The Next Best Thing

She’d been working a lot. At the library, studiously not looking across the green to the police station. At the other vineyard. Up here at the barn.

As for Levi—he’d nodded at her three days ago as their paths crossed at O’Rourke’s. She’d glared; he’d said nothing.

“So you must see Levi a lot,” Jeremy said, practically reading her mind.

“Not really,” she answered, shoveling some gravel from a wheelbarrow to line the path that led to the barn’s entrance. Jeremy had come up on his lunch hour, bearing a glorious Cubano sandwich from Lorelei’s. Things were still a little awkward since their reunion, but, hell. He was such a good guy. And he brought food, so...

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “I thought you lived across the hall from each other.”

“We do.” Her tone must’ve hinted at Panty Twist Supreme, because he didn’t pursue the subject further.

“This is going to be amazing,” he said, gesturing with his own sandwich. “I’ve already told Georgia to start referring people here. We get a lot of requests for weddings, but you know. A tent is nothing compared to this.”

“Thanks, ba—buddy.” She’d been about to say babe. Old habits.

He picked up the tennis ball and fired it into the woods, putting his quarterback arm to use. Blue bounded after the ball joyfully. Faith wondered if her pet remembered Jeremy, who could throw farther than anyone.

“One of my patients asked about you yesterday,” Jeremy said. “He wants to surprise his wife with a water garden, and I told him that’d be a piece of cake for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, hefting another shovelful of gravel and tamping it into the path. “I hope he calls.”

“Have you thought about staying here permanently?” Jeremy asked. “I imagine you’d have clients by the dozen.” He offered her some potato chips, and she took a few.

“I want to stay,” she admitted. “I’ve been here a month now, and it’s hard to think about going back to California. I see my dad and the grands almost every day, have dinner with Pru and the kids once or twice a week. Colleen and I hang out all the time... I wonder how I lived without everyone for three years.”

You included, she didn’t add. But Jeremy’s friendship, this new phase of it...that was becoming important, too.

“But I do have a very nice life back in San Francisco,” she added. “Can’t just forget that. I pitched a job in August, and it’s supposed to move forward soon. So we’ll see.”

Jeremy fired the ball into the woods again for the never-tired Blue. “You’re different now,” he said. “You’re really...solid.”

“Pick another word, quick.” She smiled as she spread another shovelful of gravel onto the path.

“Sorry.” He grinned. “Confident in who you are.”

“Better, better.”

“So what’s on your mind? You seem a little distracted.”

Levi’s on my mind, Jeremy. I may want to  kill him. That, or handcuff him to the radiator, rip off his clothes with my  teeth and have my way with the man. “Oh, just work stuff,” she lied.

The memory of that kiss had been replayed roughly a thousand and eight times in Faith’s brain, usually around three in the morning. Twice in the week that had passed, the smell of chocolate had crept into her apartment, and it was maddening. So close and yet so far, across the hall and baking. Way too adorable an image to pursue. Almost as adorable as the sight of him sitting by her bed, asleep, all rumpled hair and long eyelashes and beautiful arms.

This was her problem: falling for emotionally unavailable men. For one night, Levi had been nice to her, one lousy (well, okay, one excellent) kiss, and yes, her panties were in a snarl.

She dug into the gravel with more strength than was necessary. Call it a workout.

“I heard you and Colleen went to a singles thing,” Jeremy said. He hesitated. “Are you...interested? In dating somebody here, I mean. Or maybe you’re seeing someone already?”

“No. Nope. I’m not. Not even a little.” Okay, she didn’t have to be so emphatic. “Why?”

“Well,” he said, throwing the ball for Blue once more, “maybe this is just me trying to soothe my conscience, but...think you’d like to be fixed up?”

“I’d love it,” she said instantly.

“Really?” Jeremy asked.

“Absolutely. How well do you know him?”

“Not that well. He’s my accountant.” Jeremy paused. “He’s very good-looking. And honest.”

“Sold! Give me his number, I’ll call him right now.”

Blinking a little, Jeremy passed over his phone.

Five minutes later, Faith had a date for that very night. Maybe this guy wouldn’t be g*y, married or view kissing her as a huge mistake.

And wouldn’t that be a nice change.

* * *

SHE AND BLUE STOPPED at the Old House, regretting it the second she walked into her grandparents’ back hall. “It’s coo-pon,” Goggy was saying, her voice laced with steel.

“I like cue-pon,” Pops said defiantly. Oh, lordy. Perhaps Faith could sneak out, undetected. She glanced down at Blue, whose doggy brow wrinkled at the sound of the bickering grands.

“We never said it like that before,” Goggy said. “Why are you changing it now? You sound ridiculous. It’s so pretentious.” Faith turned to leave, stealthy as a ninja.

“Cue-pon,” Pops said. “Faithie-bear, is that you? Come on in, honey!”

Busted. “Hi, guys! Oh, cookies! Can I have one?”

“Of course you can,” Goggy said. “Take three. Sweetheart, how do you say coupon? Hmm? It’s coo-pon, isn’t it?”

“I’ve heard it said both ways,” Faith said, opting to play Switzerland in this horribly important discussion. Moving out had definitely been the right choice. She took a bite of the cookie. Oh, yeah. Snickerdoodles. Three might not be enough.

“See, I’m French Canadian,” Pops said. “We say cue-pon up North.”

“Your parents came over from Utrecht! You had a great-uncle who lived in Quebec for a year. That doesn’t make you French Canadian!”

“Cue-pon.” Pops grinned, winking at Faith. The man was adorably evil. “How’s the barn?”

“It’s going to be rather gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Of course it is, with you doing it.” Goggy pushed the plate of cookies toward her. Her grandparents had flown out to see the dedication of the Douglas Street Park and been simultaneously stunned and smug at her work (as well as concerned about her throat being slit in the big city).

The phone rang, and Goggy hurtled to answer it. “Oh, Betty, hi,” she said, taking the phone into the living room.

“So, Pops,” Faith said. “I was hoping to talk to you about your anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?” he said, pouring some of the sauvignon blanc that had won the vineyard a silver medal last year.

“Your wedding anniversary. It’ll be sixty-five years next month.”

“And still I walk this earth, shackled to your grandmother by the chains of marriage.” He winked and poured her a glass, as well. Cookies and wine...looked like those fifteen pounds wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Yeah, okay, but you love her, of course,” she prompted.

“Love, shmove,” he answered. “Love is for you young people.”

“How can you be married for sixty-five years and not love your wife?” She smiled, hoping to encourage him.

“I don’t know,” Pops said, giving a cookie to her dog, who swallowed it instantly. “I’m cursed?”

“You’re a horrible old man, that’s what you are,” she said, fixing his collar. “Admit it, Pops. You love Goggy.”

“I love this wine, that’s what I love. Do you like it?”

She took a sip. “Lemon, honeysuckle, a smidgeon of burnt marshmallow.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Anyway, I thought your anniversary would be a great way to dedicate the barn. A Holland family event, and such a milestone. I know Goggy would love it.”

“You want to throw us an anniversary party?”

“Absolutely! The leaves will still be beautiful, we could invite all your friends and colleagues, and it’d be a great way to have everyone see the new venue. The Barn at Blue Heron, the nice old Holland clan. What do you think?”

“I think I should get a Purple Heart and a week’s vacation, alone, that’s what I think.”

Remembering the story of Goggy’s tragic first love, Faith sighed. “Pops, I think it would mean a lot to Goggy. A long marriage is something to be proud of—”

“Or terrified of,” he said.

“—and Goggy deserves a special night. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We don’t generally like that sort of fuss.”

“What sort of fuss?” Goggy asked, coming back into the room.

“It’s about time,” Pops grumbled. “I’m starving. It’s ten after five already.”

“I was telling Pops,” Faith said firmly, “that I thought it’d be nice to throw you two an anniversary party.”

“What does he think?” Goggy said after a beat, as if her husband wasn’t seated a foot away.

“Who needs a party?” Pops snorted. “Too much money.”

“I’d love it,” Goggy said instantly. “What a nice idea, sweetheart! Aren’t you wonderful to think of it.” She gave Pops a dirty look, then smiled at Faith. “Want to stay for supper? You look too thin.”

Oh, grandmothers! “No, Goggy, but thanks. I have to go, actually. I have a date.”

This caused some coos of delight from Goggy, who felt she was owed more great-grandchildren, and fast, as well as some grumbles of warning from Pops about the evil natures of men.

Faith kissed them both, then headed for home. She was meeting Ryan Hill at O’Rourke’s, which would allow Colleen to check out the guy, as well as allow Faith to get the nachos grande. Two birds, one stone, a possible husband.

But first, Faith thought as she came into the Village, a macchiato from Lorelei’s. She tied Blue to the lamppost and went into the bakery, where she was immediately presented with the solid back of Manningsport’s chief of police, who was just placing his order. “Medium coffee, please, Lorelei. Cream, no sugar.”

“You got it, Chief,” Lorelei said with her customary smile.

“You sure you want cream?” Faith asked, a trifle loudly. Chief Asspain turned and gave her a four on the Boredom Scale—What’s your name again? Didn’t stop her knees from giving a traitorous wobble. “Because you might think you want cream, but then you taste the coffee, and you decide you don’t really like it, after all. Cream might be a bad idea. Or a big mistake.”

“It won’t be,” he said, giving her an odd look.

“Wow. You’re so decisive today, Levi! But are you sure? Because if you end up not liking the coffee, its feelings might be hurt.”

“What are you babbling about?” he said.

“Indecision. Poor impulse control. Waffling.”

The four grew to a six: I can’t believe I  still have to talk to you. Lorelei handed him his coffee. “There you go, Chief! Oh, hi, Faith, I didn’t see you there! How are you? What would you like today?”

Screw the coffee. Granted, she might go into sugar shock, but some fortification was called for. “I’ll have a chocolate croissant and a small hot chocolate, please.”

“You bet!”