by Gayle Roper
He stood in the doorway, all official in uniform and sidearm. "What if I were a thief?"
She stepped back so he could enter. "Hello to you too. You're not a thief."
He remained in the doorway. "How did you know when you opened the door? Did you magically divine who was on the other side?"
Her smile dimmed. "It's eight in the morning. Who robs places at eight in the morning? Now, ten at night when I've got a full register, maybe, though with most transactions these days made with plastic, robbery isn't the for-profit profession it used to be."
He ignored what she thought was pretty good logic. "You need to ask people to identify themselves."
"Come on. Anyone can say he's the UPS guy."
"Peephole. Then you can see his brown uniform."
"Do cops always expect the worst?"
He shrugged. "It's what we see."
"Well, I'm an optimist."
He sighed and stepped inside. "I'll bring peephole stuff when I come to paint."
Nan blinked as she tried to figure out how she felt about that. On one hand, he cared and was trying to be nice. On the other hand, he thought she was incapable of caring for herself. And on the practical third hand, she didn't know how to put in a peephole.
She worked hard to sound gracious. "Thank you."
He stared at her, eyes narrowed. He'd probably heard her insincerity. She cleared her throat and changed the subject.
"I put all the leavery items on the register counter for you. I don't open for another hour. Anything else I can do to help?"
He finally gave her the warm smile she was longing for and adorable became his descriptor again, replacing bossy. He stopped by her desk and looked longingly at her cup. "Any more of that coffee?"
She looked at the now-cold dregs. "I'll get us both a fresh cup next door. Want a sticky bun to go with yours—assuming Ed has any left?"
"Sounds wonderful." His smile deepened, and she felt her heart flutter. She pictured it with wings, sort of like the Southwest Airlines logo.
She and Rog walked into the store, and she waved her hand at the treasures sitting on the counter. "Have at it. I'll be back." She started to walk down the aisle.
"Wait a minute. I've got a question." He looked from the register to the door, which was essentially looking from one end of the store to the other. "Why is your register counter in the back of the store?"
She frowned at him. "Because that's where Aunt Char had it."
He grunted as if he expected that answer. "It should be near the front."
"Because?"
"It can be seen from outside—"
"Wouldn't that attract robbery? Oh, look. Cash register. Money."
He held up a finger. "Let me finish. It discourages robbery, because it would be seen by passersby who would call the cops. And people can't shoplift as easily if they have to pass an employee on their way out."
"But it's classy back here. Like I trust my shoppers."
"You don't even know your shoppers. Which do you like? Classy or wise?"
"Can't I be classy and wise?"
"If you move it up front."
She wrinkled her nose. The expense of redesigning the store's interior on top of the pile of money needed for inventory threatened a financial bleed she wasn't sure she could afford. "A cash register at the door isn't very welcoming. Customers should see product that will lure them in, not the symbol of all the money they're going to spend in here."
"Not right at the door. You want a clear line of sight to the door. Off to the side but in the front. And don't have stuff too near the door."
"Why not?"
"You don't want to invite snatch-and-run situations, especially with all the teens jamming the boardwalk, daring each other to try something stupid."
She stared at him, frustrated. Was there nothing about Present Perfect he liked? "I'm so glad you came over."
She walked next door with her head spinning. What else didn't she know about retail that she should?
The smell of fresh-baked goodies captured her as soon as she stepped inside, and she knew another sticky bun was just the thing to settle her tension-filled stomach. She'd work it off before noon. She bought Rog one, too.
On the sidewalk in front of Present Perfect, her hands full of coffee and food, she saw Aunt Bunny's smiling face. Today she wore a Hawaiian shirt featuring multi-colored palm trees over a pair of cropped tan pants. She wore her flip-flops with the red flowers and a red baseball cap bearing the Phillies logo, her red hair clashing in a most interesting fashion. Her red bag hung from her shoulder as usual, and she held a coffee cup.
"I see Rog is here to help with your grace-gifts problem." Aunt Bunny nodded her approval. "I tell you, Nan, he's the man for you. Oh, yes. Not that it's any of my business, of course."
"Of course." Nan smiled. "I think you're rushing the fences, Aunt Bunny. I just met the man."
Aunt Bunny merely looked smug as they walked through the store.
When Nan held out his coffee and bun, Rog took them with an appreciative sniff.
"Have a piece, Aunt Bunny." Nan tore off a piece of her bun and held it out.
"Oh, I love these buns! Ed's is the best. Thank you."
"The best," Rog agreed.
The three ate and drank contentedly. Nan was wiping the last of the crumbs from her fingers when a loud thud sounded from above. She looked up, head cocked as if waiting for another noise. Rog and Aunt Bunny stared at the ceiling too.
"You have company?" Rog put down his coffee and what remained of his bun as if readying himself for action. "Or is it Queen Elizabeth?"
"Oh, sweet Lizzie." Aunt Bunny brushed her hands on her pants. "How is that pretty girl?"
Nan continued to study the ceiling. "She still hasn't decided if she likes me."
Aunt Bunny nodded. "Still grieving. She'll come around."
"I hope." Nan narrowed her eyes as soft footfalls could be heard upstairs, followed by another thud.
"That's not the cat." Rog reached for his mic on his shoulder, ready to call for backup.
A sliding noise, like furniture being moved, sounded.
With an angry snarl, Nan smacked her coffee on the counter and bolted for the back stairs.
Chapter Twelve
"Nan! Don't!" Rog grabbed for her as she raced past.
She ignored him and charged up the stairs. She could hear him muttering under his breath as he followed. She threw open the door at the top of the steps and strode into the room.
Just as she'd thought. She glared, hands on hips, at a woman in the act of moving the chairs from in front of the picture window. She was vaguely aware of Rog coming to stand beside her.
The woman turned. "Hello, Nan. Dear."
"What are you doing here, Mom?" Nan demanded. "Aside from rearranging my living
room."
Mom ignored the pique in Nan's voice and smiled. "It's such a lovely day, I just thought I'd pop down for a chat. I told you I was coming."
Right. See you soon in a text. Never did Nan think that message meant in the morning in Seaside, at least not until she'd heard all the commotion up here.
"Your mother?" Rog's eyebrows reached his hairline, and he took his hand from his gun.
"My mother, Elise Patterson. Mom, this is Officer Eastman."
Mom studied him without favor. "Why do you need a policeman, Nanette?"
"Hello, Ellie." Aunt Bunny peered out from behind Rog and waved.
Ellie? No one called Mom Ellie, not even Dad.
Mom spoke through a clenched jaw. "It's Elise, as you well know."
Aunt Bunny beamed, ignoring Mom's correction. "So nice to see you, Ellie. It's been a while. Char's funeral, I believe."
"Not long enough," Mom muttered in a rare show of hostility.
Nan flinched. If she'd heard, so might Aunt Bunny. She leaned in. "Mom, be nice. Please."
"Of course. I'm always nice." As if to prove her words, Mom smiled, only slightly insincere. "Nice to se
e you, uh, Bunny." She frowned. "Why do you let people call you Bunny?"
"I know," Aunt Bunny said cheerfully. "Bunny's a ridiculous name for an old lady, isn't it? I blame my father, who started calling me that when I was a baby. Cute then, I imagine."
Mom shook her head, whether at Aunt Bunny's name or her attitude, Nan wasn't sure. She returned to moving the chairs, no easy thing with the swivel undercarriage.
Nan eyed her mother with disfavor. "I repeat. What are you doing here?"
Mom straightened. "I came to find out what I should tell Brandon."
Nan blinked. "You tell him to find another date."
"Who's Brandon?" Aunt Bunny asked.
"The Wall Street big shot," Rog informed her.
Aunt Bunny looked impressed. "Oh, Wall Street."
Nan glared at them both, then turned back to her mother. "I cannot come to the party, Mom. I can't."
"Coming home doesn't even take two hours." Mom gave another tug on one of the chairs. "You can make that little journey to please your father and me, Nanette. I know you can." She paused in her labors to smile mistily at Nan. "It would mean so much to us."
Nan metaphorically gnashed her teeth. "It takes more like two and a half hours. Two and a half hours there and two and a half hours back and the time at the party—it's a whole day on one of my biggest weekends." How many times did she have to say it? "Mom. I. Can't."
Since it wasn't the answer she wanted, Mom ignored the comment. "Would someone please help me move these chairs?" She smiled sweetly at Rog.
Nan put a hand on his arm, though he hadn't made any move. "Don't even think about it."
Mom sighed and gave up that idea, but she clung tenaciously to the other. "Brandon is counting on you being at the party."
Nan rubbed her forehead. She and Mom had become two paths diverging in a wood, and Mom couldn't handle the divergence.
"He just got a new job at People magazine in their financial department. Just think. You could both be in publishing. Having things in common is so important."
"But I'm in retail!" Nan couldn't remember ever being so frustrated. Mom was worse than the leavery. "And I don't have time for People!"
Rog eyed her. "You don't? My mom loves People. My brothers and I have endured years of 'Oh, isn't that beautiful' or 'They say that's a best dressed? Who are they kidding?'"
"Make all the fun you want, young man." Mom pointed a finger. "Brandon has a master's degree."
Rog pressed his lips together, but Nan saw the smile struggling to escape. "How nice for him." The smile escaped.
"Mom, Rog has a law degree," Nan defended.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gave a squeeze. She marveled at the warm feeling his small appreciation and support gave her.
Mom saw the move and gave Rog her version of the evil eye. He smiled blandly and kept his hand on Nan's shoulder. Its warmth and weight felt good.
Mom busied herself with the furniture again, sliding an end table out of her way. "Well, Brandon can get you a job at People, especially with being an editor at Pizzazz on your resume."
Nan looked out the picture window at the ocean—strong, sure, and calm. If the ocean could do it, so could she. Strong. Sure. Calm.
"Mom. First, I wasn't an editor at Pizzazz. I rewrote copy and ran errands. Second, I don't want to work at People. I want to work at Present Perfect. I love my job."
"Well, I don't see you working very hard." Mom's voice had become what Nan thought of as spiked. When she spoke like this, Nan pictured a mace with all the spikes sticking out, ready to impale. When she spoke this way to Dad, he left the room and the conversation. As a consequence she rarely tried it on him. Nan had never had the nerve to walk out, and as a result, had been spiked on the few occasions she and Mom had disagreed. She'd been spiked more in the last few months than in all her previous years combined.
"Your precious store isn't even open! I peeked inside before I came up here, and I saw you talking with"—Mom looked at Aunt Bunny and Rog—"these people."
Nan looked at her watch. "Yikes. Thanks for reminding me. It's almost time to open. I've got to go down."
As usual, Mom didn't hear a word that disagreed with her agenda. "Nanette. Dear. You aren't getting any younger, you know. You need a nice young man in your life." She smiled with what she probably thought looked like love but which Nan recognized as determination. "A nice young man like Brandon."
Embarrassed, Nan looked at Rog. What must he be thinking? When he winked at her, she felt the tension drain away. Adorable all right. And understanding.
Mom steamrolled on. "You are very lucky that a man of Brandon's caliber is willing to escort you to the party, Nanette. Not only is he Clarissa Manning's nephew, he's Daphne Jones's too."
Of keeping up with the Joneses fame. The irony was that Nan had liked Daphne Jones the few times they'd met. She was pleasant and attractive and friendly. She was also wealthy, stylish in that effortless way some women have, and powerful in the social circles Mom aspired to.
"Marrying Brandon would be a real coup." Mom looked triumphant.
Marrying him? "Mom, I haven't even met the man!"
"He'll make a wonderful son-in-law."
"Mom!"
"Isn't that jumping one's fences a bit soon, Ellie?" Aunt Bunny smiled sweetly.
Mom ignored the comment. "Oh, did I happen to mention he's wealthy?" She smiled a cat-who-ate-the-cream smile. "He's very wealthy. He lives just off Central Park."
"But does he have a TASER and a sidearm?" Rog's expression was so serious, Nan bit back a smile.
She gave him an elbow in the side even as she made her gaze at her mother as steely as she could. "Please hear me, Mom. Please! I'm not interested."
"Of course you are, Nanette. He's the best catch you'll ever find, believe me."
Was that a compliment about Brandon or a slight to her? She looked at Rog in panic, and suddenly the words spurted out as if by magic.
"I'm not interested in your best catch, Mom, because I've already found my best catch." She grabbed Rog's arm. "Isn't he wonderful?"
Chapter Thirteen
Rog stared down at Nan. He was her best catch? She stared up at him, her lovely eyes both worried and startled. Somehow, she seemed as surprised as he at her pronouncement.
Should he call her on it? Say something like, "Uh, Nan, what are you talking about?"
She blinked those great hazel eyes at him, and he kept his mouth shut. After all, she was cute. She was good company, and he liked her. A lot. Why not be a support against her mother's relentless pushing?
But he was no woman's catch. Now or ever.
Lori had taught him how dangerous getting caught was. He had finally learned to enjoy his freedom, and he did not, repeat not, want to get entangled in another relationship, no matter how cute and charming the woman.
He glanced at Mrs. Patterson. She was staring at him with something like horror, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Horror. Definitely. All that was missing was the, "No! Never him!" He wouldn't be surprised if she went all melodramatic and added a faint.
So he lived in Seaside instead of off Central Park. So he wrote tickets and arrest reports instead of financial reports. So he wore a uniform to work instead of a Brooks Brothers suit. He had a college degree. He had that law degree Nan had mentioned, and he'd gone to the Police Academy. He'd earned his blues through lots of hard work, and he was proud of what and who he was. And his work was never boring. He doubted Brandon of a magazine's financial department could say that.
He looked at Nan and raised an eyebrow. She swallowed and tried to smile. Her sheep-waiting-to-be-slaughtered look and Mrs. Patterson's not-in-this-lifetime expression cemented his decision. After all, he liked Nan, and he didn't particularly like her mother.
Note to Brandon: you do not want to be this woman's son-in-law.
He put a hand over Nan's shaking one and gave her a couple of gentle pats and a smile he tried hard to make sincere. She looked back up at him,
eyes still wide with uncertainty. He had no idea what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind.
"I've got to get back to work." He took a deep breath and forced out, "Honey."
She nodded, relief sweeping over her face, followed by that blinding smile of hers.
"I'll see you later." He emphasized the last three words.
She wrinkled her nose at him and nodded. She clearly understood that see you later was Rog-speak for we have to talk.
He dropped her hand and walked, not ran, to the stairs. He paused. "By the way, I agree with Nan. I like the chairs in front of the window, Mrs. Patterson. Makes for a cozy time watching the ocean."
He heard Nan give a choked laugh as he started down the stairs.
"Oh, Elise!" It was Aunt Bunny. "Isn't it wonderful? I knew they were meant for each other."
Fortunately, he couldn't hear Mrs. Patterson's response.
He went through the office into the store. He didn't want to leave in case Nan needed him, though she seemed to be holding her own quite well. He studied the items on the counter. Nan had put them there for him to photograph, but he didn't need to do that now that he knew what the leavery was all about.
So far, Aunt Bunny hadn't explained anything to Nan, but there'd been no time, courtesy of Mrs. Patterson's surprise visit. He didn't think she'd be here much longer, and then Aunt Bunny could say her piece. He couldn't wait to hear how the woman framed her actions.
Aunt Bunny came through the door from the office. "Nan and Elise should be down shortly. I think I guilted Elise into looking at the store." She grinned with pride.
Rog laughed. "Good for you."
"Did you know she never went into the store when she was here to help Nan move in? It's like if she doesn't look at Present Perfect, it doesn't exist, and Nan will go back to her old life."
"But she won't." Rog understood Nan's need to stand up to her mother about the store, because he'd had to do the same about being on the force. Facing down parents who loved you and cared for you was a hard task, but choosing a career wasn't the parents' job, no matter how good their intentions.
More footsteps, and Nan came into the store looking back over her shoulder. "Come on, Mom." Her voice was nervous and uncertain.