to repay their kindness—even if it meant staying away.
* * *
Lacy was checking out books for the Fields girls and their nanny when Paris walked by. She watched him leave. If you flipped to the word suave in the dictionary, his picture was probably there.
“I plan to bring the girls to your summer reader group in a couple weeks,” Mrs. Townsend said.
Of course she did. That would be a convenient nap time for her.
“I always love to see the girls.” Lacy smiled down at the children. Their father, Granger Fields, and his family owned Merry Mountain Farms in town where Lacy always got her blue spruce for the holidays.
Lacy waved as the little girls collected their bags of books and skipped out with Mrs. Townsend following behind them.
For the rest of the afternoon, Lacy worked on ongoing programs and plans for the summer and fall. At six p.m., she turned off the lights to the building and headed into the parking lot.
She was involved with the Ladies’ Day Out group, a gaggle of women who regularly got together to hang out and have fun. Tonight, they were meeting at Lacy’s house to discuss a book that she’d chosen for everyone to read. They were in no way a book club, but since it was her turn to decide what they did, Lacy had turned it into one this time.
Excitement brimmed as she drove home. When she pulled up to her small one-bedroom house on Pine Cone Lane, she noticed two of her sisters’ cars already parked in the driveway. Birdie and Rose had texted her during the day to see what they could do to help. Seeing the lights on inside Lacy’s home, they’d evidently ignored Lacy’s claims that she didn’t need anything and had used her hideaway key under the flowerpot.
“Honey, I’m home!” Lacy called as she headed through the front door.
Birdie, her older sister by one year, turned to face her. “Hey, sis. Rose and I were just cleaning up for you.”
“Great.” Lacy set her purse down. “Now I don’t have to.”
“What is this?” Rose asked, stepping up beside Birdie. Rose was one year younger than Lacy. Their mom had been very busy those first three years of marriage.
Lacy looked at the small postcard that Rose held up.
“You were supposed to RSVP if you were going to your ten-year class reunion,” Rose said. “You needed to send this postcard back.”
“Only if I’m going,” Lacy corrected.
“Of course you’re going,” Birdie said. “I went to my ten-year reunion last year, and it was amazing. I wish we had one every year. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Unlike Lacy, her sisters had been popular in school. They hadn’t had to wear a bulky back brace that made them look like a box turtle in its shell. It had drawn nothing but negative attention during those long, tormenting years.
“It’s not really a time in my life that I want to remember,” Lacy pointed out as she passed them and headed into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. Or perhaps she should go ahead and pour herself something stronger. She could tell she might need it tonight.
A knock on her front door made her turn. “Who is that?” Lacy asked. “I scheduled the book discussion for seven. It’s only six.” Lacy set down the glass she’d pulled from the cabinet and went to follow her sisters to the door.
“About that,” Birdie said a bit sheepishly. “We changed the plan at the last minute.”
Lacy didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
“No one actually read the book you chose,” Birdie said as Rose let the first arrivals in. “Instead, we’re playing matchmaker tonight. What goes together better than summer and love?”
Lacy frowned. “If you wanted summer love, I could’ve chosen a romance novel to read instead.”
Birdie gave her a disapproving look. Lacy doubted anyone was more disappointed about tonight’s shift in festivities than her though.
Chapter Two
Paris hadn’t been able to fully concentrate for the last hour and a half as he sat in front of his computer working on a job for Peak Designs Architectural Firm. His mind was in other places. Primarily the library.
The Frowner, as he’d come to think of the old man in his class, was forefront in his mind. Was it possible that the Frowner was Mr. Jenson?
It couldn’t be. Mr. Jenson had been a loving, caring guy, from what Paris remembered. Granted, loving and caring were subjective, and Paris hadn’t had much to go on back then.
Mrs. Jenson