Maggie pushed the end button and set the phone on the shelf under the counter, feeling numb.
She actually said it out loud.
“What was I thinking?” she whispered. It could have been a huge disaster, embarrassing both of them, screwing up their still fragile relationship.
Instead, he said it back—and even better, wanted to be the one to say it first. She smiled, knowing she would tease him about that. Just for a little while, but enough to poke at him.
“Stop woolgathering over there, Mags.” Spencer’s voice jerked her out of a daydream. “I’m drowning.”
“Oh, no.” He wasn’t exaggerating; at some point during her call with Martin, what looked like an entire busload of tourists had stormed the shop.
“On my way.”
She grabbed a bunch of brochures off the counter, to distract people while she and Spencer worked their way through the crowd.
They advertised the holiday festival up at the castle—an event Maggie was so excited about, she could hardly stand it. She planned to ask Martin to go with her, and spin an evening of romance around them. Now that he had said he loved her out loud, it would be the most romantic she could manage—
“Maggie.” Spencer snapped her out of her daydream. He sounded desperate.
“Sorry.” She ran across the shop, stopping next to a couple at the back of the crowd. “Welcome to The Ash Leaf. I’m so sorry about the wait—we’re a bit short-staffed today.”
The woman smiled at her. “You’re American.”
“Yes.” Maggie returned the smile. “My great aunt lived in Holmestead, and I spent almost every summer here. Are you looking for something in particular?”
“I collect Victorian portrait miniatures. I was hoping you might have one or two.”
“Follow me.” Maggie led them to the sideboard that took up most of the wall. “I think you’ll find a few here.”
She walked away, grinning at the gasp of delight behind her. Then she dove into the crowd, passing out brochures and directing people to different parts of the shop. By the time she reached Spencer, he had one customer. One fussy, determined customer.
“I will have this, young man, whether you want to sell it or not.”
“I am sorry, ma’am, but as I told you, this belongs to the owner, and is not for sale.”
Maggie knew that tone. It was Spencer’s “get me away from this person before I strangle them” tone.
“Can I help?” Maggie stepped to Spencer’s side and faced the woman.
“I want that desk.” She pointed to Aunt Irene’s old roll top desk, one that Maggie, remembered playing treasure hunt in as a girl. It no longer fit in her new design at home, so she had it hauled here, where she could enjoy it on a daily basis. Apparently, the huge “Not For Sale” signs didn’t keep the woman from pestering Spencer about buying it. “Tell me how much.”
“I’m afraid the desk is not available.” Maggie moved over to it, and ran her hand down the front edge. “This is a family piece, and it will stay in this family. Is there something else I can interest you in? I have a beautiful—”
“I want that one.” She jabbed her finger at the desk.
This woman was a forceful reminder of why Maggie didn’t miss her life in the States.
With a sigh, she stepped in front of the desk. “It’s not for sale. Not at any price.”
The woman pouted, crossing her arms. “I want to see the manager.”
“I am the owner of this shop.” Maggie put just enough emphasis on the word to make sure the woman heard her. “Which means you just heard the final say on the matter.”
“You—I—how rude!” The woman tried to get at the desk one last time, but Spencer blocked her, his lean, six foot frame keeping her away from Maggie and the desk. “I’m going to report you! No one will ever shop here again!”
She spun—and halted, when she realized that everyone else in the shop was staring at her.
Spencer leaned in and muttered under his breath. “Who is she going to report us to, the rude police?”
Maggie clapped one hand over her mouth before her laugh escaped. Relief spread through her when the woman stomped over to the door and yanked it open, slamming it so hard Maggie was surprised that the glass didn’t crack.
“I’m so sorry.” A pretty, young woman, wearing a badge with the name of one of the local tour companies, rushed over to Maggie. “She has been my personal nightmare for the last three days.”
“I’ve had worse,” Maggie said. “Haven’t I?” She looked over at Spencer when he didn’t answer, and bit back a smile when she saw his face. He looked like he had been smacked, staring at the tour guide with more surprise than she’d seen in a long time. She took pity on him and led the guide away, so he could recover without her watching. “Can I suggest a stop at The Anchor, the café down at the end of the street? They serve incredible wine.”
The woman grinned. “For me, or for her?”
“Both?”
She burst out laughing, and held out her hand once she had recovered. “Grace Nightingale. No relation to Florence.”
Maggie smiled, and shook her hand. “Maggie Mulgrew, horribly mean shop owner. I haven’t seen you before. Did you just join the tour company?”
“My aunt is one of the owners, and I needed a place to hide out, after a not-so-cordial break up.” Grace let out a sigh. “It was the perfect way to get out of London, and see the countryside I’d grown up in. Once I came back, I realized how much I’ve missed it.” She kept glancing past Maggie, with the same surprised look. “Who is your—employee?”
“Spencer used to be my employee. He’s a curator at the museum now, and stepped in to help. Would you like me to introduce you?”
“I—no. Maybe later.” Grace sighed. “He is quite charming.”
Maggie bit back a smile. “That would be an understatement. But it’s honest, and part of who he is.”
“Thank you. I’m still more than a bit gun shy, but—maybe.” She gave Maggie a smile that would knock Spence off his feet. “I’ve got to round up my people. We have a schedule to keep, and they have definitely bothered you too long.”
“You can come and bother me anytime.”
“Thank you, again.” She laid her hand on Maggie’s arm. “You will do well here, Maggie. I hope my tours help with your bottom line.”
“They already have.”
Grace smiled, then marched over to her group, glancing at Spencer as she passed him. He stared at her like she was a cool drink of water, and he was dying of thirst. It took a customer waving a hand in front of his face to break his focus.
Maggie was going to enjoy teasing him—before she made sure he and Grace spent some time together. Soon.
The door flew open, and shouting voices outside snagged her attention. Two men stood on the sidewalk in front of her window, arguing. Their wide gestures told her that their argument bordered on intense.
She moved to the window, hoping her presence would stop them, and they’d move on. Instead, they paused long enough to stare at her, then started shouting again. Maggie didn’t recognize either one of them, so she couldn’t gauge how much the argument might escalate.
She headed back to the counter to grab her shop phone off the shelf. Ian Reynolds, the local Detective Inspector, would break it up just with his appearance. Someone bumped into her from behind just as she reached for the phone, and she lost her balance.
Strong hands caught her before she could hit the edge of the counter. “I am so sorry. Are you all right?”
She turned to face him, and halted. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him. “I’m okay. Thanks for the save.”
“Even if I was the cause?” A smile tugged at his mouth, and he ran one finger over his blonde moustache. “Forgive my rudeness. I am Terry Harmon.”
“Maggie.” She took his outstretched hand, pulling free when he held on longer than was polite.
“Pleasure.”
He ran his hand down the front of his wool jacket. A jacket that had been tailored to fit his lean frame perfectly. The Black Watch plaid set off his artfully tousled blonde hair, and he stood next to her, gazing out the window, almost as if he were posing for a photo.
Maggie knew the type; she’d met more than her share in London.
“You’re here for the festival?”
“What?” He turned to her, smiling. “Yes. The festival.”
Maggie knew he’d been looking at the two men outside. Their argument looked like it was about to become physical.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to call this in, before they do someone stupid.”
“Of course.” He moved closer to the window, almost mesmerized by the violence.
Maggie shook her head and picked up the phone, punching in the station’s number.
Before her call could connect, Ian showed up, arms crossed, and his voice calm as he spoke to the men. A minute later, they glared at each other one last time and walked in opposite directions.
Ian waved to her, and she headed outside, hugging herself against the blast of cold air.
“Thank you, Ian. I was just calling when you showed up.”
“Enid beat you to the call, Maggie.” He glanced over at Holmesania, and for the first time, he didn’t flinch. “You produced a miracle there.”
“Enid has good taste.” She waved at Enid, who stood in front of her shop, frowning at one of the men who had been arguing. Enid turned toward her, and waved, nodding at Ian before she stepped into her shop. “She just needed to embrace it, instead of what she thought tourists wanted. Did you hear any of the argument?”
“Enough that I will personally escort them out of town if they have a go at each other again.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “It has nothing to do with any locals, Maggie, so stop worrying. From the sound of it, they were fighting over old grudges.”
“Thanks for protecting us, Ian.”
He flashed her a rare smile. “Simply doing my job. You’d best go and rescue Spencer. He looks like he’s about to go under.”
She spun. “Oh, no.” Grace hadn’t been able to tear her tour away, and Spencer was surrounded by them, all wanting his attention. “See you later, Ian.” She pushed the door open and stopped in the middle of the shop, pitching her voice to what Aunt Irene had always called eardrum piercing volume. “Excuse me.”
Everyone turned to her. Spencer mouthed a thank you over their heads. Maggie wasn’t surprised to find Grace standing next to him, trying to gently persuade her people to leave. Gentle had left the building.
Maggie crossed her arms, and forced herself to sound as pleasant as possible. “I understand you are late for your next scheduled stop. I know you all want a souvenir of your time here, so I will offer you this, in exchange for full cooperation. A thirty percent off coupon, good for any item on the web shop.” She raised her hand when the roar of comments started. “Before you start arguing, everything you see here is also available to buy online. This is only good if you are on the bus inside ten minutes.”
She had to scramble to get out of their way as they rushed the door.
Grace spoke to Spencer, and headed after them, pausing in front of Maggie. “Thank you. I’ve never seen a group so stubborn, or willful.”
“I have.” She remembered the summer tour groups coming through Aunt Irene’s shop, so greedy for a piece of what they were experiencing. “But you’ll find ways to herd them, without them realizing that they’re being herded.”
Grace laughed, and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Maggie Mulgrew. I hope we can get to know each other.”
“I’d like that.”
She watched the last of the tourists straggle out, all of them moving as fast as they could to the bus she knew was parked at the top of the high street. Once the shop was finally empty, she closed the door, flipped the closed sign, and sagged against the wall.
“Thank you, Mags.” Spencer lowered himself to the floor and sprawled, letting out a groan. “I thought I was going to be trampled this time.”
“They were aggressive, weren’t they?”
“You didn’t have to bribe them, you know.”
“I enjoyed it, and I have enough of a profit margin to take the hit. Besides, I don’t have to worry about money, not anymore.”
He looked over at her. “Right. I keep forgetting.”
“So do I.” Until she got another letter from her solicitor, with more paperwork relating to her inheritance. An inheritance that made her a millionaire. “Now, Spencer Knight, are you going to tell me why you didn’t give me advance warning about the festival?”
His eyes widened. “I did—didn’t I?” He paled when Maggie shook her head. “Oh, Mags—I am so sorry. I’ve been snowed under, trying to sort the mess Giles left behind.”
“Have I told you how proud I am?”
He grinned up at her. “Thanks, Mags. That will help when I spend another ten plus hours wading through piles of paperwork.”
“How about lunch? I can order something from the café, have them deliver it.”
He clutched his chest with both hands. “You just saved my life.”
She laughed, and pushed off the wall, slipping her cell phone out of her sweater pocket. Trust Spencer to wring all the possible drama he could.
“Stop overacting, and tell me what you want.”
He groaned again, and she shook her head, smiling at him.
Who knew her life here would have turned out to be the best choice she ever made?