The only thing Jane could be grateful for in this moment was that Sophie was spending the night with her father, the rat bastard. She snorted at the bitter irony, and then plucked another tissue from the box. The last, she noted, swiping at her face and then crumbling it into her hand. And she’d promised herself that one box of tissues was all she’d allow. She certainly wasn’t going to keep custody of her child by falling apart, was she?
Jane stood and tossed the box into the recycling bin, on top of an empty oatmeal container. It seemed that ensuring Sophie had three balanced meals a day, a bath, freshly laundered clothes, and a bedtime story wasn’t enough to make her a fit mother. Another sob burst out when she pictured Kristy waving Sophie off to school each morning… in Denver!
She took the magnetic notepad she kept for grocery lists off the fridge and pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. Grace had always laughed at this habit, but Anna had secretly supported Jane’s need for her organizational skills. Maybe it was silly, admittedly, to jot down things on her to-do list that she had already accomplished that day, like making a bed or getting the dishwasher loaded, just for the sheer sense of validation that came when she then crossed them off seconds later, but it was nice to have credit for something once in a while, and being a housewife had more often than not felt like a thankless job. She had lost count of the number of dinners she cooked that Adam hadn’t come home to eat. Though she religiously changed the sheets on the bed once a week, her husband could go for months without noticing, especially since he was sleeping on the couch by the end of things, claiming he’d nodded off watching television.
She should have known then that something was up, that he was pulling back. Instead, she’d trusted him. Too much. She wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
Jane sighed and clicked the top of her pen. Her lawyer had told her that as the primary caregiver, she had a strong case, and she should focus on proving that she provided a stable home. Emotional stability was easy, but financial… that would be difficult, and the attorney fees certainly weren’t helping.
She put a check mark next to emotional stability and then started on the more distressing points. Four dance classes totaled… She scowled at the sum. Not enough. Ten classes was a solid part-time income, but four made it look like a glorified hobby. If things didn’t change quickly at the studio, she’d have no choice but to take full-time employment elsewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to give up her dancing for Adam.
She moved on to the next point on her list: Main Street Books. She manned the counter at the cafe three days a week, surely that counted for something, it being a family business and all. Grace had made sure to include her on a small business health insurance plan, and Sophie was covered by Adam’s. That part wouldn’t be an issue. What would be tricky, though, was proving that Sophie’s life would be better here than it would be with her father and new sibling. Adam could provide the ice skating lessons Sophie longed for, not to mention dance, music, and no doubt annual vacations, not that he’d been inclined to take them when they were married, she now thought, narrowing her eyes. On paper, Adam had it all. A happy family unit of four versus a struggling single mother. She didn’t care what the lawyer said about her having been the primary caregiver up until now. The nagging thought wouldn’t go away: She didn’t stand a chance.
She knew she could always pack her bags and move to Colorado, too, but why should she have to? Hadn’t she given up enough already? Adam was the one moving, and he had Kristy and a new baby on the way. Her entire family was here, as was his.
How could Adam take Sophie from her grandparents and aunts?
Anger boiled in her blood, quickly replacing the self-pitying tears.
“No,” she said aloud, crumbling the list in her hands. No way would she let him take her daughter, her dancing, or her home from her.
She poised her pen over the top line of a fresh sheet of paper and began running through the places in town she might find employment. By the time she had reached the end, her fingers had stopped shaking and she felt like she might almost be able to get through the night without waking up.
Ivy was always saying how busy she was, especially lately. She’d start with Petals on Main.
Henry pushed through the door of the local diner and made his way up to the counter. He’d avoided Hastings since returning, but he couldn’t bear one more morning of Mrs. Griffin’s runny eggs, or the way she insisted on pulling up a chair and chatting with him all through breakfast, no doubt curious about his time here and his reasons for staying away. The Main Street B&B, despite its comfortable accommodations, would never suit his needs. What he needed was a place to go where no one knew him and no one bothered him. A place like his condo in San Francisco.
He’d get there soon. But not soon enough.
Henry turned over his mug, and a young woman filled it while he skimmed his options. Same as he remembered. Not that he was surprised. The place was an institution, and from the looks of the crowd, it was a second home to many of Briar Creek’s older citizens.
“Henry Birch, isn’t it?”
Henry set his menu down and glanced at the man on his left, who was studying him with interest. His gray eyes were clear, his smile more of a smirk. Henry searched his face for recognition and came up empty.
“Yes. Do we… did we know each other?” He grinned apologetically. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been back in town.”
“I knew your mother,” the older man said with a bit of a smirk.
Henry felt his smile freeze. He ground on his teeth, giving the man a hard stare. “I see.” He turned back to the counter, hoping to catch the waitress’s attention. He’d leave right now if he wasn’t so hungry; his only other option was a muffin at the Annex, and he wasn’t sure he should get too attached to that place… or the sight of Jane behind the counter.
“I’ll have a Western omelet,” he told the waitress, and closed his menu shut.
He took a sip of his coffee and stared at the wall. He’d hoped that by keeping his back to the room he’d go unnoticed. So much for that.
“Yeah, good ol’ Debbie. She sure was fun.”
“Yeah, well, all that fun caught up with her,” Henry ground out. His jaw tensed even more. He took another sip of his coffee and pulled out the complimentary newspaper Mrs. Griffin had personally slid under his door that morning.
Eventually the man left, and Henry dared to glance over his shoulder. A group of middle-aged women were sitting at the table closest to him, watching closely. “Debbie’s son,” one whispered, after he’d turned back to his paper. Another clucked her tongue.
Hastings, Briar Creek’s requisite small-town greasy spoon, serves up standard diner fare with a sprinkle of gossip and a dash of speculation. Plan your reading material ahead and nab a seat at the counter, unless having your life story judged over a stack of pancakes is high on your travel wish list.
Henry rubbed a hand over his jaw. He supposed he’d have to change his attitude—and fast—if he expected to sell this town with any conviction. He took a sip of his coffee, finding it better than expected. Well, there was one thing he could mention in the article. Now, if he could just find a few more…
“Henry Birch!” Mark Hastings boomed through the door, his grin wide as he took long strides to the counter and slapped a heavy hand onto Henry’s back. “Long time, no see around these parts!”
Not long enough, Henry thought ruefully, but he matched Mark’s enthusiasm. They’d been casual friends growing up, and Mark just had a way of putting those around him in a good mood.
“Eh, thought it was about time.” Henry motioned to the empty stool beside him, and Mark slid in.
“I can’t seem to leave this place, even though it’s all I wanted to do for years.” Mark shook his head and pushed the menu aside. “I’ll have a Western with rye and a side of bacon, Vince,” he called out. The cook glanced at him through the window pass and nodded.
“You own Rosemary and Thyme now, right?” Henry folded his paper and slid it to the side. “I was in there the other night. Nice place. I was impressed.”
Mark looked pleased. “It’s the restaurant I always wanted to be running. I just took the long road getting there.”
“And you and Anna?” Ivy had mentioned they were more than professionally linked.
Mark held up his hands. “What can I say? She’s the one.” The waitress filled his mug and he took a long gulp. “So how about you? Married? Seeing anyone?”
“Was married. Not seeing anyone, really.”
Henry frowned at his choice of words. Why leave the door open like that? He wasn’t dating—he didn’t date, not seriously, at least—and thinking about Jane Madison again hardly qualified as seeing her. Jane was off limits—she always had been. Back then, because of Adam. Now… for so many reasons. He reached for his coffee and drank it back.
“How’s Ivy doing?” Mark frowned as he shifted in his seat to face Henry. “When I stopped into the shop on Sunday she seemed a little under the weather.”
Henry’s hands stilled on his mug. He’d seen his sister the very same day and she’d told him she’d never felt better. He’d have to have a chat with his sister, and soon. There was no way he was leaving town again unless he knew this time that she was able to take care of herself.
Ivy was unloading boxes when Henry pushed through the shop door half an hour later.
“Here, let me get that for you.” He took the giant box from Ivy’s arms and set it on the counter while she signed for the delivery. “This thing weighs a ton. What’s in it?”
“Vases.” Ivy motioned to the FRAGILE sign stamped on the top. “Careful with those.”
“I’m always careful,” Henry said pointedly. He held his sister’s stare, waiting for her to come clean with him. To his frustration, she simply turned on the faucet and began filling a galvanized pitcher with water.
She wasn’t leaving him any choice. “I want you take a break from the store.”
“What?” Ivy’s eyes shot open in surprise as she turned off the tap. “Forget it. No way.”
“Mark told me about what happened on Sunday,” Henry said tightly, trying hard not to lose his temper. Ivy didn’t take her condition seriously enough, if skipping her meds proved anything.
“That’s all?” Ivy shook her head and carried a watering can over to some potted plants. “I got a little light-headed. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you aren’t monitoring your blood sugar. What did you eat for breakfast today, Ivy?”
“Stop.”
“I’d feel better if you would take the next day or two off.”
“I told you, I feel—” But she stopped when she saw the look on his face. “I suppose I don’t have any orders today. I just hate to turn away a potential customer, though.” She sighed. “What if someone plans to get engaged today, or someone has a baby?”
Henry felt the corner of his mouth begin to twitch. She cared about people, and he loved that about her. “I’ll cover for you.”
Ivy burst out laughing. “You? You don’t even know what a Gerbera daisy is, do you?”
Henry stiffened. “Sure I do.”
Ivy arched a brow and folded her thin arms across her chest. “Oh, yeah? Show me.”
They locked eyes for a beat before Henry let out a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, so I don’t know what a—”
“Gerbera daisy,” she offered patiently.
“I don’t know what a Gerbera daisy is, fine! But I can take orders and handle a cash register for one or two days.” He softened his tone. “Everyone needs a break sometimes, Ivy.”
Ivy wavered. “If someone calls for a delivery, can you try to push them off? Unless it’s something urgent, like a new baby or—”
“Or an engagement. Fine.” He was getting somewhere. He just hated that he had to strong-arm her into it.
It took another half hour of Ivy’s excuses before Henry could usher her out the door. Deciding to make himself useful, he found a broom in the back room and swept the shop floor and then the little stoop out front, where leaves had fallen overnight. Afraid to touch the flowers for fear of killing them, he got a rag and dusted the containers and work surfaces, and even washed the windows, inside and out. He was just starting to feel like he had a handle on things when the door jingled.
Shit. A customer. He could only hope it was one who knew what they liked and didn’t expect any fancy ribbons.
His stomach heaved with dread, but when he turned to face the door, his pulse quickened with interest. Jane stood frozen in the doorway, staring at him with those big eyes, and he slipped her a grin before he remembered how they’d left things, how mad at him she was.
He took a step forward, letting his gaze drift down to those long legs, his gut twisting with sudden desire. He was eager for the chance to explain himself, to get a second chance.
But that didn’t mean he was going to get one.