Nancy Warren - Final Score

Nevertheless, she pushed her way into the store. A bell rang, and when she took a step inside she knew Serena hadn’t steered her wrong. This was a store to browse in. Junk and treasure were jumbled together—old toys, clothing and books, Depression glass to Irish crystal to sterling silver and old tobacco tins. The lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. An enormous brass wagon wheel with black lamps would have looked at home in the Munsters’ house, and there were stained-glass lamps and a bright orange midcentury modern globe and—oh, that had to be it. A small chandelier, delicate and twinkly when the door opened and the breeze shivered through the crystals.

“What do you think?” Serena asked, coming up behind her.

Cassie turned to her and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“I knew it.”

“But it’s on hold.” She pointed at the big tag hanging from the fixture.

“I had them put it on hold. For you.”

“Ha. Fantastic.”

“How can I help you ladies?” a balding man with a large stomach hanging over his belt asked them.

“We’ll take this chandelier,” Serena said.

“Wait. How much is it?”

Serena put a hand on her arm. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I was going to buy it, but then I thought how awful if you hated it. There is nothing worse than being stuck with a gift you don’t like. So I dragged you out of your way to approve of my taste before I made a fool of myself.”

“As if you could.”

Cassie hugged her friend quickly, knowing that Serena was as pleased to be giving her the chandelier as she was to receive it.

“I’m going to start painting the bedroom as soon as I get home,” she said. “I’ll make Dylan stop work on the bathroom and help me. I can’t wait to get that room in shape. It’s going to be so beautiful.”

“The whole house is going to be beautiful. You wait.”

While the store owner boxed the light up for them, they browsed, picking through old farm tools and vinyl records, a tray of pocket watches and boxes of linens. “My grandmother always used to smell like Joy,” she said, picking up an old bottle of the French perfume. The bottle was empty, but there was an echo of scent that reminded her of her mother’s mom, a wonderful woman who played piano and baked the best pies.

“My grandmother smelled like this,” Serena said, picking up an old can with “Player’s Tobacco” written on it.

They had such different backgrounds it was amazing they’d become friends. Serena rarely talked about her past, but through passing comments like this one, Cassie knew it had been rough. Serena had dragged herself up from the gutter to become one of the most successful women in Cassie’s circle, while Cassie had two parents who loved her, were still married and still called each other sweetheart. How did she get so lucky?

Of course, Serena was getting married to one of the best men on the planet, while Cassie had celebrated her thirtieth birthday still single. Her present to herself had been a three-bedroom house she’d have trouble filling.

Unless she took in a lot more stray cats.

5

THEY CARRIED THE chandelier out to the car, fitting it nicely in the space Cassie had set aside. Then Serena said, “Max is flying in to play hockey with the boys on Monday night. He’s bringing Claire with him.”

“Oh, the famous Claire.”

“Yes. The bush pilot. I thought maybe we three women should go out and have a drink while the men play hockey.”

“You don’t think Claire will want to watch Max on the ice?”

“Please. She lives in Alaska. I’m sure she’s dying to get away from snow and ice.”

“Be great to meet her.” Cassie had found Max’s combination of brains, wealth and Latin charm to be slightly intimidating. She couldn’t imagine him with a bush pilot.

“I only met her once, but I think you’ll like her.” Serena chuckled softly. “She’s quite a character.”

“I could definitely use a night out.”

“Excellent. We’re on, then.”

“What if Claire says no?”

“Then we kidnap her.”

“No wonder you’re a business leader. You always have such sound plans.”

Serena pulled out her phone and punched in something. Probably she was already updating her calendar for Monday. Or texting Claire.

“Well, I’d better get back and start on the bedroom. Drop by sometime and check out the progress.”

“Love to. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I have something else for you.” And Serena ran to her car, her long legs looking good in tight jeans. Cassie reminded herself that she really needed to fit in more time at the gym.

Serena returned a minute later with a mischievous look on her face and a brown paper bag holding an object about the shape and size of a—Oh, my gosh, she didn’t. Yes, she did—calendar.

The firefighters’ charity calendar. Hunter’s finest firefighters, buff and ready to rock your world one month at a time.

She laughed as she opened it slowly, beginning with Mr. January, who was a fine-looking African-American guy with the most amazing pecs she’d ever seen and—

“Oh, don’t even think about poring over every month,” Serena said. “Flip to June.”

Cassie didn’t need to be told a second time; her fingers itched to fly past the first five months of the year. Flip, flip, and there he was.

Dylan.

Dylan, shirtless, his firefighting pants slung low on his hips, posing with an ax over his shoulders and a look in his eyes that made her feel as though she were in danger of being scorched. Oh, my. Those eyes, those abs, the shoulders.

“I see he has a tattoo,” she said finally, feeling a little weak. It was a linked-chain-type thing in dark ink that circled his right bicep. She wondered what it would feel like to put her hand around that tattoo. How far around his muscular arm would her hand even reach? Her palm grew warm thinking about wrapping around that hot skin.

“Let’s just say that in my apartment? It’s always June.”

They snorted with laughter. “Does Adam know?”

“He says when we get married, I have to leave the calendar behind.” She glanced at Cassie over the glossy photograph of a grinning Dylan. “He says, ‘It’s Dylan or me. Make your choice.’”

The color photograph flashed in the sunshine, making Dylan gleam like a bronzed god. “That’s got to be a tough choice.”

“I tell you, Adam’s a great-looking guy. Don’t get me wrong. And I will love him to the end of time.” She leaned closer. “But a girl can still look.”

“Uh-huh.” And Cassie wondered how long she could keep looking and remembering to breathe at the same time.

Serena’s phone signaled an incoming text. She glanced at it. Frowned. “Speak of the devil.”

“Dylan texted you?”

“No. Adam.” She put the phone away with a crease between her brows.

Cassie wanted to ask if everything was okay, but before she could say a word, Serena was backing away and waving. “Let me know how it looks when it’s up. The chandelier, I mean.” And then she was gone.

As she drove home Cassie had to face that her outing, while successful on many fronts, hadn’t exactly been the mental cold shower she’d hoped.

Thanks to Mr. June, she felt hotter than when she’d left.

When she pulled into her driveway beside the dusty truck, she immediately grabbed the calendar and stuffed it back in the brown paper bag. She hid it in the chandelier box so her handyman hottie wouldn’t see her toting pictures of his hot, half-naked self. Then, leaving the back of her car open, she walked into the house.

“Hi, Dylan, I’m back.”

“Okay, I’ll come help unload.”

“Thanks.”

He walked out of the bathroom in one of his threadbare old T-shirts and plaster-dusted jeans. The T-shirt wasn’t even tight, but as he moved she felt as if she was seeing him, gorgeous and shirtless once more. Now she knew he had a tat on his upper right bicep, she felt a strange urge to see it in the flesh.