Chapter 19 #2
“You need to get down here ASAP,” Jay said. “Olivia Carson from KOMO just showed up.”
“Well, if she’s wanting to talk to me, she’s out of luck ’cause I’m home sick.”
“You are not.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
“You’re gonna be even sicker come Monday if you don’t show up, you big chicken. These guys are all expecting to see their
hero and they’re gonna be out for blood if you let them down.”
“Are you forgetting what Harlan said?” Parker demanded. “We’re supposed to be cooling it. You shouldn’t even be there.”
“Hey, I didn’t organize it.”
“You’re condoning it. You’re there.”
“Well, somebody has to be. Shit, here she comes,” Jay muttered.
“Don’t talk to her. Get out of there before you end up with your face on the evening news,” Parker said, and pushed End.
Then he went to his bathroom medicine cabinet to get aspirin. He tried not to look at the man in the mirror as he opened it,
the man who was responsible for taking business from Alice Willoughby’s store, the hypocrite who’d come in only a few days
earlier to apologize for being a jerk.
Except what was happening hadn’t been his idea. That wouldn’t stop her and her posse of romantics from blaming him though.
Look on the bright side, he told himself. It would help stir up the bidding frenzy on his book.
Maybe he should go over there.
Put his head in the noose? Bad idea. Oh, yeah. Great idea. Except thanks to his producer’s shenanigans, it already was. Darn
that Jay.
The numbers had swelled and now one of the local TV stations was out front interviewing the men. And here was Scarlet, calling their mother to see if her husband was there among the malcontents.
“Yes, he is,” said Nola. “And don’t come down here, guns blazing. I don’t need you escalating things and getting on the news
in the process. We’re working on a strategy now. Stay tuned.”
“We are?” Alice said when she’d ended the call.
A sly smile took over Nola’s face. “Yes, we are. Let’s rally the troops.”
“And tell them what? Cross the picket line?” Bettina asked.
“In a way. Here’s what we post,” Nola said, and shared her plan.
Alice had to laugh. Her mother’s two-pronged strategy was brilliant.
“Bettina, call our book club members and get them going. And I’m going to call Scarlet back. She needs to do this, too.”
Heaping burning coals of kindness on the heads of the guilty. Oh, yes.
Nola slipped out the door to have a little chat with the news reporter, suggesting she return in an hour and see what was
happening with the strike.
“I hope this works,” Alice said. And she hoped Parker Black the hypocrite would be watching the news later.
The store phone rang. Alice picked it up and barely had time to speak before Brittany lit into her. “Your stupid debate with
that Parker Black is the cause of this,” she accused. “This is my busiest day, and do you know how many orders I’ve had for
floral arrangements? A whole six. I’m in here twiddling my thumbs while all those men are outside partying and picketing.”
“I’m sorry,” Alice said. “Don’t blame me though. Blame Parker Black. And we’re working on damage control right now, so hang
in there.”
“You owe me chocolate,” Brittany snapped, and ended the call.
No, Parker Black owed her chocolate.
Alice went back to work, posting everywhere while Bettina spread the word among their customers.
Remember the song. If your man is on strike today buy your own flowers. Order flowers from Flowers L’Amour and then come on
over to HEA Books and receive a free surprise.
They had a lot of advanced reader copies kicking around. This would be a great way to find homes for them.
But, “What if we run out?” Bettina asked.
“Then we’ll give away some of the books that haven’t been moving,” said Nola.
“That could get costly,” Alice protested.
“Maybe, but we’ll consider it part of our advertising budget,” Nola said. “It will bring people into the store, and you know
how often people come in for one thing and then buy something else.”
“Just like when I go to the grocery store,” said Bettina.
“Good for business plus it’s a donation to a good cause,” Nola added.
“Let’s hope it works,” said Alice, and got busy collecting books to give away.
The strike was going great. Guys had brought thermoses of coffee and were smoking cigars and talking sports and cars. A few
were still chanting, but most were just hanging out. It was a party. And Mark had been the main man behind it and had been
more than happy to let the reporter from the news station know. He was feeling darned good about himself.
Until a pretty face connected to a great body showed up wearing a short jacket and black leggings that clung to her legs and that great butt. She wore the red lipstick that drove him wild and she was carrying some kind of plastic container. She wasn’t glaring at him. In fact, she was smiling.
But it was kind of an evil smile. What was Scarlet up to?
He caught sight of another woman walking a few feet behind her carrying a big old platter of cookies. Cookies? What was going
on here?
Scarlet walked right up to him and opened the container to reveal a batch of her chocolate-chip-oatmeal-everything cookies.
Freshly baked. The aroma drifted out and kissed his nose. Cookies? Were they poisoned?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Giving Cupid a hand. Don’t worry, they’re not poisoned,” she added. His wife was a mind reader.
“Okay, what’s the catch? Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”
“Because somebody has to be,” she said with a little shrug. “Come on, have one. You need your strength.”
“If you think this means I’m gonna forget you locked me out and buy you something for Valentine’s Day you’re wrong,” he said,
keeping his voice gruff.
“I was mad.” She jiggled the container, prompting him. “Come on, you know you can’t resist my cookies.”
Well, he was hungry. He took a cookie and bit into it. Oh, man, it was good. Nobody baked cookies like Scarlet.
“How are things over at your parents’?” she asked.
Pride insisted he lie. “They’re good.”
“Yeah, your mom is a good cook.” Scarlet dipped her gloved hand into the container and took out a cookie. “I do love these
cookies,” she said and took a bite.
There was a small dab of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He wanted to lick it off. Instead, he looked away.
And saw another couple of women had arrived. Now three women were spread out among the guys, all offering them cookies.
“What is this?” he demanded.
She lost the smile, which in a way was a good thing because it was making him nervous. “It’s about love, Mark. And being nice
to each other. Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, and moved off toward another guy.
“Hey wait! Where are you going with those?” he demanded.
“Just sharing the love,” she said, and sidled up to a tall guy with a long beard.
The dude had to be fifty, and Mark could tell he didn’t work out. Scarlet did Pilates and Zumba. She wasn’t into men who were
out of shape. Except look how she was smiling up at him. It was a nicer smile than she’d had for Mark. He said something and
she laughed and held out the container of cookies. He bit into one and gave it a thumbs-up. She patted his arm, said something.
He nodded, shrugged, shouldered his sign and sauntered off. She turned, gave Mark a little wave and moved on to another guy.
This one was younger, and he was looking at Scarlet like she was a cookie. He helped himself to one and she cocked her head, took off her knitted cap and shook out that long, red hair.
She was flirting with the guy. Flirting! And she didn’t move on after he’d eaten his cookie. She stayed there, talking with
him.
A new emotion swelled in Mark’s chest, and it wasn’t self-pity or anger. Who was that dude and why was he talking with Mark’s
wife? Mark strode over to where they stood and got there just in time to hear the guy say, “Wish my girlfriend was as nice
as you.”
“Nice as my wife?” Mark demanded, stepping between them.
“We’re not together right now,” said Scarlet. “Have another cookie.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the guy. He reached around Mark, took one and gloated.
“Would you like another one, Mark?” she asked politely, tipping the container toward him. “Since you’re here. Oh, look, here
comes Lina. I bet she made her marranitos.”
Mark grabbed a cookie and frowned at Scarlet.
“If my woman was like this I wouldn’t be out here,” the guy said.
“Well, we all make mistakes,” Scarlet said lightly. “Maybe you being here is one,” she continued. “There’s a flower shop right
over there. It’s not too late to make the day great.”
He nodded.
“Don’t cave,” Mark urged him.
“Yes, sex is overrated, isn’t it?” Scarlet said.
That did it. “Thanks for the cookie,” the guy said and started walking away.
“You’re trying to ruin my strike,” Mark accused.
“Am I? Maybe I’m just trying to show you how wrong it is. How wrong we’ve been. Want one more cookie? I need to get them gone
so I can go buy flowers.”
“You’re buying flowers for yourself.”
“Why not? If we buy flowers, we also get a free book from HEA. Cookies anyone?” she called to the two men nearest them.
“Cookies? Yeah,” said one of them.
“Gotta go,” Scarlet said, and skipped away to flirt some more.
Real cute. Real funny. Mark watched the deserter walk to the flower shop.
Two women were already walking in ahead of him.
The strike wasn’t bothering them. He looked around to where his fellow strikers stood, talking with women.
More women had shown up, all bringing treats.
One woman was handing out fudge. This was not going according to plan.
And, oh, great. Here came the reporter from the KOMO News again. Mark scuttled away to the far end of what was left of the
picket line. This was turning out to be a very bad idea.
Lina and Georgia walked into the store, each carrying a small vase of red roses. “The troops are scattering,” Lina announced.
Nola smiled. “Mission accomplished. We’ve got a whole pile of books. Come pick one.”