One of Lana’s favorite places in Darling Bay always had been Floyd’s Hardware. The door still creaked the same way when she pulled it open, and inside, it sounded just the same as it always had. A key being cut shrieked, and nails clinked metallically as they were tossed into a bin. It smelled like citronella and fresh-cut wood and something else clean and sharp, redolent of Pine-Sol.
At the hotel, she’d tried pulling down some drywall. She’d found to her astonishment that not much at all stood between her and the studs of a building. She needed some tools, and some guidance of some sort. She’d always been good with her hands, with building, and she’d spent long hours on every tour under the stages, building with the set crew. Back then she’d had her own coveralls and her own tool belt. She’d been just a kid, though, good with a hammer but not versed in actual repair. Back then, she’d just followed directions. While her sisters had tested mics up above, Lana had crawled below, running cables from one end of the set to the other.
It was all so long ago now.
“Hey! Is that you, girl?”
Floyd Huppert had owned the hardware store since the end of the Spanish–American war, or so he’d always claimed. He’d been old when Lana was a girl rifling through the nail bins, and though he should have looked ancient by now, incredibly, he didn’t seem much different. He still had a full head of white hair, and he wore the same old blue shirt with his name embroidered above the pocket.
“Floyd!” Lana leaned over the counter to give him a peck on his cheek. She rubbed her lips. “You’re scratchy.”
“What?” Floyd scraped at his chin. “I shave twice a week, whether I need it or not.”
“Ida lets you get away with that?” As the words left her mouth, Lana felt a pang. She had been away so long – what were the odds that both Floyd and Ida were still alive and healthy?
But Floyd beamed. “She lets me get away with just about anything, as long as it doesn’t involve licorice or other women.”
“Licorice?”
“She hates the smell. She’d throw me out of the house if I ever came home with it on my breath. Think I could come home reeking of ladies’ perfume first.”
“You ever tested that theory?” she teased.
“Lord have mercy, no, I haven’t. There’s a reason I’ve been happily married so long. You in town to sing with your sisters?”
Two other old men rattled and coughed in their direction. The siren call of the hardware store – it was always like this, in every town she’d been in over the years. In every single store, three or four old men held up the walls with their shoulders. Lana would bet the two – no, make that four now – men headed her way spent most of their waking hours telling old war stories with Floyd. No matter where she was, Lana usually made an excuse to go to the local hardware. Sometimes she needed a better plug for the hotel bathtub drain. When she was staying on friends’ couches, she’d offer to paint something, anything. Any excuse to wander the aisles and look at all the things she didn’t quite know how to use, all the things she wanted to learn about.
Now was her chance.
“Look.” Lana put her hands flat on the counter. Men like Floyd were expert in small-town gossip. They were worse than women when it came to chatter and conjecture, Uncle Hugh had always said. Best to be straight with a man, right up front. Otherwise they’ll imagine too much. “You’re going to see me in here a lot. I’m going to spend a huge amount of money. I’m fixing up the old hotel. I know you mean well, but I’d very much appreciate it if you don’t get on my case about music, in any form. I’m out of the business, and I need one part of my life where it’s not going to come up. Can this shop be that place?”
Floyd’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. I believe it can. I appreciate the business.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a big job, girl.”
“Yes.”
“Where’re you gonna start?”
“Room twelve.”
“No, I mean, what are you going to do first? Roof? Inner walls?”
“I figured I’d go room by room.”
From behind her, Lana heard the store regulars grumble. Can’t do it that way. That won’t work. That’s a girl for you.
A man who wore his big nose like it was something to be proud of said, “You know how to roof, girl?”
Another said, “What about electrical?”
“Repairing sheetrock?”
“Have you thought about the HVAC?”
Lana opened her mouth to say something snappy, something smart, something that would shut them down. Of course I know about heating and ventilation! I’m strong enough. I don’t spend all my time in hardware stores dreaming of bygone days. I can probably do more push-ups than all of you combined.
“I’m fine.” It was all she could get out. She chewed quickly on the side of her thumb, then stuck her hand into her pocket.
“You ain’t got a man around to help you?”
She smiled as sweetly as she could, but she’d never had a good poker face. It felt more like a grimace. “I don’t do well with help, gender aside.”
A white-haired man who hadn’t spoken until now said, “You better get good with help. You cain’t do that job alone.”
Of course she could. She had money and she had time. Lots and lots of time, which was good, since it would take a while to learn everything, to buy everything, to figure out how to use the tools, to redo whatever she screwed up … Her resolve flagged for a second, but she bucked herself up again.
Lana didn’t ask for assistance, not even when she couldn’t find something in Target. If you were patient enough, you could do anything that needed doing.
Too bad she couldn’t buy extra patience, though. “Yeah, well, I’m a fast learner.”
Then Floyd jumped in. “Don’t try the electrical by yourself. I knew a guy who did that once.”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Burned the house down? Yeah, I’ll be careful. Not much more damage I can do.”
Floyd frowned. “He got fried. He left a widow and three kids behind. Never seen a woman angrier than his wife, I tell you what. He’d been supposed to wait for his friend to help him, a friend who knew what he was doing, but he was impatient.”
Chastened, Lana took a breath. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah.”
“I promise, I’ll try not to be impatient. And you promise me something.”
“What?” Floyd’s face was open even as the other men puffed out their chests, obviously at the ready to spout instructions.
“Promise you’ll stop thinking about me as just some girl. A woman can do just as good a job as a man.”
Floyd nodded. “I promise. I truly agree with you. Now, take this.” He slid a white card across the counter.
She took it. “Ballard Brothers Building and Realty?”
“They’re good.”
Lana wanted to rip it up into little pieces, but she controlled herself. “Thanks. If I need help –”
“When,” interjected Nose Man.
“If I need help, I can find my own workers.”
“They employ women, that’s all I’m saying.”
Lana blinked. “They do?”
“Got a woman electrician on their crew, and maybe a plumber, too. Right, Howard? The Fellows girl working with them?”
Lana decided she’d just ignore the use of the word “girl.” “Fine. Thank you for the card.”
“Great. You’ll do great. Now, what are you looking for today?”
“A book.”
Floyd stared again. “Sorry?”
“Don’t you have a book about construction?”
“Well, yeah. But no one’s bought a book in at least five years.” He cocked his head and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Don’t you have the YouTube?”
Lana sighed. “I’m old-fashioned.”
“Well! That’s refreshing! Follow me. I’ve got a whole shelf of books. Even ordered new ones last year, in case anyone wanted one. Which, I have to say, no one has. You know, there are three of those Ballard boys, just like there are three of you girls. Too bad y’all didn’t get here earlier. Liam and Aidan are already spoken for, I hear. Your sisters, too. Everyone your age shacking up, I guess.” Floyd smiled warmly. “Let me show you those books now.”
As she trailed behind him, the wind left Lana’s sails. Shacking up. That was a good enough phrase for it.
Love.
Honestly. Who had time?
“Hey!” An old man wearing a red T-shirt with “I Heart Bingo” printed on the front said, “Isn’t that …?”
“Lord almighty! I think it is!”
Lana’s cheeks heated. Floyd had remembered her, but she and Uncle Hugh had spent so much time in here when she was young that she hadn’t been surprised. And he hadn’t said her name out loud. If those other old men recognized her, then it meant Molly was right – that this town still remembered them. Maybe if she pretended she couldn’t hear them, maybe if she just kept following Floyd down the aisle, they’d get over their surprise.
“I have to get an autograph.”
“Me first!”
“I’m going to get him to sign my cane!”
Lana frowned. Him?
“He’s not his father.”
“He’s still good.”
“Palmer Hill was a real musician. I’m not sure about this boy of his.”
Um, no.
She must have heard that wrong. She slowed and looked over her shoulder.
“Is he coming in here?” The old man in the red T-shirt poked the one wearing blue.
“I think he is. Oooh, I’m going to ask him if he really dated Taylor Swift.”
“You’re as bad as a woman. Play his father’s music at my funeral, but not that kid’s.”
Sparks ran up Lana’s spine, adrenaline shooting electricity to her wrists. It couldn’t be Taft Hill.
Not in Darling Bay.
Impossible.
She couldn’t see outside – whoever had walked in front of the window who resembled Taft Hill had already passed by.
The bell over the door jangled as it opened.
Floyd was halfway down aisle three, ignoring the other men. “Down here. I’ve got just the book for you.”
Lana ducked past the end of the aisle and peered around a stack of air filters.
There he was.
Shock colored her vision black and white.
Taft looked good that way, too.
Large as life, and about six times as handsome. The man was too good-looking – it wasn’t healthy to be so pretty.
“Taft Hill! I told you, Benny, didn’t I tell you?” One man nudged another in the ribs so hard he wheezed.
“Hi, fellas.”
“What are you doing here?”
Thank God someone was asking it.
“Strangely enough, I’m looking for a woman. Someone said she might be here. Lana Darling – have you seen her?”
Something like heartburn rose in Lana’s chest. She sucked in a breath and stumbled backward. She spun around, barreling down the aisle, away from the front. “Floyd,” she hissed. “Floyd!”
He turned. “Yeah? Heck, I think I moved ’em. Like I said, no one buys books. Maybe over on eight. Let’s go check.”
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Floyd pointed. “Down there, just turn at the fertilizer.”
Lana ran, not caring that Floyd looked surprised. She turned at the stack of bagged soil and pulled open the first door she saw. She slammed it closed, locked it, and fumbled for the light switch.
She wasn’t in a bathroom. She was in a storage closet.