Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,70
place to see how Honey’s meeting went, and Barbara said you’d been kind enough to give her a ride in.” Alva fidgeted with her ever-present pearls as she did a slow turn to take in the place, all while carefully not meeting Dylan’s gaze.
Nor did she make any other comment regarding the scene she’d walked in on. Considering Alva Liles was a shoot-from-the-hip pistol on the best of days, that was something of a surprise, but Dylan was simply thankful for the unexpected blessing.
“I hope everything was resolved,” she went on. “Our Miss Lani has simply been beside herself with worry about how things got so mixed up in the first place. I told her it would all work itself out, but, of course, she won’t feel right until it has. When I saw your truck parked out front, I had to stop in and see for myself how it went. For Miss Lani’s sake, of course.”
“Of course,” Dylan echoed, more concerned at the moment about the state of his body, or certain parts of it anyway, and hoping Alva continued avoiding his gaze—and the rest of him—until it finished switching gears from how tantalizingly close he’d been to discovering whether Honey’s nipples were as sweet as her namesake . . . to matching wits with the wily octogenarian who always had an agenda he rarely caught on to until it was too late.
All he knew at the moment was that his body wasn’t any happier than his mind was with the sudden change in his agenda.
“My, my,” Alva went on, taking in the dimly lit, musty interior. “I can’t recall the last time I set foot in here.” She sighed in remembrance. “I still miss the old bookstore. A shame no one ever took it on when Beaumont finally gave up.” She turned slowly, staring up at the second floor balcony level. “Imagine my surprise when Morgan mentioned you were the one who’d bought the place,” she went on.
Dylan’s heart stuttered. She is a pistol. Fully loaded at all times, despite the deceptive packaging. He really needed to keep that in mind.
“I hope you’re not going to gut it and turn it into a garage,” Alva said. “Seems a shame to lose all the lovely molding, all that beautiful custom carpentry with those built in shelves. The wrought iron balcony railing and stairs.” She sighed. “Hard to find anyone who cares about such things these days.”
Honey frowned and stepped out from behind him. “So . . . that’s why you had keys to the place.”
Dylan closed his eyes just briefly, then glanced over at her. “I was getting to that part.”
“Well, there you are,” Alva said, beaming as if Honey had just stepped in from another room, when all three of them knew better.
Honey seemed happy to play along with the charade. “Hello again, Alva. Thank you for stopping by Barbara’s and asking after me. I’m still working out details, but it was a productive day.”
Dylan silently applauded her for not giving Alva specifics. If Lani Dunne was as broken up by the events of the past few days as Miss Alva claimed, she could discuss the situation with Honey directly.
“Well, dear, that’s good news then. I was helping out Miss Lani today and she mentioned that if our paths crossed, I should pass along that she’d love for you to stop on by and have a chat with her. She’s talked with Morgan and they’ve got some kind of documentation for you that might help sort all this out from their end.” She waved her hands in a fluttering motion. “I’m hopeless with all the legalese, but I’m thinking it will ease your mind and hers. She was planning to stop by Miss Barbara’s herself after work, but when I saw the truck . . .” Alva trailed off and somehow managed to pull off an innocent little shrug.
All three of them knew her visit was no accident. The garage was the only open business on the old channel road, and since the locals parked in the alley out back, the only way she could have spied Dylan’s truck in front was if she’d been . . . well . . . spying.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Honey replied sincerely enough. “Thank you.”
Alva gave one last glance around the space and sighed again, though there was a different expression on her carefully powdered face, one he couldn’t quite read. Dylan braced himself.