Heart of Dixie (Moreover #1)

by Ruthie Henrick

  Mr. I’ll wheeze if I trot in the mountains was such a pain in the ass, but I sucked it up and lost the attitude. I wouldn’t gain any ground for wheedling. Damn that Madelyn again—she owed me huge.

  “You can do this, Drew. It’s only two weeks. You shoot your scenes, you don’t cause any trouble for the studio, you come home.” Where maybe the idiot would learn the meaning of the word discretion.

  And gawking bystanders with cell phone video would be outlawed.

  “Now hold on a minute—”

  “Let me rephrase, Drew. You have to do this. You. Have. No. Choice.” Maybe if I spoke clearly and enunciated each syllable, the gravity of his situation would penetrate Drew’s thick skull. Our plan—mine and Madelyn’s—was two weeks out of the limelight, and hopefully the public left him alone and moved on to the next celebrity meltdown. Because there was always the next celebrity meltdown. “Right now you’re in somebody else’s sandbox. Play nice.”

  He grunted in my ear. I could imagine him scrubbing his hand over his short-cropped hair and then rubbing his face. The scratch of his cultivated scruff whispered in my ear. “Fourteen days and not a minute more, Dixie. And I’m not running.”

  “It’s not a request, Drew. You’ll run when you hear the director say run, and you’re on the set until you hear the director say wrap! And Drew—” I dropped my voice. If he had any brains at all, he’d pick up on the steel I added to it and understand how serious I was. “Don’t ever question the job we do again.”

  I hung up. It would have felt better to slam the phone onto a cradle, but the knowledge that I disconnected our call while he blustered would carry me through a good part of the day.

  He’d be fine. Right now, he suffered from a misplaced sense of entitlement and separation anxiety. Madelyn could help him with both—next week, when she returned from her honeymoon.

  I rose and gathered my things—my suitcase, my computer, my purse—and marched them out to my car as my racing pulse slowed and then picked up again as I remembered where I was and glanced around.

  Moreover.

  Why, again, had I felt the need to personally make the trip to Podunk, Tennessee to bury a man I spent the past ten years trying to forget?

  There was only so much shit that could be dumped on me pre-dawn, but Drew’s telephone call brought me crashing back to reality. Yesterday was full of ups and downs. Idyllic hours spent back in Deke’s arms compounded by his tenderness and consideration at the barrage of memories and emotions that even the thought of Cooter Barnes could evoke.

  But all of that was just temporary, and none of it was real. Real life was my work. That was where I needed to be, and that was back in Los Angeles. With clients who kept my phone ringing, my inbox full and my desk piled high. Work was what I needed. Work helped me to forget.

  That annoying bell rang as I entered Break an Egg and joined the line forming inside, then rang again as a tall man and a laughing woman dressed in cropped yoga pants and a slim tank stretched over an enormous belly followed me in. Colleen again, as if my morning wasn’t already bad enough. Her hand lifted to rub it like a magic ball. “Yes, I know. It’s huge, isn’t it?”

  More like ginormous. I narrowed my gaze at her friendly interaction and bit my tongue before something offensive slipped out—she was Deke’s sister, after all. I turned and let my gaze search the room for Beth; I needed rescuing. She was seated in a booth in the front window; I caught her wave and veered that way.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been here two days and you’re still wearing high heels.” Beth leveled a disgruntled glare at my choice of footwear as I slid in across from her. “You should rethink that. Around here we wear boots, flats, even loafers, for Pete’s sake.”

  Boots. There was a time I wore those. But after the night I just spent reliving the past—laying out all the reasons it was smarter to stay locked in my little cabin rather than knocking on Deke’s door and kissing him until I discovered every well-defined muscle on his entire body—I didn’t have it in me to argue with Beth about my shoes. My heels were staying. Not that I needed a reminder of where I belonged. No, the constant influx of emails from clients kept me well grounded, but . . . but . . . well, maybe I needed a small reminder.

  Colleen and the man from the doorway approached our table, murmuring with their heads together. Beth looked up, distracted by the sound of her laughter, then scooted out of the booth. “Colleen! Flynn! Dixie, you remember Deke’s sister! This is her husband.” I only had time for a quick wave before Beth wrapped them each in a hug. “Y’all are out early.”

  Colleen patted the bulk of her stomach. “When the bean doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep.”

  Flynn slung his arm around Colleen’s shoulders. “Which means I don’t sleep, either.” I seemed to be mesmerized by the way he didn’t take his eyes off his wife. His hand resting casually on her stomach made the muscles low in my belly clench in an unfamiliar ache.

  “Would you like to join us? Move over, Dixie.” She stepped toward my side of the table and shooed me over. I made room beside me, and the new couple sat where Beth had been.

  Molly appeared with the coffee pot. “Look who’s the early bird this morning. Colleen, you feel all right?”

  “Morning, Molly.” Colleen pushed her mug closer to the waitress. “Flynn has an early flight so I thought I’d drive him to the airport before the store opens.”

  “Oh yeah? Where you headed?” Molly pointed both her raised eyebrows and the pot my way, somehow keeping two conversations going at once.

  I nodded. “God yes, coffee. And keep it coming.”

  Flynn pulled Colleen’s empty cup back toward her. “Cleveland.” He drew back his mug once it was full of the steaming brew, causing his wife to glower. “No caffeine for the little mama. Bring her OJ, would you, Molly? And we’ll both have the blueberry waffles today.”

  I folded my paper menu and slipped it into the holder at the back of the table. “Sounds good to me, too. How about you, Beth?” Next to me, Beth nodded, then held her breath and darted her eyes toward the kitchen. Today, Ruby wore a black chef’s coat, had her midnight hair slicked back, and half her face was covered with a white Phantom mask. The soundtrack from the musical could just be heard through the open passway.

  Molly’s smile may have been apprehensive. “You got it.” She left to deliver our orders to the kitchen.

  Colleen scowled. “Give me a break, Flynn! What will one cup hurt?” Amidst her grumble and Flynn’s ensuing chuckle, the musical ring tone of my cell phone sounded. I was wise enough to check the caller ID this time, and good thing—it seemed Drew had found more to say. I flicked off the volume and tossed the device back in my purse. “I haven’t had my coffee yet, Drew.” When I looked up from my mutter, I was the center of attention.

  “Boyfriend?” Beth sounded disappointed. She was still hoping for the ill-fated ex-lovers to reunite. Not happening, Beth.

  I shook my head. “Client.”

  Molly dropped by the table with Colleen’s juice. “Client? What kind of clients do you have?” Apparently, she was joining the conversation.

  “Actors, musicians, pro athletes mostly.”

  Molly settled a hip against the Formica. “You mean like football players with huge biceps and tight buns?”

  Beth perked up. “Who’s in the TMZ limelight this week?”

  Colleen stopped digging through her purse and leaned forward. “What exactly do you do for these big, strong, muscular men?”

  I split a grin between Beth and Molly, took a sip of coffee, and waited for Molly’s jaw to snap shut again. “Normally, my partner handles their PR and I take care of their personal business but—”

  Colleen ran her fingertips up Flynn’s chest and into the open vee of his polo. “Personal business. Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Flynn turned beet red.

  Their enthusiasm was nothing new. “Believe me, I’m more a glorified babysitter than respected professional. I need to be available whenever t
hey have urgent matters to handle.” Molly was gearing up again, her excitement coiled and ready to spring free. It was such a shame to shoot her down. “Believe me, I use the term urgent loosely. In their minds, a postage due notice is cause for a frantic late-night phone call.”

  Flynn’s eyebrows shot up and he shared a pensive look with his wife before he trained his narrowed gaze on me. “So, this career you have—it sounds as if you’re some high-powered business manager.”

  “Well, my—”

  “Now, don’t be modest. I’ve got some skin in that game, too. That’s something you went to school for.”

  “I have a business degree, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Flynn leaned forward with his arms braced against the edge of the table, and drilled me with his sharp gaze while Colleen and Beth carried on a side conversation. “That’s part of it. But it takes an eye, and an ear, to be good. To be respected. And you don’t get clients like Drew Hensley unless you’re respected.”

  Molly appeared and delivered breakfast—large wedges of savory quiche with fresh fruit sliced on the side. It looked wonderful, but it was not blueberry waffles. I looked through the swinging door into the kitchen where Ruby was bent over the wide commercial oven. What was going on here?

  “Hey, Molly, is everything all right with Ruby?” She stilled and her smile slipped before she tightened it back into place.

  “Everything’s fine, Dixie.” She glanced over her shoulder and her entire face fell. “I think she forgot to order blueberries this week. And she ordered eggs twice.”

  “What kind of ordering system does she use? Her computer should keep that from happening.”

  Molly braced her serving tray against her hip and tapped her temple with her fingertip. “It’s all up there. She doesn’t even write it down.”

  “Oh, no! Those kinds of mistakes are so costly to a small business. One of my clients also owns a small chain of restaurants; I’ll come back this afternoon and offer some ideas how she can improve her methods.”

  “You know Ruby. She won’t want to spend any money on a computer.”

  “Perhaps, but a computer is only one way.” The line inside the door wasn’t getting any shorter. As long as I was cramming new ideas down her throat, I’d also mention how she could improve the layout of the dining room to seat more customers.

  Molly smiled. “I can promise I’d be relieved to serve what was actually ordered. Now y’all enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be right back with more coffee.” She winked at Colleen, who was scowling. “And juice.”

  Flynn’s plate was nearly empty by now. He sat back against the cushion and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So, Dixie, I heard you spent some time in the bookstore yesterday.” He picked up Colleen’s hand and held it on the table. “What did you think of it?”

  “I always did love that house clear from when Mrs. Avery lived there. It has so much charm.”

  Flynn nodded thoughtfully. “Charm, yes. It does have that in spades. But as an independent book shop, I believe it lacks character. Would you agree?”

  Beth was wiggling in her seat. Colleen had gone still, but her eyes were wide. Something was going on.

  I envisioned the space without Deke and his corded arms wrapped around me. “Flynn, I’m not sure what you want to hear from me. The store has plenty of shelving; it’s full of inventory. A nice selection of comfortable furniture for lounging and reading. Good lighting. The only thing I noticed missing was customers.”

  “Exactly! That’s where we’re stumped. How do we get people to come in? We’re open on the weekends and in the evenings, but everyone is busy with other things.”

  The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slide into place. And like Ruby suggested, these two had no idea what they were doing. I leaned forward and gave him my spiel. “You’re right, people are busy with their lives. So you have to make your store a place they want to be. It has to be important to them. You can do that by holding informal get-togethers or staging special events. It can be something as simple as a book club that meets once a month, or something as exciting as a bestselling author coming to do a signing.

  “You can offer children’s reading hour on Saturday morning, and guest speakers on what’s normally an especially slow night. You’d want to provide a display of books on the subject ahead of time to gather enthusiasm. And in that empty corner in the back that’s dead space now . . . provide an espresso machine or one of those single-serve coffeemakers. Maybe cookies when you have these events.” I took a look around the table, but all three of them had blank expressions as if they were in shock. “Is that what you were getting at?”

  Colleen took a deep breath and erupted. “What we’re getting at is that I have a bookstore I love and a baby due within weeks, and I can’t manage both. I’ve had feelers out for months, but nobody I know has the time or the experience to take over for me.”

  Flynn leaned forward and braced his arms against the table. “If you can juggle everything you must manage now—and honestly, Beth’s shared a few stories about your clients—”

  Colleen nodded. “—And we saw the video of your baseball player on the internet.”

  Along with the rest of the country, but—

  Beth scowled and grabbed my arm. “We’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you this since before you got to town even. Would you think about . . . even consider, running the store for Colleen while she’s occupied being a new mommy?”

  Oh, no! Something deep inside was clamoring loud and clear, No! No! No! In what parallel universe was Queen Colleen suddenly my bestie that I’d rearrange my life for? I chose to ignore Flynn and his hard stare and focused instead on the women. Their matching expressions were hopeful, but my remaining hours here were numbered; I wasn’t getting suckered into staying.

  “Colleen. Beth.” I shook my head. There was no way this was a good idea. “Thank you for asking, for offering, and I’ll think about it. I’m flattered. But I have my work. I have friends. I have a life. And it’s all back in LA.” The pleading expression on Colleen’s face bordered desperation, but that wasn’t my problem. “I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. A local who belongs here and knows your customers, and she’ll fill in nicely.”

  Colleen slumped back in her seat and pretended she wasn’t about to cry. “Well, bless your heart for giving it some thought.” Flynn patted her hand as she turned to face out the window and her chin quivered. Damn it, though the disappointment on Beth’s face was triggering something that felt suspiciously like guilt.

  I followed Colleen’s gaze through the gingham-bordered window and across the street to where wooden-framed panes of glass showcased tables loaded with colorful book displays. It looked quaint and friendly. “If I were planning to stick around, if I even could stay, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than help run your store for a while.” I let regret seep into my voice; she might be a nice person these days. Stranger things had happened. “Things always seem to work out the way they’re meant to. Someone will find it in their heart to help; you have to trust in that.”

  The decision to travel to Moreover may not have been my own, but the decision to leave was, and I was sticking to it. After breakfast, Beth and I parted ways on the sidewalk outside Break an Egg—her to return home and sleep as she’d been working all night; me to check in with the baker. The sun was fully up, but the forecast was for relief from the swelter for the next few days. A walk seemed like a good idea.

  A crowd hovered at the café tables near the bakery entrance and I let my steps shorten as I approached. It seemed a pleasant sort of place, but up till now I’d mostly managed to avoid both the curious glances and welcoming comments of the townspeople. Once I hit their perimeter, though, I was fair game. What was it with everyone and their perpetual cheerfulness? Suck it up, Dixie. You just need to check on the desserts you ordered and then you’re out of here. I passed the first of the front windows with its beautiful selection of overstuffed gift baskets and
handcrafted items.

  A blur of red pulled up to the curb and caught my attention just as Deke hopped over the side of his classic convertible—pristine as though he spent all night polishing it. His hair was tucked behind his ears and hung to his shoulders; his stride was long and confident and had him beside me in no time.

  “’Morning, Dixie.” His eyes were warm as they looked me up and down, and goosebumps broke out on my bare arms. “You’re looking good this morning. You here for Stephanie’s buttermilk crullers? That and a cup of coffee will start any Saturday right.”

  I tried to ignore my racing heartbeat, but my inner slut remembered the night I just spent—and was in a full pout. “Nah, already had quiche down at Ruby’s.” I paused when he laughed.

  “What did you really order?” He was still shaking his head and chuckling.

  How did he know—? “We asked for waffles, but there was some mix-up, and—”

  “There was no mix-up. That was just Ruby being Ruby.” He nodded as though he’d solved the greatest mystery of the world. “So, why are you here?” He reached out to open the door. “Did you not like the quiche?”

  The overhead bell dinged as I entered—of course it did. He held the door wide and brushed against me as he followed me inside. “Yes. No. It was delicious.” Oh, dear God. “I’m checking on my order for Monday. Beth recommended I have her put some desserts together for Cooter’s reception.”

  The shop smelled like yeast and sugar . . . and even though I came directly from a full meal, temptation. “Be right out!” A pleasant female voice yelled from the back room. The doors between the bakery café and the kitchen area were thrown wide, the work counters plainly visible. Carts with baking trays stacked taller than I was were all loaded with fresh baked goods. The cases out front contained a selection of the morning’s doughnuts, already picked through—frosted and filled and crullers and cinnamon rolls, and others topped with nuts—and all had my mouth watering. Maybe tomorrow I’d again ignore all the calories I was logging this trip and drag Beth here for breakfast.