Ruth Herne - Small-Town Hearts

“Nothing to compare with what approacheth from yonder stone parking lot. Take heed!” Hannah pseudowhispered as she crossed into the production kitchen, her eyes teasing. “A man of certain breeding and gentility comes hither. Might we ready some tea for him, perchance?”

Megan shot her a withering look, glanced through the front window and decided the hop, skip and jump in her chest was a leftover sugar high from not sticking to diet soda. She dusted her hands on her apron, tucked the look of surprise away, headed for the counter and faced the door as their early visitor reappeared. He met her gaze and grinned.

Knowing how his easy demeanor had affected her defenses earlier, she should have sent Hannah to the counter. But she didn’t, which meant she was either healing or a glutton for punishment.

Hannah moved forward, glancing at her watch. “Miss Russo, might I by your leave long enough to deliver today’s cookies to the mercantile and café just shy of the village green?”

Megan rolled her eyes, met Hannah’s gaze and nodded at the obvious ploy. “As always, I am grateful for your help, Miss Moore.”

“As am I for the gainful employment, Miss Russo.”

The man swept them an appreciative look. “Obviously whatever’s in the water down here is contagious. If I stay for a few weeks, will I begin to talk like that, too?”

Megan regarded him with care, a hint of amusement lifting her voice, much as it had an hour earlier. “If one were to linger and reside amongst the genteel of yesteryear, one would surely find their faith, warmth and culture most contagious, kind sir. Do you plan to take lodgings in this vicinity?”

“If that’s your cagey way of asking if I plan to be in town awhile, the answer is yes. I have business here.”

Hannah pushed through the front door with a wave. “I shall leave you to your verbal sparring while I deliver these forthwith.”

Megan watched Hannah go with mixed feelings. Volleying words with this guy was easy with others around. Somehow it felt less natural on her own. She busied herself righting a rack of flavored candy sticks that didn’t need straightening, their old-world appeal and low cost an invitation to purchase in bulk.

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew cold, hard cash, a welcome sight in a retail establishment. He eyed the credit card machine on the counter with a look of disbelief, then turned to her. “You said you couldn’t take credit cards.”

“And such as this is true, kind sir, two blocks from my place of business, in the middle of the street at break of day.”

He frowned and moved closer to the counter, giving Megan a clear view of those gray eyes, light in the middle, their color deepening as the iris widened. His straight, dark hair stopped a hint longer than military length, and the square set of his jaw marked him as a man of decision. But in Megan’s recent experience, men of decision quickly pivoted into indecision where matters of forever were concerned, so she wasn’t about to believe anyone’s chin, no matter how delightfully rugged it appeared.

He angled his head while waiting for her to conclude her perusal, as if accustomed to women sizing him up.

Totally understandable, considering his appearance.

She bit down a sigh, put a serene face in place and inclined her head. “But as you bear witness, kind sir, I have a machine of that nature here.”

“Oh, I see all right.” He let his gaze rest upon her for long seconds, his look inviting challenge. “I think I’m reading you loud and clear, Miss…?”

“Megan.” She gave a slight curtsy, very much in character. “Megan Russo, in actuality, the proprietor of this establishment and sister to Benjamin, the fine young man who made your acquaintance this morning.”

His smile deepened. Broadened. He held out a hand. “And I’m Daniel Graham, but my friends call me Danny.”

“Whereas I am scarce an acquaintance of yours, I shall be delighted to call you Mr. Graham.” She sent him a quick, smiling look over her shoulder as she moved along the counter, hoping he’d follow.

He did.

She bit back a grin, wishing this weren’t fun, wishing he weren’t absolutely adorable, wishing she hadn’t been burned twice already and fairly certain that public humiliation was her permanent Facebook status, since that seemed to be how her life rolled these days. Focus, Meg. Ignore the cleft in his chin, the crinkled eyes and that light of awareness. Remember, you don’t know him, and probably wouldn’t like him if you did.

She paused once she had the counter between them and offered him an expectant look. “How might I be of help to you this day, good man?”

It had to be wrong to think anyone was this cute, this over-the-top, heart-stoppingly magnetic. Right?

Danny tried to prevent his reaction, to no avail. She captivated him, plain and simple. The look, the quirky nature, the spunk, the knowing smile. He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this in, well…

Ever.

He’d had a variety of relationships over the years, and knew way too many Saks Fifth Avenue-friendly types from his years in Philly and New York, coupled with his regular excursions to Grandma Mary’s sprawling Northeast venues.

Nothing prepared him for the total impact of this quaintly clad young woman whose eyes held challenge and maybe, just maybe, a hint of cynicism, enough to make him wonder why and how it got there in a locale saturated with small-town goodness.

He tamped the feelings down, realizing he was simply experiencing a normal, healthy reaction to a new situation because no one in big cities wore quaint, full-skirted gowns made of the sweet calicos his grandmother employed in her quilt making. And the quiet swish of the dress as Megan moved…

Just made him wish she’d move more.

He frowned inward and outward, chasing his errant thoughts away. “I’ve come to buy the candy bars I wanted to purchase earlier.”

She nodded, slid open the door of an immaculate glass display case and withdrew a wicker basket of wrapped bars. She set the basket on the counter. Danny glanced around, noting the layout, and turned back, nodding. “You’ve picked a good location for the chocolate with summer here. This side of your display is shadowed enough to keep the temperature from fluctuating.”

One sculpted brow arched in quiet accord. “Chocolate is a delicacy, indeed. If one does not take care to manage it with an eye toward temperature control, one can ruin a batch forthwith. And exposure to the sun will gray it, drawing the composition oils to the surface. Most unappealing.”

He smiled as he withdrew eight bars. “I don’t find a thing in this store unappealing, Miss Russo.”

She dipped him another curtsy of acknowledgment, having no idea what her antics were doing to his heart. Or maybe she did. He withdrew another four bars just because he needed to do something that didn’t include staring at her.

“Danny!”

He turned, saved by the excited lilt of Ben’s voice. Ben charged forth, open and friendly, not a hint of reticence about him. Danny grinned, acknowledging the warmth, the innocence, the inborn effusive nature. He held out a hand. “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Ben turned a scolding look to his sister. “See, Meggie? I told you not to be so grumpy. I told you he’d come back. Didn’t I? Huh?”

She didn’t miss a beat, just turned her head, gave the young man a quick, friendly nod and smiled. “You did, Ben. I knew I should have heeded your advice.”

“Yes.” Ben nodded, his expression firm. “I know a lot of things, and people should listen to me more.”

Megan acknowledged that with a calm look of assent. “I would be well-advised to do so. And Ben, I see other customers approaching. Would you be so kind as to take Mr. Graham’s money for his purchases?”