Page 8 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

“Bernie picked me up at six-thirty this morning,” Florence said, leaning against the pastry case. “We figured we'd get the good seats before the morning rush.”

“Smart thinking.”

Florence watched me work with the keen interest. “Speaking of the morning rush, when do you think your admirer will come in?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “My what?”

“Don't play coy with me, young lady. Ford Larson has been in here every morning since his spectacular tumble, asking you to make him something special. The whole town's talking about it.”

Bernie chuckled as he accepted his maple bourbon latte. “Boy's got it bad, that's for sure. I saw him yesterday afternoon, standing outside Draper's Hardware for ten minutes, staring at this building like he was working up the courage to cross the street.”

“That's ridiculous.” I finished Florence's coffee and set it on the counter harder than necessary. “Ford Larson is not interested in me.”

“Ruby Miller.” Florence's voice dropped into the tone she used when she was about to dispense wisdom whether you wanted it or not. “I've been watching men chase women in this town since I was a teenager. That’s over six decades. Trust me when I tell you that Ford Larson is definitely interested.”

“He asked for my phone number once. I said no. End of story.”

“And he's been back every day since, trying to change your mind.” Bernie took a sip of his latte and made an appreciative sound. “Damn, girl, this is good. Tastes like autumn in a cup.”

“Thank you.” I ducked my head, hoping they'd take the hint and change the subject.

“The man's been moping around town like a lost puppy,” Florence continued, clearly not ready to let it go. “Yesterday at the grocery store, Roger asked what was wrong. Ford said nothing. But Roger told me he knew heartache when he saw it.”

I tried to think that it was just the espresso machine that had me overheating. I knew my face was fire-engine red with embarrassment.

“Roger reads the same romance novels you do,” I reminded Florence. “He sees love floating in the air every time someone blows on a dandelion.”

“Roger might not have as many years on him as I do, but he’s a smart man, and you're being stubborn about it.” Florence stirred her coffee with enough force to create a small whirlpool.

“What's wrong with Ford Larson, anyway? He's handsome, successful, comes from a good family. His sister, Carrie, speaks very highly of him.”

Because men like Ford Larson don't date women who look like me.

I kept that thought to myself and busied myself cleaning the espresso machine. “There's nothing wrong with Ford. We're just not compatible.”

“How do you know if you won't give him a chance?”

I turned around to put a point on my words. “I know.”

Bernie and Florence exchanged a look that spoke volumes. They'd clearly discussed this topic before coming in, probably in great detail, and they'd reached some sort of consensus about my romantic life.

Fantastic.

There was a buzz at the backdoor, which meant the pastries had arrived. Late. Again. I’d ask Jordan to take the delivery, but he never inventoried what they delivered, and we’d ended up shorted twice because of it.

“I’ve got to go. Work’s calling.” I waved at Bernie and Florence.

I thought I heard Florence say something about chickens, but I ignored her.

By the time I got done taking the delivery and filling the display case with pastries, a steady stream of customers began filtering in, construction workers grabbing quick coffees before heading to job sites, office workers treating themselves to fancy lattes, retirees settling in for their morning social hour.

Jordan handled the simple orders while I crafted the more complex drinks, falling into the rhythm that had become second nature over the past few months. The work kept my hands busy and my mind occupied, which was exactly what I needed.

It wasn't until nine-thirty that I heard the soft knock on the back door that I'd been waiting for.

“Jordan, I'm taking my break,” I called out, already untying my apron.

He looked up from the register with obvious annoyance. “Now? We're about to hit the mid-morning rush and Kristin isn’t here yet.”

“You’ve handled it on your own before, you can do it again.”

I didn't wait for his response. Fiona Larson stood outside the back door, shifting her weight from foot to foot with nervous energy.

She looked beautiful despite her anxiety, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, her blue dress conservative but flattering.

The only signs of her nerves were the way she kept smoothing her skirt and the tight line of her mouth.

“You look perfect,” I said, opening the door wider to let her in. I reached out to grab Suzy off Fiona’s hip, and the little girl’s eyes lit up. I cuddled her close.

“I don’t look perfect, I look like I'm about to throw up.”

“That's just pre-interview jitters. Where’s your car?”

“Why are you going to fow up, Mommy?” I looked down at JR, who was holding Fiona’s hand, and tried not to laugh.

“Honey, your Mommy’s just being silly. She’s not going to throw up. Now, follow me. I've got everything set up in the back office.”

Two minutes later, Fiona was nervously checking her make-up in a hand-held mirror.

I was crouched on the floor of my office, helping JR build a spaceship out of Legos while Suzy explored the fascinating world of empty coffee filters.

The kids had taken to their temporary playground with the adaptability that only small children possessed.

“Why are we hiding?” JR asked, his four-year-old brain cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“We're not hiding, sweetie. We're having an adventure while your mommy goes to a very important meeting.”

“Why is it ‘portant?”

And there it was. His favorite word. ‘Why’.

“Because your mommy is very smart and very talented, and there are people who want to give her a job so she can use her talents to help other people.”

He reached for another red block, but then stopped and looked up at me. “Why does she want a job?”

“Because jobs are how grown-ups earn money to buy things like food and toys and gas for the car.”

He clicked the red block into a blue block, and I thought that the interrogation might be over.

“Why do grown-ups need money?”

Suzy chose that moment to attempt to eat a coffee filter, giving me an excuse to redirect the conversation. “JR, can you help me keep your sister from eating my supplies? That's a very important job.”

His little chest puffed out with pride. “I'm good at important jobs. Will I get money?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The kid was a pistol. He didn’t miss a trick. “If you do a very good job, then I will give you some money.”

“Ruby,” Fiona whispered. “Don’t encourage him.”

“The sooner you go to the interview and come back, the sooner you can retrieve them from my bad influence.” I grinned.

Fiona hovered in the doorway, clutching her purse like a lifeline. “Am I doing the right thing?”

“Fiona.” I stood up and crossed to her, placing my hands on her shoulders. “You've been preparing for this interview for two weeks. You've researched the company, practiced your answers, and picked out the perfect outfit. You're ready.”

“What if they ask me to demonstrate something? What if they want me to use equipment I've never seen before?”

“Then you'll tell them you're eager to learn. Enthusiasm counts for a lot.”

“What if they think I'm too old? Too out of shape? Too... broken?”

The last word came out as barely a whisper, and my heart ached a little for the woman who'd been made to feel like damaged goods by someone who should have cherished her.

“Listen to me.” I gripped her shoulders a little tighter.

“You are twenty-eight years old. You are beautiful and intelligent and stronger than you give yourself credit for.

You survived something that would have destroyed a lesser person, and you came out the other side with your kindness intact.

That's not broken, Fiona. That's heroic.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. “What if I don't get it?”

“Then it's their loss, and we'll find you something better.”

She took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I can do this.”

“Damn right you can.”

Fiona kissed both kids goodbye, promised to be back soon, and headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the knob.

“Ruby?”

“Yeah?”

“If I have to be brave enough to go to this interview and put myself out there, why aren't you brave enough to go out with my brother?”

The question hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending heat flooding through my entire body. I opened my mouth to protest, to explain all the reasons why her comparison was completely unfair, but no words came out.

Fiona smiled, the first genuine smile I'd seen from her all morning. “Just think about it.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with two small children and a question that I was nowhere near ready to answer.

Damn, I hate ‘why’ questions.