16

A Stone’s Throw Beauty Shop was located two blocks from the bakery, across from what used to be Hammond’s Shrimp House. Olivia had to squint to read the faded letters on the sign. Shame the place wasn’t still around. The building held a coastal ruggedness that would appeal to tourists.

Many of the current businesses were nearing the completion of their makeovers, while the bakery was just today getting started. They closed early on Wednesday afternoons, and she’d promised Blake her help as soon as Grandma got her hair done.

Olivia parked on the curb and walked around to the passenger side to Grandma’s door. “How do you want her to do your hair this time?”

Grandma took her offered hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. “Braids.”

While braids would be much easier for Olivia to handle every morning than Grandma’s short bob shellacked with hair spray, it wasn’t feasible. “We’ll see what she can do. Would you like her to add some color? Dark gray, maybe? Blue, purple?”

Grandma made a disgusted face.

“My thoughts exactly.” Olivia shut the door and clicked the lock button on her key fob.

The pungent odor of perm solution assaulted them as they stepped inside the salon. With today’s technology, why couldn’t someone invent a liquid that didn’t make a person cringe?

Six women, all around Grandma’s age, sat beneath ancient bulbous hairdryers.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Wanda Russelburg tossed her magazine aside and stood from her swivel chair. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Grandma clutched Olivia’s arm and pulled her closer, shrinking away from the hairdresser. Wanda had been doing Grandma’s hair for fifteen years.

“She’s a nice lady,” Olivia whispered. “She’s going to trim your hair so it’s easier for me to style. She’s done this for you lots of times. I’ll make sure she treats you right.” She patted Grandma’s hand.

Reluctant, Grandma moved forward at Olivia’s prodding. The stylist’s chair presented a bit of a challenge for Grandma this time, but within a few minutes she was seated with a smock covering her body.

Wanda grabbed the comb and scissors and looked at Grandma in the mirror. “What can I do for you today?”

“Braids.” Grandma raised her chin much the same way she had as a child, Olivia was certain.

Wanda raised a questioning brow.

“I was thinking something in the way of this.” Olivia pulled out her phone and showed Wanda a picture of an older, classy actress. “I like the dark gray lowlights.”

“Ooh, I love it.” Wanda took the phone and showed Grandma, who curled her lip.

“She’s old.”

“She’s mature. Like we are.” Wanda, at least twenty years Grandma’s junior, patted Grandma’s shoulder and returned the phone. “I think you’ll look fabulous. What do you say?”

“Braids.”

Olivia leaned down to Grandma’s eye level. “That’s the great thing about this style—it can be braided because it’s longer without the perm. If you approve, I promise to braid your hair every night before bed.”

Grandma’s eyes narrowed. She glared at Olivia for a long time before finally nodding her agreement. “Braids.”

Olivia held up her hand. “Deal.”

Wanda winked and left to mix the hair color. Olivia fetched Grandma’s book from her purse. The title indicated a murder mystery in a flower shop. She wondered, not for the first time, if such books were healthy for an Alzheimer’s patient. The genre had always been Grandma’s favorite though, and reading kept her mind active while she still possessed the ability.

Olivia settled in a chair of her own and skimmed through the pamphlet they’d gotten at the animal shelter. Grandma had been crushed when they’d pulled into an empty parking lot to find the shelter was closed on Mondays. She’d thrown a fit to rival any toddler. The bakery had been swamped with two birthday cake orders, and an order for six dozen yeast donuts for the American Legion breakfast, so a return trip yesterday was out. The security company was installing a wireless monitoring system at home this evening. Olivia’s promise of a pet would have to wait until the weekend. Thankfully, Grandma hadn’t brought it up again.

Olivia was strongly leaning toward a cat. An online newspaper source had written about a nursing home in Connecticut that had brought abandoned newborn kittens to dementia patients for bottle feedings. Studies showed the loving, nurturing instinct was one of the last traits lost in the majority of patients. Not only did the kittens thrive, but so did the patients.

A young stylist with blonde streaks in her black hair, or vice versa, sashayed to the hair dryers and turned one of them off. “All right, ‘Genia, you’re all done.”

Eugenia Campbell set her magazine on the vacant chair beside her, then pushed on the chair’s arms to steady her ascent. She fluffed her new do with a shaky hand, grabbed her large red purse, and gave the stylist a fifty.

Olivia had been trying to get ahold of the woman for almost a week. Here was her opportunity to convince the woman to act rationally and talk to Mr. Greene.

As Eugenia headed for the door, she noticed Olivia and paused. The woman’s slumped posture straightened, and her mouth turned down in a frown.

Olivia stood. “I’ve tried calling several times, but I haven’t been able to reach you.”

“You didn’t get Harrison back. What’s left to say?” She continued shuffling to the exit.

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Olivia moved past and held the door open for Mrs. Campbell. This conversation was best out of earshot of the parlor gossips anyway.

“A little?”

“Mr. Greene is willing to give the cat back if you’ll pick it up and hear what he has to say.”

“Harrison. He’s not an it. Furthermore, I have nothing to say to Arthur Greene.” She dug for her car keys.

“He loves you.” Not that Mr. Greene had confided that to Olivia, but it was obvious. “He doesn’t want you to talk. He wants you to listen.”

Keys rattled together as Eugenia unlocked her Cadillac. “I’m through listening to that man. It’s not as if I get a say in what he decides anyway.” Bitterness oozed from her words. The acidic kind that resulted from years of fermentation.

“Does that comment have to do with him joining the Army?”

Eugenia froze. Her entire body wilted. “What do you know of that?”

“Arthur told me everything. You’ve reconnected after years apart. What did he do now that’s made you angry?”

“He proposed,” she whispered, tears springing in her blue eyes.

Fear. The four letter word that kept so many people from living a full life. The life this woman had envisioned with her fiancé hadn’t worked out any better than Olivia’s had. It changed a person when they gave their heart to someone who’d mistreated it—friend, fiancé, or parent.

“What is it you’re afraid of, Mrs. Campbell?”

Eugenia opened her door and dropped her suitcase of a purse in the seat. She thought for a moment, rolling her tongue along her top teeth. “Losing him again.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that this time.”

“But I do. We’re not twenty anymore. I don’t want to become widowed a second time.”

Oh. That.

Eugenia moved her purse and eased onto the seat. Olivia held the door to keep it from closing. “You love Arthur, whether you remain a couple or whether you marry. If he passes, you’ll mourn him either way. Why not let go of your fear and let yourself be happy?”

The engine started. “Easy to say, harder to do. Thank you for trying.”

Olivia let her go, watching her drive away until she disappeared onto Main Street. Who was she to tell someone to let go of their fear and be happy when that very fear had prompted her to quit her job and move across the country? And refuse a perfectly good dinner invitation from a perfectly wonderful man.

~*~

Blake had bent to sweep chunks of drywall and splinters of paneling littering the floor when a car door sounded from the bakery’s parking lot. He turned toward the window. Olivia was helping Mrs. Hudson from the car. He propped the broom against the wall and met them outside.

Arms propped against his tailgate, Olivia stood on tiptoe to see inside. Her fitted jeans were cuffed, revealing the curve of muscular calves. “What’s the damage?”

He gazed at her over studs too long for the bed, which stuck out with a little orange flag attached. “Not much. A friend of mine opened his own mill a few years ago. That’s where I get what I need for the house. Any business I bring his way comes with a discount.”

Blake handed her the receipt. She glanced at it then lowered her shoes back to the ground. “Thanks. I’ll cut you a check.” She tucked the receipt in her pocket. “What can I do to help?”

“You should’ve brought work clothes.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “These are my work clothes.” She tugged at the bottom of her blue shirt. “See, a paint spot.”

No, he didn’t see. But he noticed how beautiful she could make a simple T-shirt look.

Mrs. Hudson joined them. “Brian.”

Olivia opened her mouth to correct her grandma, but Blake put up a hand. “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Mrs. Hudson. How about we go for a walk around the harbor once the work is done?”

Mrs. Hudson wrinkled her nose. “I’m married.”

Blake chuckled at how quickly Olivia’s face turned from rosy peach to deep red. “Just a walk, nothing more.” He leaned in and whispered, “Besides, I’m sweet on your granddaughter.”

The woman’s face brightened. Olivia cocked her head to the side. “What are you conspiring?”

“Don’t worry. Be happy.” Mrs. Hudson slipped her arm in Blake’s. The woman looked different somehow, younger maybe, though Blake couldn’t pinpoint why.

They went inside the bakery.

Olivia tucked her hands in her back pockets as she observed his progress. “Wow, you’ve already gotten a lot done.” She grabbed the broom and began sweeping his mess into the dustpan.

“I can get that.” He reached for the broom.

Olivia jerked it away. “I can too. I’m good for more than food, you know.”

Heat climbed up the back of his neck. He didn’t doubt that one bit. He set up his circular-saw stand on the sidewalk, then snapped on his tool belt. The sun beat down on his shoulders, but the breeze off the water made the day too nice for working indoors. According to Glenda, the bed and breakfast had acquired several new reservations, and he wanted to get this finished before the projected influx of tourists arrived.

“Help.”

He turned, expecting to see Mrs. Hudson hurt. Instead, she was staring at the boards he’d stacked next to the saw. He pulled a pair of work gloves from his tool belt and handed them to her. “I’ll cut the boards if you’ll hold them steady.” She nodded. He hoisted a board onto the saw stand, measured the length he needed, and marked it with a pencil. He lowered his safety glasses, realized he didn’t have an extra pair, then took them off and gave them to Mrs. Hudson. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Olivia stood in the doorway watching them, a faint smile teasing her lips. The saw spun to life and bit into the wood with ease. High quality Maine pine.

They cut four more boards before Blake turned off the machine. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Thank you.”

He was pretty sure she meant to say you’re welcome.

She tugged off the glasses, messing up her hair.

“That’s what’s different today. Your hair. It looks nice.”

Mrs. Hudson fingered the ends.

Olivia joined them on the sidewalk. “You do look fantastic, Grandma.” Olivia’s hair, so dark it was almost black, framed her face with little pieces she’d failed to secure in her ponytail. “There’s sliced fruit on the table, along with chocolate dipped nuts. Help yourself.”

Always thinking of his belly. “Peanuts?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you stay and help me then.” He winked, lifted all four cut boards and carried them inside.

“You’re so kind.”

He lowered the boards to the linoleum.

“I appreciate you covering the display case and counter.” Olivia held out the platter of goodies.

“I think the construction zone is far enough away from the food it would’ve been fine, but I didn’t want to take any chances.” He removed his gloves and took a strawberry and a handful of chocolate covered peanuts. That’s when he noticed a tinge of purple beneath her eyes. “You look worn out. Still not sleeping?”

He nodded his head at Mrs. Hudson, who’d sat at a corner table to eat a cup of yogurt.

“Not really. There’s a guy coming at five to install a wireless alarm system so I’ll know whenever she tries to leave the house. I’ve been leaning toward getting her a cat but maybe a trained dog is the better option.”

“You could always say yes and eat with me. Let her spend more time with Scooby before you make a decision.”

She reached for a peanut and popped it into her mouth. “We’re eating together right now.”

Her defiant smile flamed his competitive nature. “Doesn’t count. It’s not a meal unless there’s meat.” Blake stepped closer until their toes touched. He lowered his voice. “What is it you’re afraid of, Olivia?”

“Afraid?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Her gaze darted around the room before finally settling on him. The spark of attraction, which he’d convinced himself he’d misread before, blazed along with her cheeks. He fought the urge to fist pump the air. “Cincinnati’s playing Saturday night.”

“I’m not a fan. Besides, I promised Grandma we’d go to the shelter. I’ll need to drop off your dinner early that day.”

“How about a live game then? Friday night. Little League practice. You can help me coach.”

“I don’t know the first thing about coaching baseball.”

Blake leaned a little closer. “Don’t need to. You can follow my lead.”

She just stared at him with those amazing eyes, clutching the tray of snacks like a lifeline. Without moving away, he took the tray and set it on a nearby table. “It’ll be fun. I’ll put your name on the shirts as a sponsor and everything.” He made a circle on his shirt. “Harbor Town Bakery, with a picture of a growling cupcake slapping a bat in its palm.”

Her gaze followed his finger as he demonstrated on his torso.

“Will the shirts be flannel?”

“And sleeveless.”

She rolled her eyes and backed away. “You seriously better be joking about that.” She plucked a few grapes off the platter and walked to the stack of cut boards. The heated tension between them snapped like a stretched rubber band.

Blake lifted a board and positioned it at a ninety-degree angle from the one that served as the bottom stud of the new wall. “I’ll bring Scooby. He can hang out with Grams while we play. I’ll even take you both out for pizza afterward.”

“Grams?”

He shrugged.

Her lips closed around a grape. She studied him as she chewed.

And he studied her lips.

“Are you trying to wear me down?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Friday, then?”

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe she’d agreed to live on the same planet as he did. “Friday, it is, Flannel Man.”