Chapter Two
Deb pulled the spreadsheet back out of her purse the moment TJ left. Her shift started in fifteen minutes and she still hadn’t figured out how she was going to pay for a new car transmission and at the same time make all her bills and next month’s rent. She had no savings and was one paycheck away from being homeless. At least her heap of a car could second as shelter.
Felix leased her the one-bedroom apartment above the diner. It was the size of a garage, perpetually smelled like french fries, and had a view of a Dumpster. Besides being all she could afford, there’d been a time when it had served its purpose—just a place to lay her head at night.
But in two weeks she was turning the big 3-0 and was finally taking stock of her life, which to the casual observer could be described as a derailed train. Or just a train to nowhere. Because while everyone else she knew spent adulthood focusing on things like careers, starting families, and buying real estate, she’d worked at a dead-end job, drowning in debt to help her parents tread water.
They’d worn their fingers to the bone to save a floundering janitorial company, only to wind up broke.
And though she gave them everything she could, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get enough traction to make a difference. She’d attended the local community college but, instead of transferring to a four-year university, ended up waiting tables to keep a roof over all their heads. But now it was time to get serious—or about time. Last spring, she’d applied and been accepted to the University of Nevada, Reno, where she’d hoped to get a degree in community health sciences and specialize in kinesiology. The one true talent she had, one even she had confidence in, was athleticism. But after finding out the cost, she’d had to put the idea on hold until she figured out how to afford it.
Though it was nice of TJ to offer to help, having him sort through her messy finances would be the final mortification in her already loser life. It was bad enough that her parents used to clean the Garners’ toilets. And, unlike her, TJ was the great American success story.
He’d gone to the prestigious Haas School of Business at UC Berkeley and had returned to their hometown to turn his parents’ small enterprise into one of the top adventure companies in the western United States. He was smart, entrepreneurial, and ambitious. And once upon a time, he had been her everything. The boy she’d dreamed of someday marrying. And while she was prone to being impractical, she wasn’t stupid. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that TJ was way above her station.
And he proved it every time he saw her: by walking in the opposite direction.
She focused on the spreadsheet and pondered her options. She could try to sell the car and buy a newer one. But who in their right mind would purchase a fourteen-year-old Honda Accord with more than two hundred thousand miles on the odometer and a slipping transmission? No one, that’s who.
She could charge the repair if not for the fact that her credit cards were maxed out and no legitimate bank in the world would lend to her, not even for a student loan. That ship had sailed along with her FICO scores years ago. Her only solution was to leave the car in its present condition until she could come up with cash. At least work was only a flight of stairs away from her home.
“Bennett,” Felix bellowed. “You’re up.”
She glanced at the clock as she shoved the spreadsheet in her bag. Time to sling hash for the lunch crowd.
The week’s snowfall had brought busloads of skiers to the mountains, which meant the restaurant would be busy. Until recently, the Morning Glory had mostly attracted locals. Tourists tended to eat their meals at the resorts. But more and more of them had discovered the fifties-style diner—complete with black-and-white-check floors and red-vinyl upholstery—with its down-home menu, kid-friendly atmosphere, and moderate prices. The restaurant’s popularity had also grown with the population. Lots of well-heeled folks from the city were now buying or building weekend homes in Glory Junction.
It was great for tips, but still not enough to dig herself and her parents out of debt and properly support all of them.
The next hour passed in a blur. One of the servers had called in sick, leaving Deb half the restaurant to serve. Around one, Win and a couple of his buddies came in and grabbed a booth in her section.
“Ricki, will you take Win’s table?”
Deb just wasn’t up to seeing him today. Win ignored her half the time anyway. He was always friendly, generous with his smiles, and if he really wanted to throw her a bone, he’d generically compliment her: “Looking good, Bennett.” The attention he gave her was on par with what you would give your neighbor’s Irish setter. Lately, instead of feeling hurt by his indifference, she was okay with it. This was disconcerting because he was supposed to be The One.
While TJ had been completely out of reach—captain of the varsity ski team, president of the student council, valedictorian, and an Olympic hopeful—Win, an underachiever like her, had seemed like a more realistic fit. They’d been hot and heavy in high school. Her first boyfriend. But when Win went off to college, their different paths killed the relationship. When he came back full time, they’d started up again only to break up a year later. Ever since then, it had been on and off so many times Deb had lost count. Nowadays it was off, even though everyone believed they were destined to be together.
Unfortunately, she’d also convinced herself that they were the perfect match for way too long. But not anymore. Now, he just felt like another debt on her books and a constant reminder of how much she’d settled in life.
Ricki grabbed four menus. “Take my table on ten.” She hitched her head at a group of nice-looking men. “You’re welcome.”
They were up from the city. Deb could tell because they had that Financial District thing going on. Clean-shaven, expensive skiwear, and one of them was reading the Wall Street Journal on his iPad. Guys like them were usually good tippers.
“What can I get you?” Deb grabbed her order pad from the pocket of her apron.
One of the men brazenly looked her up and down. “What’s good?” he asked, continuing to leer at her like she was a juicy piece of prime rib.
“Everything,” she said, antsy to move on. She didn’t like the vibe he was sending off.
“Well, that’s not very helpful. Why don’t you take a load off and tell us about what you like best?” The one giving her the once-over scooted down on the bench to make room.
Ugh. Deb would’ve been better off waiting on Win’s table after all.
She pasted on a smile. “Sorry, can’t. See all these tables of people?” She waved her hand at the rest of the dining room. “They’re waiting for me to take their orders.”
“But we got you first.” He patted the space next to him. “Come on, you can sit for a minute.”
“Steve,” one of the others said, his eyes imploring.
Yeah, Steve, bugger off. She held the gaze of Steve’s friend. “You know what you want?”
“I’ll take the tuna melt and a side of fries.”
“To drink?”
“I’ll stick with water.”
She went around the table until she came back to Steve. “What’ll it be?”
“I thought I made myself clear on what I want.” This time, he rested his hand on her thigh.
The guy had to be kidding. It was the middle of the day, the place was packed with families, the restaurant could double for the freaking set of Happy Days, and Steve here wanted to play grab-ass with the waitress. Not wanting to make a scene, she inched enough to the left that his hand fell away.
She stared him down.
“I’ll have the double cheeseburger and the steak fries,” he finally said. “What are you doing after work?” he asked, flashing an unctuous smile that said, I’ve got twenty-five roofies in my pocket.
Nothing with you. “I’m busy.” She started to walk away when she felt that hand on her leg again. She whirled around. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Why? You a master in Krav Maga?” He laughed and his hands inched higher.
“Come on, Steve,” his buddy said, but Steve was too much of a dickwad to listen.
He was strong and he pulled her against the bench seat until the corner of it dug into her leg. “Just give me a chance. I’m a nice guy.”
Her eyes dropped to where his hand still rested. “Nice guys don’t put their grubby hands on a woman’s thigh. Get it off. Now!” To punctuate her demand, she jabbed his arm hard with the sharp end of her pencil.
He yelped and quickly pulled his hand away, putting up his palms in a surrender motion. “All right, all right. Bitchy, aren’t you?”
“You need to leave.” Suddenly, the restaurant went silent, and Deb could feel the gaze of every diner on her back. Felix, always worried about his profit margin, would surely fire her, but she wasn’t putting up with Steve’s crap. No matter how bad she needed the money. “You heard me. Out!”
The guy who’d called Steve on his attitude started to slink out of the booth, his face stained bright red.
“Now wait a minute,” Steve said. “You’re overreacting. I was just being funny.”
“Take your sense of humor out the door and don’t come back or I’ll file a sexual assault charge against you.”
Steve started to raise a fuss, but his compadres were smart enough to take her threat seriously and managed to convince him of the wisdom of leaving. They sheepishly filed out of the diner while everyone watched. Everyone but Win, who was flailing his hands, telling a story, completely oblivious. All she could do was laugh to herself, finding it hard to believe this was the guy she’d set her sights on for over the last decade.
“You okay?” Felix came up beside her. When she nodded, he said, “You did good. You’re a tough cookie, Bennett.”
That surprised her. Everyone knew Felix was a stickler about the customer-always-being-right thing. Apparently, he set the limit at pervy customers groping his waitresses. “No big deal. I’d better get back to work.” She started to walk away and then stopped. “Thanks, Felix.”
“For what?”
“For not firing me.” Lord knew she needed the job . . . and the apartment, such as it was.
“Hey, no one messes with my employees.”
After the lunch service, she and Ricki divvied up the tips. Her cut was two hundred bucks, phenomenal for a Wednesday afternoon. People were probably trying to make up for creepy Steve, which helped restore her faith in the human race. Unfortunately, the haul wasn’t going to get her out of her black hole. She grabbed her purse and walked to Sweet Stems to hang out with Foster, who she’d known since high school and would’ve been the love of her life if not for the fact that he played for the other team. So instead, he and Hannah were her besties.
When she got to the florist shop, he was in the middle of a consultation with two women. From the conversation, Deb deduced that the younger woman was getting married in the spring. Weddings and big floral arrangements for the resorts were Foster’s bread and butter. She snooped around the shop to kill time, found a couple of porcelain figurines of a bride and groom, and posed them in a provocative position to see how long it would take Foster to notice.
He pulled the statues apart two minutes after the women left and shook his head.
“Aren’t they for cakes? Why do you even have them in the store?”
“You’d be surprised at some of the centerpieces people want me to make. I work a lot with fake swans.” He shuddered. “Scary.”
“When I get married I want a ski theme.” They’d been playing this game since they were sixteen. Each one trying to outdo the other in absurdity. Foster wanted an all-you-can-eat crème brûlée bar.
“Which reminds me, what are we doing for your birthday?” he asked.
“Getting drunk and then setting my car on fire.”
“I’ll bring the gin and marshmallows.” Foster pushed a green bin to his workstation and began tossing cut flower stems into the can. “I told you I’d lend you the money for the transmission.”
“And I told you how much I appreciate it, but no, thanks.”
Although Sweet Stems was killing it, Foster still owed a large chunk of change on the floral shop. Between that and the new cottage he’d recently purchased on the south side of town that needed updated electrical and plumbing, he wasn’t doing much better than she was. Well, not exactly as bad. He had a career he loved and owned his own home, while she stood on her feet all day, serving the likes of Steve and his ilk. And the only thing she owned was a piece-of-crap automobile.
“What about Hannah? Would you let her lend you the money? Because I know she would.”
“Nope. Then Josh would have to know and that would be weird.”
“Why?” Foster wiped down the table and put his tools in neatly arranged compartments. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help. Normally, that’s what parents are for.” But Foster knew Deb’s weren’t in a financial position to help her.
“I’d rather not have people up in my personal business. It’s bad enough that TJ came in the diner while I was studying that list you told me to make and offered to help me figure it out.” It was sufficiently embarrassing that he’d catch her staring at him like a starstruck teenager from time to time. The last thing she needed was him having a bird’s-eye view of how little she’d accomplished in life. At least Win was just a regular guy whose apartment wasn’t much better than hers.
“I don’t know, Deb. It seems sort of stupid not to take his advice. He’s a financial wiz. All due respect to Gray and Mary Garner, but it’s TJ who grew that company. The guy’s pretty savvy.”
“I don’t need someone savvy. My problems are simple. I don’t make enough money. I hardly need him to tell me that.”
“No, but he can play with the numbers, figure out what you should pay down first. Maybe he has some consolidation tricks.”
She hopped up on the counter. “Why don’t you counsel me? You own a thriving business.”
Deb watched him pull a bucket of roses from the refrigerator and use a thorn stripper so he wouldn’t get stuck.
“Here’s my dirty little secret,” Foster said. “I suck at business. I’m way too liberal with my spending.” He glanced at the shelves stacked with high-end vases and fancy containers. “And I’m a terrible bookkeeper. But I’m twenty times more creative and more reliable than the competition and don’t charge that much more. That’s why I do well, not because I’m Richard Branson.
“You’d be better off taking advice from TJ,” he continued. “He’s a business genius. I mean, he got Delaney Scott, one of the biggest names in high fashion, to design adventure wear for his company when they didn’t even have a retail line! And if he judges you a little, who cares? It’s not like his opinion of you matters, even if he is the hottest single guy in Glory Junction.”
It mattered more than she’d let on. The rest of their friends had enjoyed huge successes. Besides Foster, Hannah owned Glorious Gifts, a great house, and a car that ran. Two of her high-school buddies had made it to the Olympics and another one was a high-paid engineer for Google.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Want to take a break and grab a coffee at Tart Me Up?”
“I’ve got a big order I have to finish and deliver. And not to sound like a nag”—he gave her a hard look—“but you shouldn’t be spending money on coffees at Tart Me Up.”
He was right, of course.
“I should let you get back to work,” she said and got down from the counter.
Foster walked her to the door. “Think about what you want to do for your birthday. Hannah and I will plan it.” Which was Foster’s way of saying they’d pay for it. She wished they wouldn’t—she’d never been good at accepting gifts like that—but they were stubborn that way.
If nothing else, Deb had excellent friends.
“See you around,” she said, and endured the cold on her way to the bank to deposit her tip money.
“Hi, Deb,” Cheryl, the teller, greeted her. The thing about living in a small town was, everyone knew everyone.
She filled out a deposit slip and plunked her wad of cash on the counter. Cheryl straightened the bills and counted them, her long, acrylic nails tapping on the keyboard.
“You know you’re overdrawn, right?”
“No.” Deb leaned over the counter to get a look at the computer monitor.
Cheryl turned the screen so Deb could see better. “Two checks came in and your account had insufficient funds.”
Great. This was going to cost her sixty bucks in overdraft fees, more than a quarter of her tips.
On her way home, she passed Hannah’s gift shop, considered going in, and decided she didn’t need to sprinkle downer dust on her best friend. When Deb reached the Morning Glory, she climbed the stairs on the side of the building and went inside her apartment. Today, it smelled like a combination of onion rings and patty melts.
Her answering machine blinked with messages. The first one was from her mother, who asked if Deb could lend them money for a cord of firewood. There went the rest of her tips. It was cold this winter and she didn’t want them to freeze.
During the recession, her parents’ janitorial company had taken a big hit and never fully recovered. Then her father had injured his back falling off a ladder. Two years ago, they’d sold the company at a fraction of its worth. Dad went on disability and Mom got a job as a cashier at the local supermarket.
The next two calls were from collection agencies. One, an outstanding bill from an emergency room visit when Deb had come down with pneumonia last winter—she didn’t have health insurance—and the other for a late payment on a credit card.
She plopped down on the sofa, a hand-me-down from Hannah’s first marriage, and buried her face in the pillows. The University of Nevada catalog had somehow gotten wedged under the seat cushion and stared back at her mockingly.
Man, she needed a new life. The one she had was seriously broken. She pulled out the spreadsheet from her purse and studied it for the umpteenth time, looking for ways to trim the fat. The premium cable channels had been cut months ago and she’d already gotten the cheapest phone plan known to mankind. Short of turning off her utilities, she didn’t know what else she could cancel.
She let out a long breath and, with desperation outweighing pride, reached for the phone and dialed. “For the record, I’m not happy about making this call. You still willing to help me?”
“Sure.” She could almost see TJ’s told-you-so smile beaming through the phone. “Come over now if you want to.”
No way was she going to GA. The whole Garner clan didn’t need to know her situation. They were like a second family to her and she wanted to make them proud, not feel sorry for her.
“Want to come here instead?” The offer was out of her mouth before she thought to look around her apartment. There was a stack of dishes in the sink, mail scattered across the kitchen table, and a layer of dust as thick as the snow on the surrounding mountains. Besides, having him here would be a distraction. A big, sexy distraction.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then he finally said, “Let’s get coffee.”
She cringed, Foster’s words coming back to haunt her. But what could she do, tell him she couldn’t afford a measly cup of coffee? “Okay, but not at the Morning Glory.” She’d seen enough of the diner for one day.
“We could go to Tart Me Up, Old Glory, or Starbucks.”
“Tart Me Up,” she said. Old Glory would be too loud, and at nearly four bucks a latte, she’d rather give her money to Rachel Johnson than Starbucks.
“Meet you there. Bring your spreadsheet and any other financial information you have.”
Deb laughed to herself. Yes, she’d bring her whole portfolio, which would fit in her change purse.
It took her less than six minutes to get to the bakery on foot. She beat TJ, stripped off her layers, and grabbed them a small table near the back. Tart Me Up only sat about twelve comfortably. In the mornings, it was packed with patrons waiting in line for Rachel’s mouthwatering pastries, croissants, breads, and breakfast sandwiches. Customers literally had to take a number. The crowds usually died down after lunchtime and started up again at five, when Rachel sold what was left in the bakery cases for half price.
TJ came in and acknowledged Deb with a nod. Then he went to the counter, where he proceeded to chat with the barista for five minutes. He looked good. Tall, broad, and successful. But unlike the well-to-do polish of douchebag Steve and his friends, TJ had the ruggedness of a man who hailed from these mountains.
“What do you want?” he called to her.
“A latte.”
He brought the latte, a regular coffee, and a plate of biscotti to the table. When she handed him a five-dollar bill, he pushed it back at her.
“I can afford my own coffee, TJ.”
He raised his brows, snapped one of the biscotti in half for himself, and slid the plate at her. “Let me see that spreadsheet.”
She tugged it out of the bottom of her purse and tried to flatten it the best she could. He took it from her and stared at it for a few seconds.
“This your first time using Excel?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice.
“No,” she lied. “I did it fast.”
He glanced up. “What’s the interest rates on these cards?”
Too embarrassed to admit ignorance, she didn’t say anything, just took a bite of one of the cookies.
He looked up from the spreadsheet. “You have them with you?”
She pulled out her wallet and flipped it open. One glance at the rows of plastic and he let out a whistle. Then he got up, walked to the bakery counter, and returned a few minutes later with a scissor.
“What’s that for?”
“Take a wild guess.” His eyes gleamed, and for a minute, a burst of nostalgia washed over her. This was the playful way he used to be with her, before she’d hooked up with Win, before her life went to hell.
Deb made a protective circle around the wallet with her arms. “No way. It’s not like I can use them anyway.”
“Then it won’t matter if I cut them up.” He had the nerve to wink. “You can keep two. We’ll choose the ones with the lowest interest rates. Definitely no department-store credit cards. They’re the worst.”
“I realize you’re supposed to be a financial wizard, but I’m pretty sure cutting them up isn’t going to magically pay what I owe on them,” she said.
“Nope. But it’ll keep you from getting into this predicament again.” TJ took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. Foster was right; TJ was unequivocally the hottest single guy in town. And the most unavailable . . . at least to her. “You got a pen?”
Trying to appear unaffected, she fumbled through her bag until she found a pencil from the diner and handed it to him. He did a few quick calculations with his phone and took notes in the margins of the spreadsheet.
“How much you take home a week?”
Hell no, she wasn’t telling him that.
He glanced up at her and pierced her with those blue eyes of his. “Deb, I can’t help you without having basic information.”
She had a sudden flashback of a fifteen-year-old TJ talking to her father about the Nasdaq and how he was rounding out his portfolio with a certain tech stock. Her father had been mopping Garner Adventure’s lobby at the time. Even at twelve, she’d felt a hot flush of humiliation creep up her neck and face.
“Deb?” His voice was impatient.
She thought about it for a few seconds, then warned him, “So help me, if you laugh, I’ll put laxatives in your Morning Glory doughnuts,” and reluctantly told him.
“That with tips or before?”
God, this was mortifying. “With, give or take some.”
He jotted down the number and, to his credit, showed no facial expression whatsoever. Not shock, nor pity. Pure poker face. “You have any other income besides the diner?”
“You mean from my trust fund and angel investments?”
He didn’t appear to find her attempt at humor funny, ignoring her question and pointing to the spreadsheet. “Then according to this, your expenses are roughly twice as much as your earnings.”
That sounded about right, and she certainly didn’t need him to tell her that. “Yes. Now, how do I fix it?”
“It’s simple economics—you have to make more money.”
But how? In Glory Junction, there weren’t a lot of career options for someone like her. Residents of the resort town either owned their own businesses, provided professional services, or worked at one of the resorts for minimum wage. That was why she needed to go back to school.
“You can pick up hours at Garner Adventure,” he said. “We’re desperate for good guides.”
“No offense, but I could make more taking extra shifts at the diner.” Guide work was seasonal and the excursions were all-inclusive, meaning no tips.
She huffed out a breath; it was an impossible situation. It was above and beyond of TJ to take the time to help her, but even someone as smart as he couldn’t pull money out of thin air.
“How far behind are you on your bills?” he asked, and she didn’t answer, letting the silence speak for itself. “Some of your creditors might be willing to consolidate your debt. I could make some calls for you, see what your options are.”
“Why? Why would you do that for me? Ever since high school, you’ve been doing your best to avoid me at all costs.” Deb had gotten the impression that she was a major annoyance to him. In all honesty, it had been easier that way. So long as he was absent from her everyday life, she couldn’t regret choosing the other brother.
His eyes locked on her. “Some might say you’ve done the same.” He leaned back in his chair as if to say, touché.
She didn’t reply, not willing to confess the truth. She’d known the Garner family her whole life. Win might be fickle as the Sierra Nevada weather, but she understood him. Josh Garner was married to her best friend and Colt Garner was like a big brother. TJ, on the other hand, had always seemed to be so out of reach, so . . . flawless. And here he was, offering to get involved in the mess that was her life.
It was weird, especially because she never would’ve expected him to do anything that didn’t revolve around Garner Adventure or professional advancement. There was absolutely nothing in it for him. Nothing at all.
“You really think it would make that much of a difference?” she asked, because from where she was sitting, it seemed like consolidation was a Band-Aid when what she needed was a tourniquet.
He reached across the table and wiped a biscotti crumb off her chin, the simple action feeling more intimate than it should’ve. “The way I see it, you don’t have a lot of other choices. At least if we could get the payments down to something you could manage, it might save your credit. But the bottom line is, you have to figure out how to increase your income.”
“The only skill I have other than waitressing is athleticism,” she said and took the other half of the biscotti and washed it down with her latte. “But I’m not good enough to turn it into a profession, at least not one that will pay me a decent wage. I was thinking of going back to school and becoming a phys-ed teacher. But I still have to pay my bills, put a roof over my head, and fix my car.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“I need a new transmission. Mine is slipping.”
“You sure you don’t have a fluid leak?”
“Burl over at the Shell station checked. He says it’s going.”
“That sucks.” He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. “My dad knows a guy who sells rebuilt ones for a fraction of what they go for. I can get you a deal.”
She let out a sigh. “Thanks, but I’m putting that on hold for a while.”
He nodded. “Whenever. Just let me know.”
There he went, being helpful again.
“You okay, TJ? You’re being so . . . considerate.”
His lips kicked up in the corners. “Something wrong with that?”
She took a minute to examine him. Same gorgeous guy he’d always been. He had Win’s eyes, Colt’s cleft chin, and Josh’s determination etched across his face. But there was something else there, that same indefinable character Deb remembered from their childhood. Empathy? Whatever it was, she thought it had disappeared as he’d morphed into a ruthless businessman. Or maybe it hadn’t, but it was convenient to see him that way.
“Nope,” she said. “I really appreciate your help, TJ.”
He hitched his shoulders. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much.”
“Well, I’ll take you up on your offer to help me with my creditors.” She offered a wan smile. “It’s a start, right?”
“Definitely. You want to save your credit. In the meantime, give me your cards. I’ll take them back to the office and make some calls.”
“You have time?” One thing she knew about Garner Adventure was that they had more business than they had staff. Colt was always grousing about how they were calling him in to guide a tour when he already had a full-time job as police chief.
“I’ll fit it in.” He winked, and damned if she didn’t feel a flutter in her chest and a gush of warmth. It was exactly what she didn’t want to feel. Not from him anyway. Too reckless.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not good at that kind of thing.”
He leaned across the table and in a soft voice said, “Deb, you have to start thinking about changing your situation. Maybe you should talk to a career counselor.”
“Sure.” She let out a wry chuckle. “I can tell them how I want to turn recreation into a full-time profession.”
“Why not? That’s how Garner Adventure got its start.” He flashed a grin that did crazy things to her insides.
“Are you telling me to open my own adventure tour company?”
“Nope.” He rubbed that square jaw of his, and again she felt a zing. “I’m telling you to make your passion work for you. Hannah’s done it, Foster’s done it; you can do it too.”
“I’ll think about it.” That’s what the kinesiology degree had been all about; then her dad’s back.... Life didn’t always go as planned. She stood up and shrugged into her jacket, having taken up enough of his time.
He watched her while he drained the rest of his coffee. “That one of Delaney’s?”
“Uh-huh. She gave it to me.” She didn’t want TJ to think she was so irresponsible that she’d drop four hundred bucks on a designer jacket, especially after he’d just offered to help with consolidating her debt.
“We’re selling those same jackets, or at least trying to. I’m working on our online store.”
“That’s what I hear. They’ll do well. I love mine.” She flipped her hair from inside the collar.
He continued to watch her closely. “It looks great on you.”
She stopped in midzip, wondering why Win’s compliments had never sounded that sincere.