Christine Johnson - Suitor by Design

“So, where are you going?” Peter asked. “The flight school’s not open.”

“I know that.” She halted and planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t you have somewhere to go, Peter Simmons? Like the garage?”

He shrugged, hands in pockets. “Got some time yet.” He shot her a glance. “Don’t you have to open the shop?”

“Ruth and Sam do that.” She pulled her coat closed at the neck and fastened the top button. Now that she was standing still, the frigid cold seeped into her bones. She had worn her Sunday gloves, and her fingers were starting to ache.

Back a block, the side windows of the boardinghouse reflected the crimson clouds on the horizon. That light also revealed the sleek Pierce-Arrow dusted with frost. Vince was still here. If Peter would just leave her alone, she could catch him before he left.

But Peter was staring at her as if she had a dab of egg yolk stuck on her face.

She glared back. “What’s wrong?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Your hair. Don’t like short hair. But it’s all right.”

“Oh. Is that all?” She didn’t know why he talked all choppy around her, but it was getting annoying. “Is that why you were standing at our gate?” Impossible. Jen had cut her hair last night. Only the family had seen it. Mother had gasped and fanned herself, but at least she didn’t faint. Ruth had shaken her head. Tears had risen in Daddy’s eyes, but he’d still told her she looked beautiful.

“Uh, no,” Peter muttered.

“Then why?”

He showed no inclination to answer, which only perturbed her more.

“I don’t have all day,” she snapped. “I need to get going.” Unfortunately she couldn’t walk to the boardinghouse with Peter glued to her side. Maybe if she headed toward the dress shop, he’d go to the garage. Both businesses were located back in the direction from which they’d come.

Since he made no move to do anything, she trudged back through the ankle-deep snow, regretting that she’d decided to wear her good shoes rather than boots.

Naturally, he followed. “Me, too. I got to catch up with Vince before he leaves Terchie’s.”

Minnie growled with frustration. Now she’d never get to see Vince alone. She plodded forward, Vince’s car in her sights. Smoke curled from the boardinghouse’s chimney. Breakfast would be under way by now, with everyone gathered around the table. She supposed her chances of catching Vince alone were slim anyway. Maybe she ought to go there with Peter. It would ensure she actually saw Vince and not just Terchie.

“What a coincidence.” She forced a laugh. “I was on my way to ask Terchie if she was hiring.”

Peter’s brow pinched in dismay. “You’re looking for another job? Things not going well at the shop?”

Minnie wasn’t about to tell him the troubles they faced. He couldn’t help. He didn’t have any more money than they did. Maybe less. “Just looking for a little extra spending money. Why don’t we go there together? You know, take care of two things with one visit.”

He frowned. “I suppose.”

But he didn’t sound too happy about it.

* * *

What was Minnie up to? Whatever it was, she wasn’t giving Peter a chance to ask the questions he needed to ask her. Why did it have to be so tough to talk to a gal? He wouldn’t have a bit of trouble asking her older sister to sew up some seat upholstery, but around Minnie his tongue got all tied, probably because he’d been daydreaming about taking her to the church supper. He wanted to. So bad his gut knotted up tighter than an engine without oil. Was any gal worth this much agony?

He took a quick peek at her walking beside him up the boardinghouse walkway. My, she looked fine, even with short hair. He’d been pretty near shocked to death when he caught sight of what she’d done, but in the daylight, it didn’t look so bad. The face powder and red lips, on the other hand, made her look cheap.

“Why’d you go putting that stuff on your face?”

Her jaw tensed, but he saw her blush under the powder.

She jutted out her chin. “A girl has to look professional.”

“I suppose.” But the only profession he’d seen wearing that kind of stuff wasn’t one that nice girls went into. “I thought you were just looking for a cleaning job.”

“It’s not like working in a private home. In the boardinghouse, people will see me.”

That was when it dawned on him. She’d worn the powder to attract someone’s attention. She hadn’t stopped by the garage yesterday to see him. She wanted to know about Vince. Now he’d gone and committed to bringing the two of them face-to-face. Peter clenched his fists. If Vince looked at her wrong even once, he’d punch the man out, friend or not. That’d put an end to the job offer, but no money was worth a woman’s honor.

He should turn around and let Vince head off into bad weather. With the sun peeking over the horizon, he’d have a tough time convincing the man that a storm was on its way anyhow. Minnie would think he was plumb crazy if he started talkin’ about snowstorms. He couldn’t let her go to the boardinghouse alone, though. It wasn’t proper. So he trudged along, trying to think of something else to ask Vince.

They reached the porch. He’d better come up with another plan and quick.

Minnie climbed the steps ahead of him and stopped at the front door. “Are you coming? I thought you wanted to talk to your friend.”

He dragged himself up the steps like an old man.

Minnie rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “I’m waiting.”

When he finally got to the door, she stood aside. No door had ever looked so imposing. Peter licked his lips.

“Well, aren’t you going to knock?” Minnie said.

He glanced at her. That was a mistake. His stomach lurched, and the last glimmer of thought exited his brain.

“Guess I’ll have to do it,” she huffed, reaching around him to rap the brass knocker three times.

The sound of the knocker against the wooden door gave Peter an idea. He could ask Vince if he wanted the lower compartment to hinge or lock. Better yet, he could then ask Minnie about doing the upholstery.

The door opened, and Terchie greeted them, her plump cheeks rosy and her portly figure topped with a flour-dusted apron.

“I’m looking for Vince,” Peter said. At the woman’s blank stare, he added, “Mr. Galbini.”

“Oh, the Italian fellow. Most folks are eating breakfast,” the cheerful proprietress responded. “Come on in. I’ll see if he’s in the dining room.”

Only after Peter stepped into the warmth of the parlor did he realize how cold he’d gotten. While he waited, he held his hands over the steam radiator and noticed Minnie looking longingly at it.

He stepped to the side. “There’s room for two.”

She hurried over and tugged off her thin going-to-church gloves. No wonder her hands were cold. Those dainty things couldn’t warm a mouse. Moreover, she’d worn shoes instead of boots. Her feet must be frozen.

When she thrust her hands over the radiator, her arm brushed his. Even through his thick coat, he shivered at her touch.

“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes fixed firmly on her hands.

Had she felt it, too? Peter took a breath. Now was the perfect time to ask her to the church supper. “I was wondering—” he began.

“Peter!” Vince interrupted. “What you doin’ here, old sport?” He clapped Peter’s back so hard that he coughed. “See you brought a gal with ya. Howdy, miss.”

Minnie blushed and ducked her head.

Peter felt sick. His suspicions were correct. She was sweet on Vince.

“You gonna make introductions, sport?” Vince gripped his shoulder so hard that Peter winced.

Peter supposed he didn’t have a choice. “Miss Fox, this is an old, old friend of mine, Mr. Vincent Galbini. Mr. Galbini, this is Miss Fox.”