thought I’d break them in, but there’s not much to these things for as much as they cost. About burned my toes off out there.”
“Fine. Well, since you’re here, Angie’s ribbon finally came in. I’ve got it over by the register.” Bootsie turned and hurried to get the ribbon. She made up for being short by walking two or three steps to the one of any average person, which had always made Megan think of the Energizer Bunny, the way she scampered. Bootsie lifted two large spools of ribbon for Megan to see. “Sure hope it matches this time.” She bounced the two big spools in separate hands, looking a bit like a scale of justice. “I got this roll of white with pearlescent seed beads along the edge, just in case we have to go to plan B. Take them with you, so Angie can decide what she wants to go with.”
“You always think of everything.” Megan walked over and took the two spools of ribbon and tucked them into the top of her oversized leather handbag. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, leaning over the counter to kiss her on the cheek. “Love you.”
“You’re welcome, darling.” As Megan headed for the door, she called out, “Send me a picture of you in your gown. I’m dying to see you in it.”
“Come with me. You know Angie won’t mind. It’ll be fun.”
“I can’t,” Bootsie said. “This weekend is the first high school football game of the season. I’ve got orders for thirty-eight corsages to make for that, plus putting together all of the bouquets and arrangements for Angie’s wedding. I can’t get away. Text me, though.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Megan knew what the unspoken words that followed would have been. High time you walked down that aisle too, Megan.
Since Daddy’s unexpected passing, even Mom had been gentler. Megan’s heart ached for her dad. He drove her half-crazy most of the time; Mom had always said that was because Megan was so much like her daddy, but knowing he’d never be back made it darn near impossible to breath sometimes.
Megan crossed over at the second block to Sew ’n Sew Formal and Tailoring. When she walked inside, soft music filled the store. Funny she hadn’t noticed it the last time they’d all met there to pick out the dresses, but darned if it didn’t sound a lot like the funeral home. She shook off that thought. Maybe everything felt like a funeral lately.
Last night she’d decided that she needed to be honest with Angie about the DeSoto. It wasn’t going to be an easy discussion, but ever since the car had been delivered to her, she’d been a nervous wreck about it.
Daddy had agreed to let Angie and Jackson use his prized convertible as the getaway ride for their wedding. It had really surprised Megan, because Daddy never let anyone drive that car. It had been a generous gesture on his part. But then Angie had been like a second daughter; she and Megan had spent so much time together.
Yet now that Megan had the car tucked safely in her garage, she wasn’t sure she could risk taking a chance on it getting damaged. The Adventurer had never even seen a raindrop. What if something happened? What if it rained? Dad leaving her that car came with an unwritten agreement that she’d love it just like he had.
Written or implied, she took it seriously.
So, after a lot of thought, she’d decided to rent a limo for Angie and Jackson’s big day. She’d even sprung for the champagne package. Five hundred dollars for the fanciest car they had was a small price to pay for protecting her last connection to Daddy.
“There you are,” Carla, the owner of Sew ’n Sew Formal, said, sounding a bit stressed.
“Fashionably late,” Angie said with a laugh. “Carla was worried to death. I wasn’t.”
But Megan knew better. Angie had been just waiting for something to go wrong and ruin her perfect happily ever after. She was so darned certain that if she’d only paid attention to the warning flags when she married Rodney, her good-for-nothin’ first husband, she could have spared herself a lot of heartache. So now, Angie was hyperaware.
Carla waved her hands in the air, clearly frustrated to be off schedule. “Come on over here, Megan. Everyone else is already in the back waiting. You’re the maid of honor, dear, you’re supposed to be the first one here.”
None of them lived more than a couple miles away. What was the big deal? Okay, so she’d dawdled the whole way over. And she’d intended to be on time today. For a change. Maybe she wasn’t quite as ready to have that conversation with Angie about the car as she’d thought.
“I stopped and got the ribbon Mom reordered.”
Angie held up her hand and crossed her fingers. “I’m praying it matches.”
“Me too.” Megan held up the ribbon that was supposed to match and the white, pearl-edged ribbon. “We’ve got options. It’ll work out.”
“Brilliant!” Angie heaved a sigh of relief. “You always have a backup plan.”
Carla led Angie and Megan to the fitting room area.
Katy sat on the love seat next to Flynn, who owned the B&B in town.
“Megan! Finally!” Flynn, the teetotaler of the group, spun around in such delight that if Megan didn’t know better, she’d think she’d been sipping champagne, but that was highly unlikely for any of them in this bridal shop, since Carla was the preacher’s wife.
Carla moved through the room as if she were on roller skates. “Now that we’re finally all here, we can begin.”
“Sorry.” Megan was pretty sure Carla still hadn’t forgiven her for the time Megan had accidentally ridden her bicycle through the woman’s treasured rose garden. It had been no picnic for her either. Dr. Hansen had had to dig stickers out of half of Megan’s right side that day. The woman had been snippy with her for the next fifteen years. Talk about holding a grudge.
Megan lowered herself into an old velveteen Queen Anne chair. The hodgepodge of fine antiques and practical things, like the tall plastic oscillating fan, held its own kind of charm. The air-conditioning was no competition for the heat in this old drafty building. Wispy fabrics fluttered every time the fan made a thankful pass from left to right.
“Here we go.” Angie followed Carla into the bride’s dressing room. The heavy door clicked closed behind them. The elegant etched glass that adorned the back of the door had to have been from the early nineteen hundreds—the glass wavy and scratched.
Megan’s nerves fluttered as they waited for Angie. Katy and Flynn chattered about potato salad recipes, but Megan only half listened. Her mind was on Angie and the wedding. Jackson was so good for her best friend, but her own anxieties about relationships and weddings wouldn’t quit nagging at her. Why couldn’t she just be happy for Angie and not worry so much?