Chapter Four

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.” Mark placed a check on his bookshop list. Right on top was Rook. It was two days after his visit there, but it felt like ages. His mind kept debating whether he had done the right thing offering Cleo a sort of…wager to show him her shop could stay the way it was. His father would never accept that. There was no way he could pull it off.

Forcing his thoughts to the present, he smiled at the middle-aged woman who had handed him a thick file folder while explaining it contained her business plan put together by her son who majored in marketing and two friends of his who each already ran a successful business in Harker. The town reminded him a bit of Wood Creek but bigger and better organized. Something his father would take into account when evaluating which shops he’d want to accept into the chain and which not. One more point against you, Cleo.

His shoulders tensed as if resisting the conclusion, but it was a mere fact. Can’t argue with facts.

“Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch.” Mark put the file folder under his arm and headed for the door. The bookshop had a nice big window through which lots of light flooded into it. It used two tables to display current bestsellers, and the owner had immediately agreed to position them to lead the customers past the cash register. She had told him she wanted to do anything for the shop’s survival, and her attitude during their talk had underlined this. She’d clung to his every word, nodded her assent to whatever he’d suggested, and repeated over and over how honored she was to have the Stephens name on her shop front. Dad would have really liked her pliability, but it was the polar opposite of Cleo’s approach. Instead of wanting a rule book, she had a personal vision for her shop. And for the first time, he asked himself, Why isn’t there room for that within our chain?

Instead of seeing individuality and ideas as a headache they could do without, they should embrace it. After all, not all shopkeepers were the same; some people, such as this elderly lady, were happy with clear instructions on how to run everything, while others wanted to use their own ideas. Cleo’s imagination gave Rook its whimsical, almost fairytale-like quality. And she had been correct when she’d pointed out that the locals knew the situation better than someone who came from the outside. Could he actually persuade Dad with that one?

He could already see his father shake his head. She wants our money, son. Without abiding by our rules? Can’t do that. I’m no charity. Anger usually fueled him when he thought about the way people loved his family’s money and what misery that caused. They took the risks, and others made the profits. James foremost.

But the anger died under a wave of tiredness. It had been a long day of driving past shops and listening to people’s stories of why their business was no longer able to go on as it had before. He had been shown old photographs, yellowed and with dog-eared edges, of opening days and anniversaries of the past. Of smiling faces of people who looked into the camera, beaming that their dream was coming true.

But reality didn’t leave much room for love or dreams. The harsh truth was that customers weren’t loyal to shops anymore but bought wherever they wanted, however they wanted. He had written those very lines that were now the core motto of the Stephens empire: Make it easy for them. Be everywhere they are. Be in their face, as it were, their first (or only) choice. Make them buy from you instead of the competitor. Not by personality, but by opportunity.

It worked for them, which explained why all these shop owners were eager to receive him, pour him coffee, offer him cake or other snacks, and nod at everything he said to get access to the lifeline he threw them.

All but Cleo. She wanted to do it her way, with her Valentine’s events of activities that people would view as free entertainment, without any obligation to start buying from her. It went against all he stood for, the rules he beat into other people’s brains on a daily basis. And yet it had struck a chord inside of him that hadn’t been touched in a long time.

Outside, the streetlights were already on. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Tamela. He wanted to hear her voice, see if it would betray her sad mood. He wanted to feel close to her, even though they were separated by hundreds of miles. He wanted her to know she could come to him if she needed to.

She didn’t answer.

He stood at his car, uncertain whether to call again or leave it be. He opened the door and put the file folder the woman had given him in the back with the others. Staring at the tall stack of people’s plans, of their hopes to help their business survive against all odds, fatigue splashed through him. He couldn’t help them all.

With reluctance, he slipped into the driver’s seat and put his phone in the holder. Tamela might see he had tried to reach her and call him back. His gaze fell to the pink flyer he had stuck behind the holder. Valentine’s events, it read in bold flowing letters, listing the craft night, charity auction, and dinner of literary likes Cleo had told him about. He had picked up the flyer in another town where he had walked into the community center to see what kind of activities they had there, to get an idea of what the town was like, what potential customers he could expect there. Senior citizens, he had guessed. But on their bulletin board, beside the inevitable offer of book clubs and bridge nights catering to said citizens, there had been lots of flyers of ladies’ nights for thirty-something singles and girls offering themselves as babysitters. So there were singles there and young families. More potential for sales than he had thought.

And then Cleo’s flyer had caught his eye. It had stood out because of the color, the font and the many hearts strewn over it, all things he usually shied away from. But the events advertised had sounded familiar, and he had looked it over, read and reread it, and finally, glancing surreptitiously around him, removed it and put it into his pocket. Now it sat there in his car, its bright and cheerful design beaming at him, like Cleo’s sparkling eyes and her light-up-the-world smile. Why go to his hotel and lie brooding in the darkness when he could attend her craft night and see what it was all about? It’s tonight.

His phone rang. He jerked upright and reached for it, scanning the screen for the name he hoped for. Tamela, yes. “Hello, sis.”

“Hey, Mark.” Her forced happy tone cut deep into his heart. “Where are you?”

“Harker, New Hampshire. A little town you wouldn’t be able to find on a map. To evaluate the umpteenth bookshop.”

“Poor you.” It sounded like she almost laughed. For real. Great, keep going.

“A few days ago, I was in a bookshop where the owner built a book castle for kids. When I came in, I found the shop empty and two sneakers sticking out of the book castle’s gate. A disembodied voice asked me to hand over some tongs lying on a stool because she was looking for a bear.”

“You’re making this up.”

“Honestly not. I gave her the tongs, and she came crawling out, covered in dust, with the bear. A scrappy black thing full of dust as well. A small customer had lost it, and she had retrieved it for him.”

“I used to love my Mr. Teddy.”

“I know. I almost broke my neck climbing in that tree to get it back for you.” Mark smiled as he recalled the afternoon when his little sister had been crying her heart out because some neighborhood bully had taken her bear and put it in a tree where she couldn’t get it back. He had accompanied her to said tree and climbed into it, even though the branches were rather thin and sagging. He could see her ecstatic expression when he had given her the bear. She had hidden her face in it like the little boy in Cleo’s shop had.

He swallowed. If only he could go back to the days when he could easily give her what she needed. When he could solve all of her problems in a single strike.

Tamela said, “Look, Mark, you don’t have to call me every day. I’m fine.”

“I know. I like to hear your voice. It’s a tough slog out here.”

He knew she probably didn’t believe him. He…

“James called me the other day.”

Mark sucked in breath. “You let the phone ring, right?” Tell me you didn’t answer and give that no good liar another chance to hurt your feelings.

“He wants to give it another shot.” Every word crackled with tension.

What?! Mark held his breath, afraid to hear more. He wanted to believe she had told James no, without hesitation. She had her pride. She wouldn’t fall for weak promises or lousy excuses.

But Tamela had been broken after the betrayal; all the spark had gone out of her. She had walked around with bags under her eyes, not even hearing when people talked to her. She had only wanted to have James back in her arms.

And that bastard knew it. He waited a bit and…

“I told him I’ll think about it. He sent me flowers this morning. My favorite flowers.”

He could see her looking at the bouquet as she told him. Looking at it with the same eyes as the woman in the bookshop just now. Anxious, uncertain, but hoping for a good outcome. Because that outcome was the only thing she could see for herself. The only future she wanted to have.

“It’s great you’re letting him dangle a bit and can then tell him, ‘Not in a million years.’” He waited for her confirmation that that was exactly what she had in mind.

When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “You are going to tell him, ‘Not in a million years,’ right?” Please tell me you are.

“I’m not sure.”

“Tamela…”

“I miss him so much. I want him back.”

The raw pain in her voice cut into Mark’s gut. He should start the car, drive over to that bastard’s apartment, and remodel his arrogant face. But that was probably exactly what James was waiting for. Tamela still cared for him, and the more her family turned against him, the more she would pull back from them and be completely at his mercy. That’s how predators worked: single out the victim, separate it from the herd, and then go in for the kill.

But he wasn’t going to let that happen. James wasn’t going to have Tamela. Not that easily. He counted to five and said, “You think about it, Tammy. I know you miss him and you still…love him.” It seemed idiotic to apply the word “love” to someone who had treated Tamela like James had, but Mark knew Tamela believed it had been love. He had to go along with her to avoid an argument and a breach.

“But he is not that reliable. Now he wants you back. In a few weeks’ time, he might walk away again. Then you’ll be hurt even more. Don’t put yourself through it. Be strong now and avoid the heartbreak down the road.”

“I don’t know, Mark. Maybe he’s serious. Maybe he changed.”

Mark closed his eyes. Not this, please. Not the “maybe he changed” card. Guys like James never changed. They only pretended to. Or maybe they didn’t even have to pretend. Their victims drew the conclusion of their own accord. Because they wanted it so badly.

“You think it over,” he said, his mind working to find some kind of solution. Could he hire a PI and put him on James to dig up dirt about him? Prove to Tamela he was really not worth her time?

But she would probably not appreciate his interference and might even feel more strongly about giving James that second chance.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Tamela said. “I wanted…somebody’s advice. But you never liked James.”

No, and I was right, Mark wanted to say, but he didn’t. He had to play this smart, not drive her straight into James’s arms. “We gave James a fair chance. We took him into the company.”

“I know. And he let you down.”

“It’s not about us. It’s about you. He let you down. He…” Mark bit back the words, “cheated on you with your best friend.” There really was no need to bring that up. Tamela knew it.

She knew it, and yet she was considering giving the guy a second chance. Dad was right. As soon as emotion got into anything, it became one big mess. People started to act like idiots, hurting their own interests and those of others around them. If Mom heard that Tamela was getting together with James again, she’d not sleep a wink anymore.

“Be careful, Tammy. I don’t want him to break your heart all over again.”

“His affair was a mistake. He told me so. She seduced him. He knew it had been wrong the moment it happened. He even cried about it.”

“That’s what they always say.”

“I shouldn’t have told you.” Her voice was brittle with unshed tears. “Good-bye.” She disconnected.

Mark banged his hand on the wheel. He had tried, honestly. He had tried to talk to her, see it her way, not create a fight. But to have to listen to the guy’s cheap excuses…him being seduced, being sorry…crying. James had never shed a single tear about Tamela. About her money, maybe. Yes, it was decidedly possible that he’d realized that he had been a fool to let her go when she had access to so much easy money. That was what he was sorry for: that he couldn’t put his hand in the till again.

Wait until Dad hears about this. He’s going to burst a vessel. His high blood pressure was kept down with a tight regimen of healthy eating and exercise. He wasn’t allowed to work himself up about things, but it was impossible not to get worked up over this.

And Mom… They’ll go through the wringer again. And there’s nothing I can do.

Mark started the engine and drove away. A restless feeling inside pushed him to drive, just drive, into nothing, nowhere, and scream into the wind. Why, why, why?

But he turned toward Wood Creek. Ironically, to go to a Valentine’s event.