Brenda Minton - The Boss's Bride

“Good.” She slipped her work apron over her head. “I’m going to have to face her eventually.”

“Probably.”

Gracie tied her apron and reached for a coffee cup. “I’m sorry this is becoming your problem. It shouldn’t be. I’ll talk to her. I need to give the dress back, and maybe that will start the road to making things better.”

Giving the dress back would be a step toward making this real. She obviously couldn’t explain that to her boss; the man seemed pretty uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to think about this before giving the dress back?”

The coffee overflowed on her hand. She pulled back, reaching quickly for a napkin to wipe her scalded hand and then the drops of brown on the floor. She glanced up at Patrick as she straightened to throw the napkin away.

“I’m positive I don’t want that dress or a chance to think.”

He shrugged and let it go, handing her a wet wipe for her hand rather than commenting further.

“I stopped at the Gazette and put the ad in for the Workshops for Women.” She shifted topics because she was tired of the current subject. Trent. It was time to move on. The workshops would be a great way to bring in customers. And it gave them something to talk about other than the wedding.

“That’s good, thank you.” He glanced at his watch and groaned. “Will you be okay here for an hour or so? I got a call last night from a woman who needs a light installed.”

“Did you?” She smiled because even though she was done with romance, that didn’t mean everyone should be. At her church’s ladies’ meeting last night she’d told Annabelle to give Patrick a call, because he had to be the greatest catch in Bygones.

“I did.” He had started toward the front door but he turned. “Why is it you don’t seem surprised?”

She thought about avoiding answering. Instead she smiled her best innocent smile and told the truth. “Because last night a friend mentioned needing a light installed and I told her you do great work.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Gracie ignored the growing lump in her throat because in the shadows she saw something on his face, a sadness, or loss. It had to be her imagination. And maybe the way her heart shook a little was her imagination, too.

“Would it help if I said she’s pretty and very sweet?”

“Not really.” He cleared his throat. “Gracie, I’m really not looking for someone.”

“No one ever is. Sometimes the right person happens into our lives when we’re least expecting it.”

“Happens. As in, they come along unexpectedly, not because everyone in town is helping it to happen.”

She laughed a little and felt the lump dissolve because his smile had reappeared. “Isn’t it great living in a small town?”

He flipped on the open sign and headed back in her direction. She felt that tightness in her throat again. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair always looking a little messy. Last night one of the ladies at the church meeting asked why Gracie wanted to push such a handsome man off on someone else. Gracie had to admit she didn’t have a clue. Self-preservation maybe?

“Oh, I also submitted information about the block party on Main Street. Coraline said it would be great for the school to put together fund-raisers, maybe baked goods, candles, that type of stuff.”

“Changing the subject?” He pulled off his apron and tossed it on the counter.

The door chimed. Saved by the bell. She exhaled and grinned up at her boss. “Not at all, just filling you in on everything.”

“Do you have a list I should know about? Ad for workshops. Check. Article about block party. Check. Get Patrick married off. Check.”

“Something like that. I can give you a full list later.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” He grinned and pulled keys out of his pocket. “Does she have the light fixture or do I need to take one?”

“She has it.” She grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and wrote out the address. “Here you go.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to thank you for this.”

“You will.”

He left and Gracie turned her attention to the customer at the front of the store. She smiled at Mr. Fibley, once the pharmacist in town. Now that the drugstore had closed, he spent his days at the bookstore and sometimes visiting Ann Mars at This ’N’ That. He was a dapper little man with a sweet smile.

“Mr. Fibley, what can I help you with?”

He looked around the store. “I haven’t been in here yet and I really thought I ought to come check it out.”

“Oh, I see.” Gracie shoved her hands into the loose pockets of the apron and waited.

“I thought I might need lightbulbs. Do you carry lightbulbs?”

“We do. What kind do you need?”

“Oh, those expensive energy savers, I suppose. My niece told me they last forever.”

“They do last awhile.” She took him by the arm and they walked through the store to the aisle with bulbs and other home items.

“Are you doing okay, Gracie?” he asked, leaning in to whisper when they reached the lightbulbs.

Gracie smiled and nodded, but she couldn’t answer because his kindness caused an immediate tightness in her throat and a sudden sting of tears behind her eyes.

He patted her arm. “I know that people are being hard on you, but you’ll get through this. I’ve watched you grow up and you’ve always been a fighter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fibley.”

“There, those are the lightbulbs.” He laughed a little as he reached for two boxes. “And you thought I just came in here to stick my nose in your business. You know, people ought to be shopping local. Prices might be a little higher, but with the price of gas, it doesn’t make sense to drive to the city for things we can get right here.”

“I agree, Mr. Fibley. Hopefully, we can convince people that we’re right.”

They walked back to the register and Gracie rang up the lightbulbs. Mr. Fibley took the paper bag and gave her another sweet smile.

“You’ll be just fine, Gracie Wilson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He winked and then he left, taking slow steps, examining the store as he went. At the door he stopped to admire bird feeders, and then, with a wave back at her, he walked out the door.

A few minutes later she heard the rumble of a motorcycle. She walked to the front of the store and peeked out. The dog she’d been feeding for the past few days looked up from his place on the doormat and wagged his tail. She’d brought a food and water bowl today and she’d fed him at the back door. He seemed nice enough and didn’t even bother to get up when people walked past. Maybe he should have a name if he was going to stick around? She’d have to think about that.

She opened the door and reached to pet his wiry head. He licked her hand and then lost interest. A few parking spaces down from the store, she spotted her brother Evan getting off his bike. He hooked the helmet over the handlebar and raked a hand through his unruly dark hair. Sunglasses hid the black eye he’d gotten the previous day when a bull tossed him and then slammed a horn into his cheek.

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