The Little Bookshop Of Promises. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
to be done with this once and for all.
“Annie.” He hadn’t intended to sound quite so demanding—or so loud.
Belatedly, and thankfully, he realized she was alone.
Startled, she looked up from the cash register. “Lucas?”
“No,” he said. “I mean yes, it’s me. Obviously.” He groaned inwardly. “I...I was wondering...” He stopped, not knowing how to proceed. This was even worse than he’d envisioned.
“You were wondering...” Annie prompted.
Before he could say another word, the bell above the door jangled and Louise Powell walked in. Oh, wonderful—the town gossip. One thing about Louise, her timing was impeccable. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Here he was, hat in hand, stuttering with awkwardness. Louise paused when she saw him, and that sly knowing look came over her features.
“Hello, Louise,” Annie said cheerfully. Too cheerfully, Lucas thought.
He didn’t have a thing to feel guilty about, but he might as well have been a cat standing in a froth of feathers. Lucas cursed silently at the interruption.
Louise stared at the two of them as though waiting for them to continue their conversation. “Hello, Lucas.”
“Louise...” His gruff response did little to disguise his displeasure. Damn woman was about to ruin everything.
Louise glanced from one to the other. “Did I interrupt something?”
Annie shook her head. “Not at all. How can I help you?”
“As a matter of fact, you did interrupt something,” Lucas muttered. Taking the woman by the elbow, he escorted her to the door. “I’m sure you won’t mind coming back at a more convenient time.”
Based on his experience, it wouldn’t matter what he said or did from this point forward; Louise’s version of what had happened would be all over town within minutes, anyway. That was the last thing he wanted, but he wasn’t about to let this old biddy stop him now.
“Well, really...” Louise clucked as he escorted her out the door and then locked it after her. To be on the safe side, he reached inside the window and flipped the Open sign to Closed.
“Lucas?” Annie stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “What’s going on?”
The problem was, he didn’t know. He drew in a deep breath, switched his hat from his left hand to his right and then rammed his fingers through his hair.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Do you like to eat?” he blurted out, immediately cursing himself for asking such an inane question.
“Eat... Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
“The Mexican Lindo—or what about the Chili Pepper? And there’s always the café at the bowling alley.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to lunch? Is that what this is all about?”
“No, not lunch,” he snapped before he could stop himself. God help him, he was making a mess of this.
“Oh?” Her confusion apparently matched his own.
“Dinner,” he said, and fearing what he might say next, clamped his mouth closed.
Some of the bewilderment left her eyes. “If I understand you correctly, you’re not asking me to lunch but to dinner, right?”
By this time, Lucas was afraid to say another word. Nodding seemed the best form of communication.
“Any day in particular?”
All of a sudden Lucas felt the need to sit down. He sank into one of the overstuffed chairs she’d placed throughout the store. Hoping to make a fresh start, he ran his hands through his hair, disarranging it further, and inhaled deeply. “Annie, I apologize.”
A hurt look flickered over her face. “For asking me to dinner?”
“No, for making a fool of myself. It’s been a long time—years. Jane and Dovie suggested that I—” He stopped. One thing he didn’t need to tell her was that the entire idea had come from someone else. “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided you never wanted to lay eyes on me again. But in case you do, how about dinner?”
Her smile was warm and forgiving. “I think that would be wonderful.”
“You do? You’ll go?” He bounded to his feet. “Great—that’s really great.” Feeling jubilant, he headed toward the glass door, pausing only long enough to change the sign to Open.
“Lucas.”
He turned back, but not before he caught a glimpse of Louise Powell peering in through the display window, her hands cupped in front of her face.
“Is there any particular night you’d like to go?” Annie asked.
“How about...” He paused, afraid to suggest an evening without first clearing the date with Jane and Cal. “Is it all right if I get back to you? There’s...some other stuff I’d like to talk to you about, as well.” In light of how poorly this had gone, it seemed best to wait before he introduced the “just friends” idea.
“Sure.”
“You won’t change your mind?” he asked.
“Not unless you do.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Trust me, after all this, it ain’t likely.”
Annie smiled, and for the first time since entering the bookstore, Lucas felt like grinning himself.
Louise Powell was still standing on the sidewalk outside Tumbleweed Books. He stopped, debating whether to say anything, then decided against it and hurried toward his truck.
Dovie couldn’t believe everything that needed to be done before she and Frank left for Europe. Vanessa Boyd—always called Nessa—her sister-in-law from her first marriage, had agreed to fill in for Dovie at the shop. Amy McMillen, the pastor’s wife, had volunteered to collect the mail and newspapers and keep an eye on the house. Appointments, errands, deadlines crowded on top of one another until the thought of leaving for two weeks overwhelmed her.
Frank was no help. He took all her crises in stride and insisted everything would take care of itself. His problem, in her opinion, was that he’d married too late in life to learn the importance of worry. She’d told Mary Patterson that, anticipating a big laugh, and hadn’t gotten one. Her strained friendship with Mary continued to bother her. Another item to add to her growing list of concerns.
“You look exhausted, and you haven’t even packed yet,” Nessa commented when she entered the shop that morning. She was spending a couple of weeks working at the store to get a feel for the job before replacing Dovie.
“I am exhausted,” Dovie confessed. She poured them each a cup of tea and placed her feet on the chair across from her. The ovens had been on since four o’clock that morning. No one seemed to appreciate how much effort went into preparing for a vacation, least of all Frank.
“Oh, Dovie, you’re going to have the time of your life! Think about it—Paris, London, Amsterdam...”
Dovie knew Nessa was right. She should be excited. Happy. But she wasn’t; she was tired.
Nessa had been a godsend. The previous fall, her sister-in-law had returned to Promise after a long absence. For nearly thirty years she’d followed her oil-executive husband, Marvin’s brother, around the world. In their twenties, Nessa and Dovie had been as close as sisters, but then Leon had started work for one of the big oil conglomerates, and the couple had traveled frequently. Their three children, now grown, had settled in