“I’ll take the front. I need to go back out about two, but I’ll be back before you leave for the day.”
“Give a shout if we get busy. One of us’ll come out.”
She could only hope. The store hadn’t exactly bustled with business today. She could use a few more Lindsays before closing, she thought as she got herself a cold drink from the refrigerator.
She carried it into the children’s section, tidied up the toys Zoe had played with while her mother had her visit. And thought of Zoe’s soft, dark curls.
Clare wouldn’t trade her boys for anything in heaven or on earth, but she’d always secretly hoped for a little girl. Pretty dresses, ribbons and bows, Barbies and ballerinas.
And if she’d had a girl, her daughter would probably have turned out to be a tomboy, as into action figures and dirt fights as her brothers.
Maybe Avery would fall in love and end up having a baby girl. Then she could be the doting honorary aunt and finally get to buy all the fuss and flounces.
Now that would be fun, she decided while she tidied books, rearranged stuffed animals. Watching Avery fall in love—the real thing—helping her plan a wedding and on to sharing the excitement of a new baby. Their kids could grow up together. Well, her boys had ahead start, but still. Then, years from now, Avery’s daughter and . . . probably Murphy, considering the ages . . . would fall in love, get married, and give them both gorgeous grandchildren.
Clare laughed to herself, running her finger down the cover of a children’s book.
Fairy tales, she mused. She’d always been a sucker for them. And for a happy ending where everything wrapped up as pretty as a bow in a little girl’s hair.
Maybe more of a sucker than ever now, she admitted. Now that she’d known real loss. Maybe that’s why she just needed to believe in that bright, shiny ribbon tied in a bow around happy ever after.
“Daydreaming about me?”
She jumped at the voice behind her, turned and tried not to wince when she saw Sam Freemont in the doorway.
“Just restoring order.” She spoke pleasantly, reminding herself he sometimes actually bought something rather than just pestering her for a date. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“I came in the back. You should put some security up, Clare. I worry about you working in this place.”
She caught the condescending tone in this place, struggled to remain pleasant. “Laurie and Cassie are in the back room—and there’s a monitor. In fact,” she said deliberately, “they can see us right now. What can I do for you, Sam?”
“It’s what I can do for you.” He leaned against the framework of the opening. Posing, she noted, in his putty-colored suit—the bold blue tie, she imagined, chosen to play up his eyes. “Got a nice, fat bonus check in my pocket.” He patted it, added a wink. “I’ll take you to dinner at my club. We can celebrate.”
Since he worked—when he chose—for his father’s car dealership, and his mother came from old money, she imagined he often had fat checks.
He certainly bragged about money often enough.
“Congratulations, and thanks for the offer. But dinner at the club doesn’t work for me.”
“You’ll love it. I’ve got the best table in the house.”
Always the best, she thought. The biggest, the most expensive. He never changed. “And I’ll be at my kitchen table, convincing my three boys to eat their broccoli.”
“What you need is an au pair. My mother could help you with that.”
“I imagine she could, if I were interested, which I’m not. Now, I need to—”
“I’ve got some time now. We’ll go have a champagne lunch.”
“I don’t—” The bell jangled on the front door. “Have time. Obviously. Excuse me.”
Rather than moving past him, she went out the other doorway to the main room, ready to kiss whoever had interrupted Sam’s annoying campaign.
“Justine! I was just over at the inn this morning. Carolee. It’s so nice to see you both.”
Justine pulled off her red-framed sunglasses, waved a hand in front of her face. “We walked up from Bast. God, the heat! And you look cool and fresh as ice cream—no, lime sherbet—in that dress.”
Carolee dropped into one of the chairs at the little table by the windows. “God, I could use some lime sherbet. We’re going to treat ourselves to one of your fancy iced coffees.”
“Our special this week is Cookie Dough Jo—it’s sinful.”
“Make it two.” Justine dumped her purse on the table, then