Chapter 9
NINE
The bell over the door tinkled merrily as we stepped into Rosie’s café. The room shifted, and everyone’s attention slid our way.
For a second, I didn’t know where to look, so I looked nowhere. My shoulders pulled in, chin dipping, the old instinct to make myself smaller rising up like muscle memory. If I could just take up less space, maybe they’d lose interest.
Betty Jo must have felt it, because she didn’t say a word, just slipped her arm through mine. With a gentle tug, she guided me to a booth by the window.
A waitress appeared at our table before I had the chance to glance up again.
“Afternoon, ladies,” she said brightly.
“Hi, Cynthia,” Betty Jo greeted.
“Something to drink?” Cynthia asked, already pulling out her notepad.
Marge gave a short nod. “Coffee for us.”
Cynthia made a notation, then glanced at me. “And for you?”
“Just water, please.” I needed to be cautious of how much I spent.
“Three specials?” Cynthia asked.
Before I could speak up, Betty Jo spoke up. “Yes, please.”
“You got it.”
I almost asked what the special was, but she was already gone, disappearing toward the kitchen.
I leaned in slightly. “What did I just order?”
“Whatever Rosie’s feeling generous about today,” Marge said.
Betty Jo patted my hand. “It’s always good.”
Marge leaned back in her seat, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes fixed on me across the table.
I shifted under the scrutiny. She hadn’t explained what she meant in the car.
She had, in typical Marge fashion, thrown open her door and crossed the street toward Rosie’s Diner without a backward glance.
Now that we were sitting still, crammed into the booth with nowhere to go, the weight of her unspoken words pressed in on me. Unable to take it any longer, I cleared my throat. “You mentioned a way to repay you.” I sincerely hoped it wasn’t in cash.
Marge’s mouth twitched in a rare semblance of a smile. “You look like you’re headed for a firing squad.”
“I feel like I might be,” I said honestly.
Cynthia reappeared at that moment and delivered our drinks to the table. “Food will be up in just a sec.”
She flounced away again, and I reluctantly turned my gaze back to Marge. The older woman lifted a brow my way, then leaned forward and rested her arms on the table, gaze fixed on mine. “That florist shop belonged to my husband. He loved it more than anything in the world.”
I glanced quickly at Betty Jo before turning back to Marge, sympathy filling me. “I’m sorry. Did he pass away, too?”
She snorted. “The horny bastard left me. Thirty-seven years, and he throws it away for some woman half his age.”
I froze. “Oh. I—”
She continued, undaunted. “The judge split things up and handed me the shop as a way to keep income coming in.” Her mouth curved into a vicious smile. “He was furious.”
“Served him right,” Betty Jo put in.
Marge nodded a bit. “I considered burning the place to the ground. A little revenge would feel good.”
I blinked. Was she serious? I couldn’t tell. Knowing her, she probably meant every word.
“But,” she continued, “I realized I would just be shooting myself in the foot. So then I thought about selling it. It would kill the bastard to see someone else taking over his dream.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured. It was a little dark, but her idea of retribution had merit.
“But then…” Her gaze sharpened, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted in warning. “I had a different idea.”
My stomach twisted into a knot.
“I’ve got one employee—Sarah,” she said. “She’s a good kid, works hard. But she’s heading off to college come spring.”
My mind raced through the implications of her statement. Was she offering me a job? If I had reliable income, I could find a small place nearby to rent.
Pine Ridge wasn’t large. From what I’d seen, most everything was pretty centralized. All of the shops were located here on Main Street and most of the homes appeared to branch off the side streets. If I worked in the florist shop, I wouldn’t need a car; I could walk to work every day.
Giddy excitement welled up inside me, but I quashed it before it could take over.
Just then, three plates slid onto the table, overflowing with thick slabs of roast beef and mashed potatoes slathered with savory gravy. “You need anything else, just yell.”
With a smile Cynthia disappeared. The sounds of idle chatter and the rattle of silverware seemed amplified in the small diner as I waited with bated breath for Marge to continue.
Instead, Marge and Betty Jo began to dig in, their focus completely on the food in front of them. I resigned myself to not getting an answer from Marge right away. By now I’d learned that she did everything her own way, in her own time.
I glanced down at my plate, worry and excitement warring inside me. The food smelled delicious. My stomach rumbled in appreciation, despite the knot that had formed there.
With shaking fingers I picked up my fork and scooped up a tiny bite of food. The intense flavors exploded over my tongue and I briefly closed my eyes, so damn grateful for the events that had transpired to bring me here.
For several moments we ate in relative silence until finally Marge set her fork on the edge of her plate and sat up a little straighter.
The silent cue made me go rigid, and I froze, fork suspended in midair.
Seemingly of its own volition, my hand lowered to the table.
I tucked my hands in my lap, weaving my fingers together nervously.
“As I was saying, I’ll need someone responsible who can run the place,” Marge stated. My heart gave a hard lurch as she continued. “Someone who can place orders, handle deliveries, manage inventory, deal with customers…”
My pulse picked up, blood rushing loudly in my ears.
“I think we can help one another. I want rid of the place. You need a job. Right?”
I nodded, clenching my hands together so tightly they felt almost bloodless.
“So how about this—you take over the shop, pay me a set amount each month. We do that for two years.”
I blinked at her. “And then?” My voice cracked on the words, unable to believe what I was hearing.
“And then… it’s yours,” Marge said. Free and clear.”
The words came together in pieces, my brain struggling to assemble them into something that made sense. “Mine?”
“That’s right.”
I swallowed hard, unable to tear my gaze away from her. Waiting to see a teasing glint in her eyes. Waiting for her to laugh and tell me it was all a joke. She didn’t. “You’re… you’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“That’s—” I shook my head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say yes,” Marge suggested wryly.
Betty Jo reached over and extricated one hand from the death grip I had on it, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “Only if it feels right.”
“I…” Snippets of the past forty-eight hours flashed before my eyes. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d run from the MC, and so much had transpired since then. It was like, the moment I’d landed in front of Lily Anderson’s grave, everything had changed—for the better.
A sudden sense of peace and rightness descended over me. I was a new person; every second since then had led me to this moment right here. This was a gift. A new life for a new person.
“I’d have to learn,” I said tentatively. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but I’m a hard worker. I’ll do my best, I swear.”
“I know you will,” Marge agreed with a nod.
“I’ve never run a business.” Worry crept into my voice. She was trusting me, a virtual stranger, with her business. What if I messed up?
“Most people haven’t, until they take a leap of faith,” she said. “I’ll teach you the ropes, get you ready.”
“I…” My voice caught, then steadied. “I want it. The chance, I mean.”
Marge nodded once, decisive. “Good.”
Just like that.
Betty Jo beamed and squeezed my hand harder. “Oh, this is going to be wonderful!”
I laughed, the sound surprising me. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it,” Marge said. “Because come tomorrow, we’ll see if you still feel the same after a day on your feet.”
“Tomorrow?” I echoed.
She arched a brow. “You thought I’d let you ease into it?”
I shook my head, unable to contain my grin. “Never crossed my mind.”
We finished our meals after that, though I barely tasted mine. When we finally slid out of the booth and headed out the door, the bell above it chimed softly. The tinkle swept over me, warming me from the inside out, as if the bright sound were an auspicious start to something new.