The Keepers: Christmas in Salem. Heather GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
graduated. But Lisa had spent too many evenings listening to Jane babble about Will McCaffrey to have him reappear in their conversations again. “It’s nothing,” Jane murmured.
“Tell me.”
“You won’t like it,” Jane warned her.
“You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to tell me every little detail about your life. It’s part of the deal. We talk about highly personal matters, you insist that I look skinny in everything I wear, you encourage me to eat more chocolate because it’s good for my skin, and you—”
“If I tell you, you have to promise this isn’t going to become a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah. Whenever we discuss my personal life and you have an opinion, you want to talk about it over and over and analyze it. And then, once you’ve decided what I should do, you won’t let up until I do it. If I tell you this, you have to promise to just drop it, all right?”
“Promise,” Lisa said, drawing a cross over her heart.
“I saw Will McCaffrey last week.”
Lisa’s expression turned from genuine interest to outright disbelief. “Oh, no. Not again. You haven’t mentioned his name for nearly two years. We are not bringing him back into conversation. The man has ruined you for all men.”
“How is that?”
“Because you haven’t met one man in the past six years that you haven’t compared to Will McCaffrey. You’d think the guy was some kind of god. He’s just a jerk who never appreciated you while he was around.”
“He was right across the street. He was getting out of his car and I was on my way to the Armstrong appointment and there he was, just standing there.”
Lisa covered her ears. “La, la, la, la, la. I’m not listening. I can’t hear you.”
Jane reached out and pulled Lisa’s hands from her ears. “All right. I won’t talk about him. Let’s get back to business.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s November. Even if we bring in ten new contracts for the spring, we’re not going to get paid until at least April. We knew the risks when we decided to go into the landscaping business in Chicago. Gardens don’t grow in the winter.”
“So what did he say?” Lisa asked.
“I think our only option is to diversify. We’ll do Christmas decorations. Put up outdoor lights, decorate trees. We can call some of our competitors, see if they’re too busy. They could subcontract some of their jobs to us.”
“Is he still as handsome as he always was?” Lisa wriggled in her chair. “He always was a hottie. And he knew it, too. I guess it’s too much to hope that he’s gained fifty pounds and has developed a bad case of acne.”
“We cut costs as much as we can,” Jane continued, sending Lisa a quelling glare. “We get rid of the office and transfer the phone. We’ll have to keep the garage for equipment storage. And we call all our past and present clients and offer up our services as Christmas decorators. And then we find a place that will give us a cut rate on twinkle lights.” A tiny smile was all that Jane could muster. There was one good thing about being an eternal optimist. Even in the face of impending disaster, she could keep her wits about her. But it wasn’t easy when things looked this bad. “Even with the Christmas jobs, I’m still not going to be able to make my rent. I’m two months behind and I have less than one hundred dollars in my checking account.”
“Can we please talk about Will?” Lisa pleaded.
Jane eyed her business partner. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about him.”
“All right. I admit. I’m curious and we might as well get it out of the way so we can get down to business.”
It didn’t take much encouragement for Jane to spill the beans. She’d been thinking about him nonstop for nearly six days and she felt as if she were about to burst into flames unless she put her thoughts into words. “He looked different. Handsome and sexy. And respectable. He was wearing a suit that made his shoulders look so broad, and his hair was shorter. But he’s still just as confident and charming as ever.”
“What did he say?”
“I really can’t remember. The moment he touched me I just—” Jane fluttered her fingers around her face. “I got all flustered. He asked me out, first to coffee, then to dinner and then to lunch. You would have been proud of me. I said no and then I got out of there before I starting drooling all over him.”
“You turned him down.”
“Yes. And not just then. He’s called me three times this past week to ask me out again. But I’m strong. I’ve decided going out with him would be a big mistake and I’m determined never to see him again. It was just a chance meeting and it’s over.”
“So he still did it to you,” Lisa muttered. “He still made your heart race and your palms sweat?”
“No,” Jane cried. “Well, maybe, a little. But I’m a different person now. I’m not that silly girl who filled up journal after journal with her fantasies about him. I’m not that girl who wasted sleep dreaming about him. Not anymore,” she lied. Although there had been more than a few very vivid dreams over the past nights, dreams that had featured a tall, dark man who looked a lot like Will. “Besides, I have a boyfriend.”
“You mean David?”
“Yes. Last month we had two dates. He took me to that play and we went to see a movie together. And we had dinner afterward. He’s sweet and polite and handsome. The kind of man I can trust. The kind of man who won’t break my heart.”
David Martin was an architect who had first contacted Windy City Gardens to do the landscaping for a home he’d designed. They’d worked with him on six other projects and he and Jane had formed a friendship. Though David seemed happy with the occasional date, Jane had always hoped that their relationship would progress to something a bit more intimate than a chaste peck on the cheek at the end of the evening.
“I still think he’s gay,” Lisa said, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“He is not! He’s just well-dressed and well-groomed. Just because he pays particular attention to his appearance doesn’t make him gay.”
“Don’t you remember what brought you together? Your mutual love of Celine Dion and Audrey Hepburn.”
“We share common interests. He’s a sweet, sensitive, understanding man—unlike Will McCaffrey who wouldn’t think of sitting through an Audrey Hepburn double feature.”
“Back to Will McCaffrey again,” Lisa murmured.
“If I had a choice between David Martin and Will McCaffrey, I’d choose David every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”
The bell on the front door rang and they both turned to watch a messenger walk inside. “Here we go,” Lisa said, deftly changing the subject. “This nice man is bringing us new business, I can feel it. Or maybe he has an envelope filled with cash.”
“Are you Jane Singleton?” the messenger asked.
Lisa pointed to Jane. “That’s her.”
“I’m supposed to deliver this to you personally and then make sure you read it.”
Jane took the envelope, noting the stamp on the front. “Personal and Confidential,” she read.
“Who’s it from?”
“There’s no return address.” She tore into the envelope and pulled out a photocopy of a handwritten document. As she began to read, she slowly recognized the handwriting. And when her gaze dropped to the bottom of the page and found her own signature, Jane gasped. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?”
Jane