“Yes. El Dorado Hills. I have a question about building codes.” Laura gave her a quick side-eyed look, apparently deciding she wasn’t good enough to hear details. “It’s nothing.”
Calls. All the girl had to do today was make calls.
She had to bite her tongue. She’d always thought of herself as a can-do woman, but maybe she should’ve acted needier. It sure worked for Laura, who did as she pleased. Would that she could’ve stayed home today, sitting around, gabbing on the phone, making calls. Instead, here she was, filling a dozen tiny white ceramic pitchers with half-and-half.
Laura shouldered in to scrutinize. “What are you doing? Wouldn’t regular milk be cheaper?”
“They are called creamers,” she said, not stopping her task for a moment.
“Well, I think it’s a waste.” Laura turned to Sorrow. “Does she do this every morning?”
“That’s enough, Laura.” Sorrow scraped the hash browns onto the plate, slid the whole thing under the warmer, and quickly set to scrambling up three eggs in the leftover oil. “I like to serve real cream for the coffee. Now, Helen, would you please pop one of those English muffins in the toaster for me?”
“The maple syrups also need topping off,” Laura said with an edge in her voice.
Helen froze. Slowly she faced the oldest Bailey sister. “My job is out there on the floor. The manager’s job is back here. Seems to me, the maple syrup is back here, too.”
“Jeez, ladies.” Sorrow made a little chuffing sound as she used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her brow. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got customers out there.” She slid the eggs onto the plate. “Helen, order up. You know who gets it.”
As Helen brought Eddie his breakfast, she tried not to fume. Laura had returned from the big city, and she’d brought a pile of Louis Vuitton bags and loads of attitude with her. Word had it, she was here to stay. Helen hoped the attitude wasn’t.
She didn’t know what’d brought the girl back. Didn’t care to know, frankly. She’d never had much interaction with Laura, anyway, but Bear had anointed her manager, and like that, the woman was acting like she owned the place—though Helen supposed she sort of did own it—partly, at least. “It’s no excuse to act like a know-it-all,” she muttered to herself.
Eddie looked up from his book. “What’s that?”
Her frown flipped into a smile. That Eddie Jessup sure was easy on the eyes. “I said, eggs like you like them, Eddie. Scrambled hard.” Her smile turned flirty.
Not that she’d ever pursue anything with a man other than her husband. Sometimes it just felt good to remember how it felt to be noticed.
He lifted his book, making room for the plate. “Thanks, Helen,” he said, ignoring her saucy innuendo.
“There’s nothing sexier than a man who reads,” she said, trying even harder, bringing her smile up a notch. Though she was unclear why she made the effort. Eddie was a good-looking guy, a guy’s guy. He’d have no interest in a married woman like her. She was all used up. Too many kids, too many bills, and one husband too many.
But still, she tried—she always tried. It was all perfectly innocent. Mostly, she craved the attention. She longed for someone, some man, some adult, to give her a friendly smile and a pat on the back every once in a while.
And maybe someday her flirting would capture the attention of the man she craved most of all: her husband.
“I don’t get why you women are all so surprised to see a guy with a book,” Eddie said, laughing off her comment. And of course he did—a guy like him would be used to flirty comments. “We can read, you know. It’s not all SportsCenter and Skinemax.”
She laughed. She hadn’t made him uncomfortable at all, and he hadn’t blown her off like some men did, either. He was friendly and normal, and it made her feel friendly and normal, too. The whole exchange put a temporary patch on the giant hole in her heart.
But then he met her eyes and asked, “How are you doing, Helen, really?” His tone was overly earnest, and she suddenly felt pathetic.
Everybody knew her situation. She supposed that, around town, she’d become either a butt of jokes, an object of gossip, or both. Hell, she supposed maybe she was pathetic.
That hole in her chest tore right back open.
Her smile felt stiff, and she went back into automatic. “Doing fine, doing fine,” she said, feeling brittle enough to shatter. “Nine-to-five, gotta survive, right?”
Embarrassment was burning through her. She wanted to walk away, to forget who she was, but Eddie wouldn’t let her walk away.
Instead he said, “You got that right,” and he was smiling and shaking his head with the neighborly wisdom of it. “Those kids of yours can’t be cheap.” His complete attention was on his food as he squirted a big glop of ketchup on his plate and dragged a forkful of hash browns through it. “How’s Luke? He playing fall ball this year?” He shoveled the bite into his mouth.
Helen might not be proud of herself, but she sure was proud of her son. Her oldest boy had quite the pitching arm, and it made her smile. “Yeah. You know he wouldn’t miss it. The kid thinks the major league will be calling any day now.”
She’d scoffed, but Eddie only shrugged. “Who knows?” he mused. “Someday, maybe they will.”
It was a charitable and generous thing to say. Oddly, although the comment made Eddie soar in her estimation, the fact of it made her feel lonelier than ever. He was a good man, and what she wouldn’t do for a good man.