Bella had set her laptop computer on the display counter so she could be available in case a customer walked in. She sat on a high stool, a sheaf of notes in a pile beside her, and she had several windows open on her screen.
Her mother had not used a computer to run Barnaby’s Barn, but Louise had been organized. She kept a ledger and several accordion files marked with the names of the artisans, each of their works, their asking prices, the dates the pieces were set out for exhibit, the dates they sold, the prices that were paid, the commissions Louise took, the amount and number of the checks sent to the artisans. She also kept, for tax purposes, a record of every paid utility bill—electric, water, heat. Snowplowing in the winter for the parking lot. Lawn mowing in the summer.
Basically, Bella was realizing, her mother’s shop had been an endeavor of love. Louise had always made enough money to clear expenses—as long as she didn’t pay herself a salary.
That was the past. The question was, could Bella’s support itself and Bella’s own real life? Her fingers flew from the columns on the screen to the Dashboard calculator. She chewed her lip as she worked.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see Slade standing in the doorway.
For once, he wasn’t in all black. He wore blue jeans and a snow-white tee shirt that made his black hair shine like ebony. He lounged against the door, cocky, relaxed, slightly amused by whatever private joke was running through his head.
“Hey, yourself,” Bella answered. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in the area. Scouting for Ralston’s.”
“Ah. Finding anything?”
“Could be.” Slade’s eyes were hooded as he stared at Bella, transfixing her.
She dragged her gaze away, back to the computer screen. Sliding off the stool, she minimized the page she was on. She stretched. “I’m trying to make a business plan.”
“A business plan,” Slade echoed.
“Yes, you know. Outgo. Versus income. How much I should spend on advertising, how much of that should be in local papers, how much on Internet sites. I’ve already listed on Facebook and LinkedIn.”
“How’d you do yesterday?”
“Not good. I sold two pieces of Penny’s jewelry. A couple came in to look at Natalie’s work, but they didn’t buy anything.”
“You know, in a business like this, you survive from large sale to large sale. You can’t expect to sell something every day.”
“I do know that.” Bella leaned on the counter, picked up a pen, and doodled on one of her notebooks, thinking. “Still. To be painfully honest, Slade, I’m just not sure I can make a go of it.” Talking to herself more than Slade, she murmured, “I don’t know why I didn’t take a good, hard look at the money side before. I think I got carried away by the excitement and romance—”
“What if you had a partner?” Slade asked.
She wasn’t really listening. “Hmm?”
Slade ambled across the room and leaned on the counter facing her. He crossed his arms. His hands were almost, but not quite, touching hers.
“What if you had a partner?” he asked again, his voice low, almost a growl.
Bella looked up at Slade. His dark blue eyes were nearly black. His mouth was quirked slightly in that seductive way he had, but she felt tension steaming off his body. His muscles were taut, his hands clenched on the counter, the knuckles almost white.
“You?”
“Why not?”
Bella cleared her throat. “Surely the real question is why,” she said quietly.
“We’d make a good combination, don’t you think?” Slade’s voice was warm and tempting.
All she had to do was touch his hand.
She pulled back. She moved away. She came out from behind the counter and walked to the door, stepping just outside to stand blinking in the full blast of the summer heat. She stared out, unseeing, at the parking lot. The towering oak at the side threw a circle of shade over the grass and the bench.
She’d learned so much this summer, and why she hadn’t learned it all before now, she had no idea. For one thing, she now knew that she, Bella Barnaby, good, sweet, petite Bella, could want to jump a man’s bones simply because he made her weak with lust. But that was not love. That was not even liking. If she loved Slade, she could overlook the Morgan incident, which hadn’t really amounted to much. But the bittersweet truth was, she didn’t love Slade.
For better or worse, she loved Aaron. That meant that one way or the other, she was in for heartbreak, because she couldn’t have Aaron and this particular shop on rural 202. But she shouldn’t hook up with Slade because she couldn’t have Aaron. Keep it simple, she told herself, for she’d seen that advice mentioned many times on Internet business plans.
She sensed Slade coming up behind her, and then she felt his hands on her shoulders.
His mouth was at her ear. “Bella. Imagine the possibilities.”
It was easier to do it this way, without facing him. “It wouldn’t work, Slade. Not you and me. Not in business, not in any other way either. I don’t know, I’m not sure of much right now. I’ve got to check out apartments in Amherst, I’ve got to check out retail location rents in the town—”
“Why so depressed? Your parents own this building. You don’t have to pay rent.” His hands tightened on her shoulders.
“I think I do. If I want to grow up.”
He tried to turn her around. “I’ll help you grow up.”
She felt his heat, the force of his sexuality. His physical pull was like a planet on its moons as she turned around in his arms.
She put both hands on his chest and shoved him away more brusquely than she’d intended. “Slade, no. I’m saying no.”
His eyes narrowed. “Morgan said something.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mat—”
“Damn it, Bella, Morgan means nothing to me! That was just—silliness.”
“I also know that, Slade.” Now she put her hands on his shoulders, gently. “It was silliness with Morgan, and it is silliness with me.”
It was as if a sheen of ice rose out of his skin, coating his body, veiling his eyes. He had been soft, open. Now he was hard, closed. His mouth became a dark line, bitter, almost frightening. But the worst thing was the glint of pain at the back of his eyes.
She would not say she never meant to hurt him. That would only hurt him more. It would hurt his pride.
He stepped back, out of her reach. He was fully inside her shop and she was outside. Strange. She expected him to push past her now, to stride away, head high, jaw taut, superior and exasperated, to jump on his motorcycle and peel away, scattering the pebbles, tires shrieking.
Instead, he smiled. “You know, Bella, with you it was never silliness. With you, it was never a lie.”
Her heart stopped. “Slade—”
His smile deepened. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll survive.” Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her chin.
He stepped past her with the gallantry of a highwayman, graceful, contained, already thinking of the future, and mounted his motorcycle. He kicked it into life and wheeled onto the main road without disarranging a stone. “Well,” Bella said, after Slade was out of sight and sound. “Well.” She discovered she needed to cry, and no one was pulling into the parking lot, so she reentered the coolness of the building, went to the back of the shop, sat down on a chair, and bent over, holding her hands to her face and letting the sobs shake her. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying: pity for Slade? regret for lost possibilities with such an enticing, confusing man? terror for herself? For with a partner, she could probably make a go of the shop, but without one, she was afraid she was doomed.
Or maybe not.
She dried her eyes and returned to the showroom.
Slade had taught her some things, that was certain. But she had taught herself—realized it herself—that she had “an eye” for unique pieces of furniture, jewelry, and art. Perhaps the location of the shop was wrong, but Bella’s dream of a store filled with exquisite items for people’s homes was right. Perhaps some people knew what they wanted to do from the moment they could walk and talk, but others didn’t figure it out until later, or when they stumbled across it by accident. Did that make it less real? This felt very real to her.
She had created Bella’s. If she was serious about running a business, she had a lot to learn. She needed to take classes, surf the Internet, and, doing things the old-fashioned way, take books out of the library. The thought excited her.
A man entered the shop, so quietly he took Bella by surprise. She was deep in her thoughts and had to straighten her shoulders and clear her throat before saying, “Hello.”
Her customer wore a stodgy blue gingham checked suit and a polka-dot bow tie. Perhaps in his forties, he was dignified in an academic way, with a short beard and a slow, deliberate way of moving.
“I have moved here from Santa Fe,” he informed Bella in a high, cultivated voice. “As you know, the houses and furniture designs are quite different there. I’ve bought a nice old historic colonial in Amherst, and I’d appreciate some assistance in furnishing it. I read in the paper that you carry some authentic antiques.”
“We do,” Bella agreed, stepping out from behind the counter. “Let me show you what we have.”