by Vicki Essex
“I just have a hard time with public speaking.”
Was that all she had on her mind? “You did really well,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show. She worried her lower lip. “What’s wrong?”
She rubbed the heels of her palms over her thighs. “A woman in town, Maya Hanes, wants to help with the open house. She’s talking about fund-raising and costume parties and all kinds of stuff. I know I should be grateful, but...” She splayed her hands. “I’m not used to people helping me like that. I don’t like being the center of attention...or pity.”
“Sounds like she just wants to help.”
“Maybe.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up. “This is what Grandpa would want. I’ve just never been good with people. Arty and Janice say I’ve got anxiety issues, but it’s not that. For this, I simply don’t know if I can handle all the work.”
“I think you’re great with people,” he said. “And you’ve got time to get things done.”
Inside, the mercenary business part of him screamed to leverage her fears and doubts to convince her to sell. But instead, he said, “I can help you.”
She stared. “I don’t get you, Shane. Why would you help me? You can’t claim this is about you needing to help people.”
“I’m helping ’cause I like it when you smile,” he said honestly. “And I like seeing you enthusiastic about something. You want to honor your grandfather by sharing the theater with the world, even though it scares you to bits. That’s another reason I like you.” He tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.
Her cheeks flushed. Damn, she was adorable. If he didn’t get to kiss her again soon, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll forget about all this and have a night of fun.”
“Shane...”
“I’m serious. Just one night. You and me.” He studied the conflict on her face, the uncertainty. It wasn’t outright suspicion, the way it’d once been, but Mira wasn’t convinced. “Please?”
She gave a short laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you rarely beg women to go on dates?”
* * *
MIRA CALLED MAYA HANES the following morning, and they met for coffee at the Grindery Café on Main. She ordered a large double shot cappuccino, raising Maya’s eyebrows.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she explained. “Thinking too much about the open house.”
That, and her date with Shane scheduled for that evening. She didn’t know why she’d agreed to it. Was she that weak-willed and starved for affection that she couldn’t say no to him?
She focused on her conversation with Maya, and they worked out a few ideas for the open house. Maya had been busy: she’d spoken with Stephanie Stephens, who’d agreed to organize a fund-raising bake sale. She’d also called the head of the Everville retirement home, who’d said many of the residents were looking for a way to support Mira’s campaign to save the Crown.
“That’s what we should call it. ‘Save the Crown.’” Maya smiled thoughtfully. “Kind of has a nostalgic ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Mira nodded a little distractedly. Everything was moving so fast. Maya peered into her face. “Is something wrong?”
“I didn’t think people cared enough to do anything for the theater,” Mira admitted.
“You wouldn’t believe how motivated people suddenly get when they think they’re about to lose something they’ve taken for granted. A paradox, I know. I come across it all the time when I get inventory for the shop. People get attached to things they’re used to having around, even if they’ve never used it.” She shrugged. “Change isn’t easy for some.”
They went to Maya’s consignment store, where she showed Mira some outfits she wanted to display at the open house. Each costume was carefully folded within tissue paper inside individual boxes.
“These are amazing.” Mira carefully ran gloved hands over the intricate beadwork of a Prohibition-era flapper dress.
“They belonged to my grandmother. She was a costume designer in Los Angeles way back in the day, and had mountains and mountains of period dresses in her collection. I used to go to her house all the time and we’d play dress up, and she’d teach me all about the different kinds of clothes people wore throughout history. She passed down her entire collection to me when she died. You could call this my legacy.”
Just as Grandpa had entrusted the theater to Mira.
They discussed which outfits could be featured with which films. And before they knew it, they had a whole weekend of films and displays planned.
“If only we could have an entire week,” Maya lamented. “There’s huge potential for a film festival here.”
Mira bit the inside of her cheek. “I have to fix things up, first. The men’s washroom is out of order...” She grimaced. “I haven’t been able to afford a plumber.”
“You know who can help? Chris Jamieson. He’s good at fixing plumbing issues. Probably because he’s always working on pumps on his farm. He fixed my toilet when it clogged. I’ll call him.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother him...”
“You won’t. He’ll help a friend out.”
Before Mira could protest, Maya picked up her cell and dialed Chris. A few minutes later, they’d agreed to meet at the theater in an hour.
First Shane, then Maya and now Chris. She didn’t know how to feel about allowing more and more people into her sanctuary. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, but she didn’t want people traipsing in and out of her home, poking their noses in her business.
When they arrived at the theater, she let Maya in through the front door hesitantly.
“Oh my,” she said quietly, staring around the lobby. “There’s a lot more work to be done than I thought.”
“The plywood can come off the doors easily. The glass should be intact...” She cringed as she saw what Maya saw—random boxes of old leaflets sitting on the concession stand, cobwebs in darkened corners, detritus littering the carpets despite her best efforts not to track in anything. Between work and her garden and the myriad other make-work projects she’d given herself, she’d neglected the most basic housekeeping. The auditorium was an even bigger mess—she never used more than the front few rows and the stage, and that was still a mess from when the rig and ceiling had collapsed.
Her heart sank into her stomach. Maya must think she was a total slob. How could she possibly have an open house? Who would want to come here? She waited for a tongue-lashing, or some biting remark, preparing for Maya to walk out in a huff and abandon the project altogether.
But Maya simply rubbed her hands together. “Nothing a little elbow grease can’t fix up. We just need some help.”
“Help?” Mira squeaked.
“I know lots of people who’d be happy to pitch in. I’ll email the town business association asking for volunteers to help clean up.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she said quickly.
“Well, you can’t do it all yourself. Many hands make light work.” She peered at her, and Mira flushed. “What is it?”
Mira pursed her lips. “I’ve always done things on my own. I’m not used to this... No one except my grandfather ever offered to help me with anything.”
“Not even your parents?”
She grimaced. “They weren’t really into being parents.” She thought everyone in town knew that.
Maya seemed to sense that Mira was uncomfortable talking about her childhood, so she left it alone. “People will want to pitch in. Trust me.”
Mira fidgeted. She couldn’t ask anyone to help her reopen the Crown. That would be wrong, wouldn’t it? This was her project, her problem.
That, at least, had been what she’d believed since childhood. She had to take charge of her own life and deal
with her problems by herself. She couldn’t count on anyone to come to her rescue. But then she thought about Shane helping her with the roof, driving all the way to New York to get her a projector, spending time with her. She hadn’t expected anything from him, but he was there, and he had pulled through for her in ways no one else ever had.
She had to admit it’d been really nice to have someone who cared. And though she’d told herself that Shane was only being nice to get her to sell the Crown, she didn’t truly believe it anymore.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHANE CHECKED HIMSELF in the rearview mirror before exiting his car. He hoped Greenfield’s was still as good as their five-star reviews claimed. His family would always go to the country club restaurant out by Silver Lake at least once during their summer vacations to enjoy a fancy dinner. Downtown Everville didn’t have a whole lot to offer in terms of fine dining, and he wanted Mira to have the best.
He walked up to the theater’s front door, knowing Mira would open it before he could knock. He’d finally discovered the sensors that notified her when someone approached the Crown, carefully hidden beneath metal plates attached to the wall. If anyone knew about them, they could be easily disabled, and then Mira would be left defenseless. It compounded his growing worries for her safety—ever since he’d realized her living situation he hadn’t been able to stop imagining the worst-case scenarios.
As predicted, she opened the door. “I’m sorry...” She wiped the back of her arm over her forehead. “I lost track of time. I need a quick shower. You mind?”
“No problem. I can wait.”
She hurried through the lobby. All the lights were on, casting the place in a gold-hued glow that reminded him of a sepia-toned photo. A garbage bin overflowing with papers and detritus sat in the middle of the room. “What’s going on?”
“Cleaning. I’ve got a lot to do to get the place ready for the open house.” She chewed on her lip. “I was so used to the mess I didn’t realize how gross the carpets have gotten. I’m going to need to get them shampooed.”
“I think Arty has a wet vac for rent at the grocery store. How about I pick it up and bring it by tomorrow?”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know.” He grinned. “But I want to.”
She shook her head. “Something tells me even if I argued, you’d still show up.”
She invited him to sit in her office/bedroom while she showered. He wanted to ask her about that shower, maybe even see it. Not because he was some kind of pervert, but because he was curious how she might have cobbled one together in an old theater.
Now that he thought about Mira wet and naked, though...
He clamped down on the notion and looked around. The cabinets and drawers beckoned. Who knew what kinds of secrets about the mysterious Mira they contained? Instead of snooping through every drawer and box in sight, he opened the fridge. It contained a half-empty jug of milk, the end pieces of a loaf of Wonder Bread, a giant jar of peanut butter and quite a few microwave meals as well as several cans of soup. He thought it odd at first that she kept all her food in the fridge, but there wasn’t much room elsewhere in the office.
She’d invited him to use her laptop, so he sat at the desk and checked the sports headlines to pass the time. Unable to contain his curiosity, he peeked at Mira’s browser history.
Most of the sites were clearly work-related movie blogs and film industry databases. A number of YouTube links directed him to how-to videos that, had he not seen what Mira could accomplish on her own, would’ve seemed like a random selection of specialized skills for a woman to be interested in. Welding, soldering, replacing corroded pipes...
Of course. She was trying to fix the plumbing in the men’s room. She’d mentioned she’d shut the water off there. He did a quick mental calculation, wondering how he could help her out in that department.
Then he stopped himself. He knew he wanted to help her because he liked her, and he wanted her to like him, but he also knew he was doing it because he felt guilty. Because he knew in the end, the Crown would be his. He was there on Sagmar’s behalf to do whatever necessary to acquire the property. And he would, regardless of his growing feelings for Mira. He was a closer. He had to do what was best for everyone.
She emerged a few minutes later. She’d changed into black dress pants and a black blouse. It didn’t look much different from what she usually wore. She seemed to notice his perusal and she tugged at the top self-consciously. “Sorry, I didn’t know how to dress. Where are we going?”
“Greenfield’s. There’s no dress code.” He mentally chastised himself for being so to the point—he was usually much smoother. Quickly, he added, “You look nice,” then mentally smacked himself again. Nice was too platonic, but gorgeous and beautiful were a little over-the-top. He had a feeling Mira wouldn’t appreciate obsequious flattery.
When had he become so awkward?
The corners of her mouth and eyes tightened. “I’ll go put some makeup on.” She scurried out before he could tell her she didn’t need it.
Five minutes later, she’d brightened her face with a dab of lip gloss and eyeliner. Her hair was still wet but slightly slicked back from her face with gel. She’d also put some cute ballet flats on—somehow those little shoes with the bows on them made her look ten years younger. She clutched a well-worn canvas shoulder bag and picked at the hem of her blouse. “Better?”
“You looked nice before. Now I’m wishing I’d brought you a corsage.”
She rolled her eyes and chuckled. It only made him wish he’d brought her a whole bouquet.
The drive to the club was made in silence. It was still bright out, the air infused with summer’s hazy gold glow. It was the kind of evening that Shane loved to drive through with the windows down and the radio turned up. Next to him, Mira was a little black cloud of deep thought.
“Are you nervous?” he asked with concern.
“No.” She glanced out the window. “What made you pick Greenfield’s?”
“They do a great prime rib dinner. And I haven’t been there in years.” He hoped she wasn’t judging him for being too flashy. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
“No, it’s fine. Grandpa used to take me there for special occasions.” She fell silent once more, steeped in what he assumed were sad memories. Shane was beginning to regret his choice of restaurants.
Despite her claims that she’d been there before, Mira didn’t look particularly comfortable in the country club’s dining room. It was Friday, so the place was busy. A raucous party across the room dominated the soundscape, and though Shane couldn’t immediately see who it was, he recognized the blustery voice booming above the din.
“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s a damn shame,” Bob Fordingham’s tone rang with false sincerity. The former mayor sat at the head of a table with about nine other people, including a carefully coiffed woman and two children who looked to be under ten. His family, Shane guessed. “Condos are a blight on the town, and they’ll attract all the wrong types. This ain’t New York. We don’t need those people pushing real Americans out of Everville.”
Shane set his teeth and blocked out the conversation. He was supposed to be on a date with Mira. “Tell me about growing up here. I don’t think I ever saw you out at the beach or anywhere around town.”
Mira lifted a shoulder. “I wasn’t much of a beachgoer.” She rubbed her arms absently.
“Where’d you learn about movie critiquing?” He already knew the answers because of the PI, of course.
“CUNY. BA in film studies.”
“So you lived in New York for college?”
“Just a year. It was too expensive to stay, so I finished my degree online.” Her gaze slid away. “Anyhow, Grandpa needed me here. He was getting older...” The corners of her eyes softened, and she star
ed at a point in the middle distance. She looked vulnerable, but also accepting.
“How did he die?” He didn’t want to bring up bad memories, but Mira seemed open to questions tonight. It was like peeking through a secret door that was locked most of the time and had been left ajar. He wasn’t meant to see what was beyond it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Heart attack. He was sitting in the auditorium when I found him. I thought he was just asleep.” She stared at her lap.
Shane wanted to take her hand, but she was too far away. “I’m sorry. He sounded like a great man. And he did a great job raising you.”
Mira shook her head. “He did what he had to. My parents weren’t around much. They drank a lot and did drugs and... Well, Grandpa found out and came and got me. They didn’t want me anyhow, except to clean house for them. And for the government checks. I was more trouble than they were willing to put up with. They always said so.”
Shane’s hands grew clammy as they fisted on the tabletop. He’d figured it was bad, but not that bad. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Her gaze flicked away from him. “I was a mistake. I was never supposed to be born.” She said it so matter-of-factly, his gut twisted hard.
“You can’t believe that.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “When you hear it from your mother and father pretty much every day of your life, you’re not inclined to argue.” She waved a hand. “Anyhow, they don’t matter anymore. Mom OD’d on some bad coke or something. Dad’s in jail. He was the one who gave the stuff to her. I try not to think about them.”
The blandness of the statement sent a shiver through Shane. It was the kind of story small town communities didn’t forget. He couldn’t imagine what Mira’s childhood had been like in those early years before Jack Bateman had rescued her.
She seemed to read his thoughts because she gave him a flat look. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I wasn’t pitying you,” he said honestly. She was a jumble of contradictions—starved for love and affection, but as prickly as a cactus. Clearly, she kept people at arm’s length to avoid being hurt by those she trusted, people who would disappoint her the most. What was difficult was figuring out how to get her to see herself as someone deserving of love. “I was just thinking how much I admire you. You overcame all those odds to become the woman you are today.”