Ruth Herne - Small-Town Hearts

“I love the little birds.”

“I know you do.” Hoping Mother Nature would help keep Ben’s mind off the clock, Meg did her best to tuck the morning’s events aside, including the guy’s teasing glint, his questioning appraisal of her attire and a look that said he might have just landed in an alternative universe.

Welcome to Jamison.

COLONIAL CANDY KITCHEN

Purveyors of Handcrafted Sugared Delights & Fine Chocolates.

Megan Russo, proprietor

Danny read the business card she’d handed him and felt his heart downslide to somewhere in the vicinity of his gut. He sighed, a feeling of inevitable doom descending.

He turned and offered the grocer a hand along with a partial introduction, knowing that prices spiraled up when people knew he was scouting for real estate. Better to fly under the radar at this point. “Danny Graham. Pleased to meet you.”

“John Dennehy. Likewise.” The irritated man shrugged one shoulder west as Meggie and Ben proceeded down the tree-lined street. “They need to keep better control of Ben these days. He’s not a little kid anymore.”

“Accidents happen. Is there a hotel or motel nearby?” Danny refused to get into a discussion of how the mentally challenged should be kept on a short leash. He understood their limitations better than most, and knew that community involvement was in everybody’s best interests.

“In Wellsville.” The grocer jutted his chin south. “And there’s the B and B up the road. Nice place.”

Danny had noted the classic colonial bed-and-breakfast on the way in, but he was looking for something more long-term. He shook his head. “Wellsville, huh?”

John Dennehy nodded. “Closest thing, ’cept for the campgrounds on the other side of Baldwin’s Crossing.”

He’d seen the campground sign as well, but that wouldn’t do, either. He shrugged. “Wellsville it is. I’m surprised with how pretty your village is that no one’s built anything closer to service the seasonal tourists.” Wellsville was a good fifteen minutes south of Jamison.

“Oh, they’ve tried, especially with the interstate so close,” John admitted, his lips thinned. “There’s development, then there’s development, if you know what I mean. These days it’s best knowing just what kind of life you’re after before sayin’ yes to every character that barrels through, wantin’ to build somethin’.”

The store owner’s manner insinuated that Jamison might be an unlikely spot to approve his storefront development, but he wasn’t in town looking for a fight. He was here to make his grandmother’s dream come true, to open a store dedicated to her mother, his great-grandmother, the original Grandma Mary.

He gave John a direct and polite smile, determined to take his time, learn the lay of the land and not step on toes.

As John began wheeling the cart of damaged fruit inside, Danny held up a hand to stop him. “I’d like to buy this fruit.”

The grocer scowled, thinking he was kidding.

Danny jerked his head toward the emblems on the mercantile door that said despite its historic appearance, the store accepted plastic in multiple forms. “And can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”

John sized him up, shrugged and pressed his lips into a line. “You don’t have to buy the fruit. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He can’t help that he’s—”

Danny cut off the possible insult smoothly. “Challenged. Exactly. But I know a place that can use this fruit. Of course a discount would be in order.”

John’s gaze turned hopeful. He shrugged and nodded. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be grateful. And the coffee shop at the end of the row has an ATM. The banks in Wellsville have them as well. Or you can select Cash Back when you pay for the fruit.”

Danny nodded, replanning the flow of his day to include a stop at the Colonial Candy Kitchen to make good on his promise.

The young woman had eyed him with suspicion when he’d raised Ben’s hopes. How much lower would her opinion go when she realized he was heir apparent to Grandma Mary’s Candies, one of the largest chocolate confectioners in the Northeast, and that his job would most likely include putting her out of business?

He bit back a sigh, put his game face on and helped John bag the fruit, contemplating this new wrinkle. Big cities like New York, Philly and Boston welcomed expansion and development. But here, in this sweet, historic village…

The phrase she used drew an inner smile as he remembered the tilt of her head, the arch of her brow.

Here he might be seeing his competition face-to-face every day, and he didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

“Megan?”

Hannah Moore jogged toward Megan and Ben, her modern running gear a stark contrast to Megan’s colonial costume. She glanced at her sports watch, paused for breath, then nodded toward the candy shop door. “Running late?”

“Grrr…”

Hannah’s sympathy turned into an understanding smile. “Well, the library doesn’t open until three. Want some help?”

“Seriously? Yes.”

The smile deepened to a grin. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head back. I wondered why I didn’t see your car here on my first pass through.”

Hannah regularly ran the paths winding up and down the rolling countryside. Since Megan couldn’t imagine running down the block, much less up a smallish mountain, she held Hannah in high esteem.

“The car’s in the shop for a few days. And Ben’s got today off, so…”

Hannah flashed a smile of understanding and welcome Ben’s way. “So you get to hang out here today, huh, big guy?”

Ben beamed. “With Meggie.”

“And me.” Hannah sent Megan a look that said more than words, and headed south. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Thanks, Hannah.”

Megan watched her retreating back as Hannah wound her way beneath the trees, heading for home. For a fleeting moment she wondered what it would be like to have Hannah’s athleticism and freedom, the chance to just go off and do whatever you wanted a good share of the time.

But she refused to dwell on their differences. Hadn’t Reverend Hannity just offered a delightful homily equating God’s timing with gardens, using metaphors like “the flowers of tomorrow are held in the seeds of yesterday” and “take the time to cultivate the garden within”?

Meg swallowed a sigh.

Right now her internal and external gardens were weed-riddled, and while she appreciated the good reverend’s warmth and wit, she’d give anything to feel like she was in charge of her life, at least part of the time. But between work constraints, helping with Ben and dealing with the aftermath of her public humiliation, she pretty much felt like a puppet on a string.

“Thanks for bringing me to work with you, Meggie.”

Ben’s sincerity offered the kick she needed. She had much to be grateful for, starting with a business she’d built and loved, a sweet apartment upstairs that allowed independence and proximity to her store, a beautiful hometown just beginning to plow its way out of an economic backslide, and family and friends that loved her.

She refused to acknowledge what so many knew, that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by boyfriends twice in the past several years. She climbed the wide, wooden front steps of the candy store and grinned at Ben. “Glad to have you on board.”

His smile tipped her world back on its axis, the sweet, impish grin a quality that couldn’t be bottled. Ben might have the inquisitive nature of an errant child, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and there were plenty of people who could take a lesson from that.

“Hannah, that looks great.” Meg indicated the neon-colored lollipops and nodded approval, the eye-catching array complementing the season. “Picture-perfect. Total attention grabber.”