desk and led the way toward her office, the pitter-patter of Leona’s shoes following closely behind. When they reached the room she shared with Nina, she gestured her friend inside. “Mr. Monting will be very pleased with you, Leona.”
“Calob Monting?”
Tori nodded.
“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”
“Oh?”
A knowing smile spread across the sixty-something’s face. “We had quite the evening a few years back.”
Tori held up her hands, palms out, and dropped into her desk chair. “More details than I want to know, Leona.”
Leona’s brows furrowed as she, too, sat. “Then what are you talking about, dear?”
“The book? The one you just returned?” She set her purse at her feet then reached into the bottom drawer for her brown paper dinner sack, her hands finding the opening in record fashion. “Mr. Monting is top on the wait list.”
“Oh.” Leona made a face then swept her gaze around the room. “You really should paint this place. Give it a more romantic feel.”
“A romantic feel?” Tori slipped her hand into the sack and pulled out a tuna salad sandwich, an apple, a chocolate chip cookie, and a napkin. “It’s just an office, Leona. It really doesn’t need a romantic feel.”
For a moment Leona said nothing, her gaze following Tori’s every move as she spread the napkin across her desk and situated her food on top. “Does Milo ever come to visit you here at work?”
She raised the sandwich to her mouth and took a bite. “He does.”
“Are you ever alone in here?” Leona looked from the sandwich to Tori and back again, a hint of disgust tugging her lips downward. “Really, dear, you should consider what you eat. Bread is just not good for your figure.”
“My—” She stopped mid-chew and glanced down at her satiny blouse and pencil skirt. “My figure is fine. Slight, but fine.”
Leona opened her mouth to say something but closed it once again.
“And as for your question about Milo, sure, he comes to my office at times when Nina is either busy on the floor or off work. Why?”
“Romantic colors on the wall would set the mood better.”
Tori set the sandwich down on the napkin and stared at her friend. “We’re talking about my office, Leona. Inside the Sweet Briar Public Library.”
“I’m aware of that, dear.” Leona swiveled a hairbreadth in her chair then crossed her ankles delicately to her side. “How are things going with Milo?”
Bringing the apple to her lips, she shrugged. “They’re good. Why?”
Leona leaned forward and dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Because you’ve got to be on your toes with that woman in town.”
“Woman?” The crunch of her apple echoed around the room. “What woman are you talking about?”
Leona rolled her eyes skyward. “The old college flame. The one who looks as if she stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.”
She dropped her apple-holding hand to the top of the desk. “You saw her?”
“No, dear, but Debbie has.”
“Debbie said that? About the fashion magazine?”
Leona nodded. “We need to make sure she doesn’t win, dear.”
“Win?” She glanced down at the food on her napkin just in time to feel her appetite go riding off into the sunset. “Win what?”
“Milo.”
Pushing the napkin off to the side, she leaned back in her chair, the thoughts she’d managed to shrug off in favor of work resurfacing with a vengeance. “I’m not out to win Milo.”
Leona peered over her glasses. “Oh?”
“Milo and I are happy together. Beth Samuelson was years ago. Fourteen years ago to be exact.”
“Time has a way of slipping away, dear. Especially when someone’s on a mission.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“She’s after Milo.”
She closed her eyes against the words she didn’t want to believe, words Beth, herself, had certainly alluded to that morning at Debbie’s Bakery. “No, she’s not.”
“Oh no?” Leona crossed her arms. “Then why did Debbie say you looked so miserable after your little meeting with her this morning?”
Damn.
“I didn’t. I just—” And then she stopped, all further denial futile. “He says he’s not interested.”
Leona waved her hand above her head. “Which is neither here nor there, dear. A woman can break down virtually all walls of resistance if they want to. It’s a matter of using the proper tools.”
Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, Tori slumped back in her chair. “And she’s got those. In spades.”
Leona pulled her purse onto the desk and unzipped it, her hand locating and displaying a plethora of makeup products. “Anyone can highlight their tools, dear. That’s easy.”
“It is?”
The woman gestured around