Chancey Jobs (Chancey Books Book 4) Read online

  "I've got mowing to do before it gets dark."

  I straighten up from leaning and look around at the purpling air. Bats and swallows are darting here and there, catching dinner, and just as I look up at the house, I see lights way at the top come on. Savannah must be home from youth group. "Okay, one more kiss before I let you get back to work." When I kiss him, and I really do kiss him, he breaks it up by grinning and pulling back to look at me.

  "Guess seeing your business partner getting busy with her boyfriend got your motor running."

  "What? No. Not at all. You're crazy." I step away and turn to walk up the hill as he sits down on the mower. However, instead of hearing the roaring of the engine, I hear him call me.

  "Hey, Carolina, so what did Laney and Susan have to say about Will and Anna and all that?" His light voice doesn't betray the concern I see in his eyes when I turn toward him.

  "Um, you know, it didn't come up. At all."

  His smile is lopsided, and then he turns the key and the machine comes to life. He drives away, and as I walk up the hill, I wonder why Will and Anna didn't come up. Were we just preoccupied with Jordan, and then Patty? Do they not care? Or are they embarrassed to bring it up? Wait, Laney embarrassed? I don't think so, but then why wasn't it mentioned?

  The back door on the porch swings opens and Bryan walks out.

  "Mom, what's for dinner? They only had baked potatoes at youth group, and I'm starving."

  "Okay, did you have fun?"

  "Sure, I guess. What are you cooking?"

  "Hold on, you won't starve."

  "I might. Those baked potatoes were gross."

  I close the door behind me and flip on the kitchen light. "Gross? You like baked potatoes."

  "Not when they're the only thing to eat. If you have steak or something, but just a baked potato? Gross."

  "They didn't have cheese or bacon bits?"

  "Yeah, but just baked potatoes. Weird."

  "You're like your daddy. If there's not a meat on the plate, it's not a meal. Frozen pizza? Pepperoni or everything?"

  He thinks for a minute. "Pepperoni. I'll get the pan."

  While I turn on the oven and collect dishes from around the kitchen to load into the dishwasher, he unwraps the pizza and puts it on the pan.

  Maybe if he's hungry, and I don't look at him, he'll talk. "So, was Brittani there?" Brittani is a high school girl my little boy started hanging out with in the winter. I’m still having trouble calling her his girlfriend.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch him as he shrugs. Then he walks out of the kitchen.

  Okay, guess he's not that hungry. We've not seen the little redhead for a week or two, and he won't give me any information. Savannah says she doesn't know if they are still dating (like they can date when they can't even drive) and says she doesn't want to know, and then she launches into how much she hates Brittani, so I can't ask her anymore.

  And Savannah’s resentment has nothing to do with sisterly love, but teen-girl vengeance and drama. Brittani stole Savannah’s lead role in the spring play, then caused Savannah to trip during a cheerleading stunt - The world according to Savannah Jessup.

  Soft light fills the living room when I leave the brightly lit kitchen. I reach back in to turn off the kitchen light, and then walk in the liquid light from the front windows to the front door. I slide the glass top panel down to expose the screen window, and the smell of mown grass falls in on a cool breeze. The sun is gone from the sky, and there are no clouds to reflect its setting behind the mountains. Just clear air taking on depth as the shadows lengthen. The heat of the early May day required the air conditioner earlier, but the heat slipped through our fingers with promises of a more stalwart return.

  Turning from the windows, the stillness of the house is accentuated by the creeping darkness, but now that we are headed towards summer, even the darkness seems soft. Maybe it's the smell of the grass, or the chirp of grasshoppers outside, or the birds calling good night to each other, but this darkening contains hope. Summer is coming, and even the night knows it.

  "What are you doing?" Savannah asks from the top of the stairs. "Buzzer is going off. What are you cooking?"

  "Oh, nothing. I mean, I'm doing nothing. Pizza. Pizza must be done. Holler for Bryan." This time when I flip the kitchen light on, the windows are black. That in-between time is gone, and night has fallen.

  Before the pizza is fully cut, Savannah and Bryan are waiting for a piece. Bryan takes the first two pieces and heads to the living room. He has the lights and TV on before I can get Savannah’s slice onto her plate. How quickly the magic of twilight evaporates into light and noise. "So, you didn't like the baked potato at youth group either?"

  "It's was okay. I just forgot to eat it. Jenna got my application and hers from MoonShots, so we were filling them out. We're going to take them in tomorrow before school. It was closed when we went by after church. Hey, who's Patty's boyfriend?"

  "Why? What did you see?" Apparently my flipping around to face her with melted cheese stringing from the pizza cutter was a little abrupt.

  My middle child wrinkles her nose. "Chill. They were kissing at the door to your shop. He's even bigger than she is. Kinda hard to miss 'em."

  "Oh, yeah," I say, bending down to wipe up cheese off the floor. "He's Andy. We bought some furniture from him. I think they're moving kind of fast."

  Savannah shrugs. "She's old. Guess she doesn't want to waste time." She grabs a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, then she joins her brother in the living room.

  At the back door, Jackson steps in just as I was getting ready to step out and tell him about the pizza. "Oh, here you are. I made a pizza. Kids are in the living room."

  He washes his hand in the sink. "Want to eat it on the deck? Sounds like the kids have taken over in there."

  With two bottled waters and my slice, I get settled on the deck. Jackson joins me with a bigger plate and a couple pieces on it. Light from the kitchen window spills across the deck, and in the black sky, the brighter stars make their appearances. "Hey, turn off that light over the sink, okay?" I ask before he sits down. When he turns it off, the stars start popping out. We still have enough light from the stove hood, but it's muted.

  "So you have folks in the B&B this week?" he asks.

  "Not until Wednesday night, but they'll be here through the weekend. Then I think there's a couple coming just for Friday and Saturday. Laney's handling the reservations, but I caught a peek at the book earlier."

  "How about the bookstore? When do you plan on opening that? Laney's still good with taking over the B&B?"

  "Yes. You know she's itching for me to get out of the way." Keeping annoyance out of my voice is hard. Venting my unhappiness through tone, if not words, became a habit over the past couple months, and it feels so good to let it out. But I know, I know, it doesn't help. He's annoyed at me for not wanting to do the B&B, and I'm annoyed at him for being annoyed. This B&B thing was never my idea.

  We eat in silence, and now I'm getting annoyed because he has no idea I'm annoyed. He's just sitting there eating and smiling. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then out of nowhere a thought enters my head. I’m jealous of Laney taking over the B&B.

  My eyes pop open. Where did that come from? Well, that's a little more truth than I want on a Sunday night. "I've got some laundry to do, so I'll be downstairs," I say as I stand up.

  Jackson just smiles and gives a little nod toward his plate. "Okay, I'm going to finish eating out here and then take a shower and pack. I should be home by Thursday night."

  "Fine," I say as I pull the door closed behind me.

  I put my saucer in the sink and head down the basement stairs. As the smell of dryer sheets, musty concrete floors and walls, and cardboard from the stacks of boxes we've yet to unpack greets me, all I can think is, "What do you mean you're jealous of Laney? You hate the B&B."

  Forget that. Once I get the bookstore open, it'll be great. Absolutely great.

>   Chapter 9

  "Thought I heard someone down here. Why are you here so early?" Patty asks from the bottom stair from her apartment. Turning to look at her, I want to tell her no need to clutch her robe around her like that ’cause I've seen it all already.

  "We've got to get this place open. No more playing around with it. Graduation weekend is behind me and I’m ready to get the bookstore open. It’s already May 3rd. Go get dressed, and I'll get a couple coffees, okay?"

  She nods, turns, and lumbers up the stairs. A sigh can't help coming out as I bend over to pick up my purse, and with a quick look around, I realize I left my pink ceramic travel mug in the car. Ruby doesn't do to-go cups, so everyone carries around their own if they want to drink their coffee anywhere other than inside Ruby's. Oh, wow, until now.

  My hand actually warms and tingles a bit at the idea of a MoonShots to-go cup. Deep purple, with the yellow moon and the white cardboard sleeve. Every so often a jolt of suburban envy hits me; this time, though, it leaves me with weakened knees.

  I can actually go get a coffee from MoonShots.

  Unless Ruby is sitting in the park gazebo with a gun, which is not entirely out of the question. I grab my wallet out of my purse, check through the front window for the glint of early morning sun off a gun scope in the park, and slip out the door. The sun sits just above the mountains in front of me, hitting the store windows and turning them into sheets of light. Good cover, I figure, but I hurry anyway, hugging the front of the building and keeping my head down.

  When I open the door, my knees weaken again. This smells like home, our old home. Like new floors, granite counters, sparkling bathrooms, new paint, strong coffee. Ruby's smells good, but good like your grandma's house. Worn floors, muffins baking, a touch of Lysol or mothballs, and coffee. Not strong coffee, not dark coffee, grandma coffee. Nice, brown coffee.

  "Good morning! Welcome to MoonShots!” A young man calls out. "What can I get you this morning?" What? No insult upon walking in the door? Ruby's is in serious trouble.

  "Good morning. You know, it'll take me some time to get used to your menu again. How about just two medium coffees." I pause to savor it before I say, "To go."

  As he rings me up I glance at his nametag. "So Matt, are you from around here?"

  "Nope. I'm from the Boston store. When a new MoonShots opens, there's a contest for who gets to go open it and run it for two weeks. We train the new staff."

  "Wow, I bet this is different from Boston."

  Matt pulls two cups off the stack to his left, and all I can see from his turned down head are his eyebrows raising. Then he looks at me and tries to smile. "Sure is. When we heard of a Georgia store opening, we all thought it would be Atlanta."

  The girl behind him laughs and asks, "Who ever heard of a MoonShots in such a small town?"

  "Really,” I agree. “Where are you from?"

  She smiles and takes the cups from Matt. "I'm from Seattle, but I currently work in the Dallas store." She fills the first cup and sits it on the counter.

  "Where are y'all staying?"

  She can't help but sigh with her whole body as she watches the steaming coffee fill the second cup. "Out at the interstate. Not quite the experience we all competed for."

  "Yeah, I guess not. How many of you are here?"

  Matt answers, "Six of us. Seven with Jordan."

  I pick up two cardboard sleeves. "But Jordan must be here for longer. Her apartment upstairs is quite nice."

  Matt and the girl meet eyes, and she turns back to the sink. Matt pushes the cups toward me. "Yeah, well, not sure what's going on there."

  Focusing on putting the lids on and acting all nonchalant, I say, "So, it's not usual for Mrs. Moon to open stores."

  Matt laughs a bit in the back of his throat. "After the mess last winter, I guess she figures it's the only way to keep being called Mrs. Moon." His emphasis on the word “missus” causes his coworker to snicker. When I look up, he shrugs. "Enjoy your coffee."

  Before I push through the door, I take a careful sip. It's hot, rich, strong but not bitter. Which is more than I can say for the employees. Holding the cups low, I scoot back to our shop, and make it without being seen. Patty opens the door for me.

  She has on jeans, a shapeless blue shirt and house shoes. "Why are you wearing house shoes?" I ask, as I hand her her coffee.

  Her lank hair barely moves as she looks down at her feet. When she looks back up, there's no answer on her face or in her mouth.

  Never mind.

  I sit my coffee on the counter for the flower shop, and pull the notepad I laid there earlier towards me. "I started working on a list of things we need to do. I think we should plan on opening Monday, ready or not."

  "Next Monday? In just a week?"

  "Why not? We have to open up sometime, and I have a feeling if I left it to you we'd never open." And wow, did that sound mean. "I'm sorry, Patty, I didn't mean that."

  She shuffles to the couch and sits down. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

  Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out through a big smile. "We're partners. We decide together what to do. Like, should we paint the bookshelves? Do we need more furniture? How will we do book trade-ins, and how much will we charge for books?"

  "Andy is bringing two more chairs this afternoon. He also found us that counter he talked about. Mother is bringing us a computer this weekend."

  "See, you've gotten a lot done. So, your mother is coming for Mother's Day?"

  "Yeah. She may stay for a while, too. Laney reserved the Chessie Room where I stayed last fall."

  Gertie Samson in my house for an extended period of time? I'm going to kill Laney. Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I tamp down the screaming and ask, "Really? At the B&B? Why is she staying so long?"

  My partner drinks her coffee and shrugs.

  "Does she know about Andy?"

  Patty grins and actually bites her lower lip. "Not yet, but she'll meet him Sunday. We made reservations for a Mother's Day brunch."

  "That sounds nice. Where is that? Maybe I can talk Jackson into taking me."

  She laughs, "Up at Crossings. On the deck. Laney said it's for those staying there and their guests. Maybe she could find a place for you and Jackson."

  Okay, maybe I won't kill Laney, because then I'd have to fix the brunch. But as soon as the last mimosa is drunk, she's dead.

  #####

  "And just who is cooking this brunch?" With my cell phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I talk loudly over the sound of sanding. Andy arrived armed with sandpaper, since we "obviously" were going to paint the shelves. He also arrived with paint. Apparently we're going with a wine red and navy blue color scheme. Cream will be our accent color. Someone must've slipped mine and Patty's lack of decision making on the church prayer list, and it looks like Andy is the answer. He loves making decisions. Just ask him.

  "When I saw you ladies were having trouble deciding, I decided to decide for you." He talks as big as he is. "Doesn't that look good?"

  Patty nods, like a bobble head dog in the back of a car window driving down a dirt road. Guess I should be grateful her tongue isn't hanging out. And I have to keep my head from bobbing, ’cause it does look good. I'm hand-sanding the rusted places the sander can’t reach, Patty is painting the shelves, and Andy is painting the counter he brought over this morning. It's old and pretty basic, but he's painting it to look like something you'd see in a furniture shop. The top is deep red, and the sides he painted navy blue. Now he's covering the trim with the thick ivory cream, and I can't believe how good it looks. I also didn't notice last night that the couch is leather, oxblood red, and matches the shelves perfectly. The chairs he brought are high-back and a muted plaid of navy, cream, and a lighter blue. Patty is painting the shelves the cream, and they stand out in the huge dark space. I had thought we should paint them the blue so they wouldn't show dirt from people looking at the books, but Andy said, "No." And he was right again.

  T
his is getting old.

  Figured I could take out some of my frustration by yelling at Laney about the B&B stuff, but that isn't working either.

  "Why do you care who's cooking? You just worry about the bookstore. That was the deal, right?"

  "What if we don't want a brunch on our deck this Sunday? What if we had family plans for Sunday that don’t include a crowd of strangers?"

  Hard to be indignant when the person who should be cowering and apologizing keeps laughing. "Be serious, Carolina. You don't plan things like that. I did want to ask you something, though."

  Finally. "Okay, what do you need?"

  "How many seats do you want to reserve? Is Will coming home?"

  "I don't know, go ahead and put us down for five."

  "Six? Remember you have a daughter-in-law now, and it's kind of her first Mother's Day."

  "Oh, Lord. You think Missus will want to come, too?" Now I'm feeling sick, and it's not from the paint fumes.

  "I don't know, let me ask. Hey, Missus, Carolina wants to invite y’all to sit with them at the Mother's Day brunch. One big happy family." She speaks back into the phone. "Aww, so great to see families getting along. I think you made Missus tear up. She's thrilled."

  "Laney, I'm trying real hard to not kill you before Sunday, but you're making it downright impossible." I take the phone in my dust-covered hand and push the end button. I tuck it into my jeans pocket, lay down the sand paper, and pick up the damp rag for wiping off the dust. "Last shelf is done," I say as I step away from it. “What in the world?” I mutter with a shake of my head.

  Andy is pressed up against Patty's back, and his head is buried in her neck. His saggy jeans and faded tee and big ol' head of red hair is all I can see, but I hear her giggles.

  "Cut it out, you two."

  Patty turns around, paintbrush still in hand, and now Andy's big ol' head is laying on her shoulder looking at me. He looks drunk. Is he really besotted with her? I learned that term from years of reading romances, but it fits his look. And she, well, another romance term comes to mind. She's, yeah, she's blossoming. Pink cheeks, eyes wide and dilated, light changing them from flat to glowing. Heck, even her hair looks fuller.