Lisa Dyson - Prince Charming Wears A Badge

The house was a few blocks from the police station. When Callie had lived in Whittler’s Creek, this home had been occupied by Mrs. Thompson, her husband and their four children. The children must be grown by now since the youngest was only a year older than Callie. Mrs. Thompson had been the one who’d listed the rental.

The large Victorian home with its wrap-around porch sat on an oversize corner lot. It was probably a hundred years old, but from the outside it looked pristine. Especially compared to her father’s house that was only about half as old.

The pale blue painted clapboard and white gingerbread trim appeared fresh. The lawn was mowed and there were flowers blooming everywhere Callie looked. Definitely a pleasant place to come home to after picking up trash all day.

When she’d communicated by email with Mrs. Thompson yesterday, Callie had discovered that the woman had turned her home into a boardinghouse after her husband died. Callie assumed it was for financial reasons. One of her daughters had been living with her but had recently moved out, leaving an empty room to rent.

Parking beside the curb, Callie straightened her clothes and walked to the front door. Even close up, she could see how well-kept the property was.

Mrs. Thompson answered the door almost immediately after Callie rang the bell. “Come in! Come in!” She stepped out of the way for Callie to enter. If Callie hadn’t known Mrs. Thompson was in her late fifties, she would have guessed her as being closer to fifty. The petite woman with auburn hair and not a single gray had a welcoming smile and an energetic attitude to go with it.

She drew Callie in for a hug, catching her off guard. “It’s so good to see you after all these years,” Mrs. Thompson said.

Callie hadn’t known Mrs. Thompson very well, but the woman obviously remembered her. Mrs. Thompson had been the team mom on Callie’s softball team and she had also been the room mother in her third-grade classroom.

Mrs. Thompson kept an arm at Callie’s waist as she ushered her from the entryway, down a short hallway and into the kitchen with its white cabinets, yellow walls and royal blue accents. “Come, we’ll have something to drink and you can tell me what you’ve been doing.” She named both hot and cold drinks.

Callie swallowed, still in shock by the warm reception. “Coffee sounds good.” Unlike the police department, the AC in Mrs. Thompson’s house was in good working condition.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to, Callie,” Mrs. Thompson said as she busied herself getting the coffee.

“Well, since grad school, I’ve been living in Silver Spring. I’m a financial analyst at a large firm in Bethesda.”

“How wonderful! I’m sure you’re great at what you do.”

Again, Callie didn’t know how to react to Mrs. Thompson’s enthusiasm. She hadn’t gotten even close to that reaction from Tyler. He’d appeared guarded. Did he really hold what happened all those years ago against her? Couldn’t he at least be friendly?

She’d been nervous as hell when she’d first seen him today. He was a mature version of the handsome teenage boy she’d crushed on in her past life, but her teenage reaction to him hadn’t changed. Her mouth had gone dry, her heart beat double-time and words had been hard to find.

“I’m doing something I love,” she told Mrs. Thompson, “so I think that helps to make me good at it.” Callie didn’t know why else she was so successful at choosing the right investments to make others a lot of money, but it had certainly been financially rewarding for her personally, as well.

Mrs. Thompson set a cup of coffee in front of Callie, who’d taken a seat at the counter. “What do you like in it?”

“A splash of something white,” Callie said with a smile. “Skim, whole milk, cream, half-and-half. I’m not choosy. I think needing to add it is psychological because I’ve told myself I don’t like black coffee.”

The two women chuckled while Mrs. Thompson retrieved some cream from the fridge. They spoke for a few minutes about things going on in town while they drank their coffee.

“I never asked you why you’re back,” Mrs. Thompson said. “I’m guessing it’s family related.”

“Something like that.” Callie wasn’t ready to divulge too much yet, especially before her family knew she was in town.

“I get it. You need a place to escape instead of staying at your parents’. Sometimes family can be overwhelming.” Mrs. Thompson took the last swallow of her coffee.

Callie merely nodded and then changed the subject. “So you’ve been renting out rooms for several years?”

“Since right after my Jeffrey died. It’s been almost five years now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thompson.”

She nodded. “Thank you. And, please, none of this Mrs. Thompson nonsense. I’m Poppy to everyone.”

“Poppy.” Callie still felt like the young girl who used to live in Whittler’s Creek, not an adult on the same level as others in town.

Poppy put their cups in the dishwasher. “I think I told you the rent is one fifty a week and that includes breakfast and dinner. We do family style for whoever is here at six o’clock. If you miss it, there are always leftovers for you to heat up later.”

Callie nodded. The rent on her condo was four times that and no meals were included. She’d often thought about buying a condo or house instead of throwing away so much money on rent, but with the unstable real estate market, it was too big a risk. And she’d probably never buy a house. A bigger place to take care of wasn’t practical since she had little spare time as it was.

“I’ll show you around and you can decide if this is the right place for you,” Poppy said as she led the way through the dining room and into the living room. “Feel free to use any of the rooms down here. I like my guests to feel as if this is their home, too.”

Callie knew before going upstairs to see her bedroom that she would accept Poppy’s invitation to stay here. She’d never lived anywhere that was this welcoming. Her current home was just a place to return to when not working. She had no one to greet her or to miss her. No pleasant family dinners—not that she’d grown up with them.

“Here’s where you would be staying.” Poppy gestured to the doorway at the top of the open staircase.

Callie stepped into a large room that held a queen-size bed with brass headboard and footboard, a full-length mirror on a brass stand and a small love seat positioned in a bay window that let in lots of light.

Poppy opened a door to show her a small closet and then crossed the room to open another door. “This is the only room on this floor with a private bathroom.”

“This is a wonderful room,” she told Poppy. “I’d love to stay here.”

Poppy smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that. My daughter, Molly, really loved this room.”

Another question popped into Callie’s head. “So who else is living here right now?”

Poppy pointed to the next doorway down the hall. “This room is being rented by a young man going through a divorce, but he told me just last night that he’d be moving out at the end of the week. So I’ll need to put another ad on Craigslist.”

Callie was wondering if she’d like his room even better when Poppy said, “His is the smallest and has no private bathroom.”

“What about those two rooms?” Callie pointed down the hall. “Is one of them yours?”

“Oh, no. I’ve got my own suite in the attic. Those rooms are rented by my nephew and his two young daughters. I hope that doesn’t make you change your mind. I forgot to mention that there would be children in the house. Although they’re very well behaved.”