After rising from his kneeling position on the cobbled sidewalk, Jack wiped his chalk-covered palms on his jeans, surveying his handiwork. He’d begrudgingly added espresso molasses brisket to the sandwich board featuring the day’s specials.
Long-term, they’d have to come up with a solution for their differing visions for the diner, but for now, Jack decided to let his friend explore his culinary creativity, even if it did attract the wrong clientele. In the last two days alone, he’d had one patron ask if their potatoes were humanely boiled—whatever that meant—and another insisted her coffee mug be cleaned multiple times because it was “filthy.” He’d tried to explain the tiny flecks on the speckled pottery were a part of the design, but in the end, he’d given her a plain white mug to placate her concerns.
Overall, he didn’t mind tourists and understood they brought beneficial cash flow into the community, but he didn’t agree with Mayor Burns’s high-handed marketing methods or compromising their small-town values. In fact, most visitors came to Poppy Creek to escape the doldrums of city life in favor of a more leisurely pace and peaceful mindset.
Glancing around the town square, Jack felt his chest fill with pride. The Western-style buildings with their shiplap, stone, and brick facades evoked their historic roots harkening back to gold rush days. Stores like Mac’s Mercantile and Sadie’s Sweet Shop, while updated for modern consumers, still maintained their original whimsy and charm, accentuated by old-fashioned decorations like evergreen garlands and holly wreaths. For decades, all four streets surrounding the town square had been occupied with mom-and-pop shops, not chain stores or conglomerations. And Jack hoped it would stay that way.
The slam of a car door drew his attention across the center lawn, and he stood, transfixed, as afternoon sunlight streamed through the branches of a towering oak tree alighting on the woman’s fiery red hair, setting it ablaze.
He watched her take tentative steps toward Thistle & Thorn—the town’s quirky antiques store—her long hair and fringed scarf fluttering in the crisp breeze.
Startled by a vibration in his back pocket, Jack scrambled for his phone. “Hello?” Unable to tear his gaze from the enigmatic newcomer, he answered without glancing at the caller ID.
“Flap Jack! What kind of boring greeting is that?”
His lips quirked as his sister’s playful indignation emanated through the speakers. “Hey, Lucy Bug,” he drawled warmly using her nickname. “It’s about time you called. Are you on your way?”
A gust of wind lifted the stranger’s scarf from her shoulders, and it fluttered toward the ground.
“Hang on, Luce. I’ll call you right back.” Stuffing the phone back inside his pocket, he trotted across the lawn and plucked her scarf from a pile of leaves. “Excuse me, miss. You dropped this.”
She didn’t appear to hear him as she stood stock-still in front of Thistle & Thorn, her brow furrowed as though debating whether or not she wanted to enter.
“Miss?” he tried again.
Oblivious to the world around her, the woman hesitated a few feet from the entrance.
Something about her pensive expression gave Jack pause, but he’d come too far to give up now.
Besides, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, he desperately wanted to meet her.
Her heartbeat thrumming erratically, Kat stared at the worn brass knob, but couldn’t bring herself to turn it. Suddenly, what lay beyond the bright teal door felt all too real.
What had she been thinking coming here? Did she really expect Penny to still have the brooch, let alone agree to sell it and split the proceeds with her? After all, apart from the whole having-the-same-mother thing, they were complete strangers. And Kat had every intention of keeping it that way.
Forming any kind of relationship with the woman who happened to be the spitting image of their degenerate mother was out of the question. For all Kat knew, the two women could share more than their outward appearance. Addiction was often hereditary, and Kat had already watched her mother self-destruct. She couldn’t handle any more heartache.
As she reconsidered her impulsive plan, she felt a faint tap on her shoulder. Instinctively acting on several years of self-defense training, she grabbed the large, burly hand and stepped backward swiftly. With a sharp, forceful twist, she pinned the man’s arm behind his back.
“Easy!” he howled. “That’s my favorite limb.”
Realizing what she’d done, she blushed and immediately released her hold. “I’m sorry, I— You caught me by surprise.”
“I can see that.” He rubbed his shoulder, his vivid blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“I’m sorry about your arm. I hope I didn’t hurt it too badly.”
“No worries. I still have the left one.” He grinned good-naturedly, and Kat couldn’t help returning his smile. Normally, she avoided talking to strange men, but this one exuded warmth and kindness, instantly putting her at ease.
“Word of advice,” she said with a lighthearted tone. “It’s not safe to sneak up on people. I could have broken your arm.”
“Are you sure you didn’t?” He cradled it with an exaggerated grimace, and Kat’s smile widened, enjoying his playful sense of humor.
“Where’d you learn a move like that?” he asked.
“I teach Krav Maga, a combat technique used by Israeli soldiers. Although, my classes are mainly for self-defense.”
As he surveyed her petite five-six frame he appeared genuinely impressed. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”
“Who says you’re on it?” she teased, surprised to find herself flirting with this man. She didn’t flirt—ever.
“Does it help that I rescued your scarf from a pile of diabolical leaves?”
As her gaze fell on the houndstooth fabric in his grasp, her hand flew to her throat. “Oh! I didn’t even realize I’d dropped it. Thank you.” As she reached for it, their fingers grazed, and a pleasant warmth crept up her arm. Had he felt the same sensation?
Feeling like a romantic comedy cliché, she hastily wrapped the scarf around her neck and prepared to duck inside the antiques store, if only to escape the unsettling effect he had on her. She’d never experienced this type of instant connection before and it didn’t sit well. Once she got what she came for, she’d be on her way home, with zero plans to ever return.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee? There’s a great café right down the street. Cassie has a knack for knowing exactly what kind of coffee you’ll like. And Eliza’s desserts are legendary.”
Kat blinked. Had he just asked her out? “Oh, um… thank you, but I won’t be in town long. I’m hoping to find something at the antiques store, then I’m heading back home.”
Was it her imagination or did he look disappointed?
“I’m sorry to hear that. Apart from the dislocated shoulder, it was a pleasure meeting you…” He trailed off with a questioning glance.
“Kat Bennet,” she answered against her better judgment. What had gotten into her? She never gave strangers her name, let alone her last name, too. It felt oddly formal and unnecessary, as though she wanted to disassociate herself from her sister as much as possible, even though this man had no way of suspecting any connection whatsoever.
“I’m Jack Gardener. It was nice to meet you, Bennet. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
And with that, he turned and strolled down the street, leaving her bizarrely breathless.
Rattled by the exchange and the unexpected yet pleasant way he used her last name instead of her first, she pushed open the door and quickly stepped inside as though fleeing the scene of a crime.
Immediately, the scent of dried lavender and aged leather greeted her, accompanied by the sultry crooning of Ella Fitzgerald’s “White Christmas” emanating from a crackling gramophone.
“Hi! Welcome to Thistle & Thorn. What can I help you find today?”
Like a vivid apparition, a younger version of her mother approached from across the room, her friendly smile doing little to assuage Kat’s turbulent heartbeat or flood of unwelcome memories rushing to the surface. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, afraid the burning sensation was a precursor for unwanted—and embarrassing—tears.
Keep it together, Kat, she chided herself. You have to do this. For Fern.
“I—I’m looking for a vintage brooch. But first, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?” The statuesque redhead tilted her head to the side in curiosity.
Taking a deep breath, Kat released her confession in a slow, shaky exhale. “I’m… your sister.”