same way everyone loved puppies and pizza. It was inevitable.
“Where’s Jack?” Tess asked. “I brought one of Marie-Claudette’s cookies just for him. One shaped like a big, fat mouth.”
“Baseball practice.” Addie turned a thick, glossy magazine in Tess’s direction and pointed to a photo of a model buried in clouds of white tulle and baby’s breath. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”
“Yeah, if you’ve got something to hide-like the bride and half the wedding party.”
Leave it to Addie, who could pass for a French bisque doll with her spun-gold hair and long-lashed eyes, to go for the ruffles. But anyone who knew Charlie knew she was allergic to frills. Tess took the magazine and flipped through more pages, looking for something sleek and simple. A classic gown with a touch of pizzazz or a hint of drama, just to keep things interesting. “Do we have a date yet? Or a venue?”
Charlie shrugged. “I’m working on it.”
“That’s what you said last week.” Tess paused to admire a striking bouquet of calla lilies. “You mustn’t be working very hard.”
“Don’t nag.”
“Don’t worry. I figure Maudie and Ben are double-teaming you on a daily basis.” Charlie’s mother, Maudie, had recently announced her own engagement to Ben Chandler, Geneva ’s relation by marriage and a distant cousin of Tess’s. But Maudie had made it clear she wouldn’t begin planning for her own wedding until she’d seen her daughter walk down the aisle.
Tess turned the page and sighed over a picture of a dark-haired bride in an elegant sheath with a plunging back. “How about this?”
Addie craned her neck to study the shot. “It would look great…on you.”
“Yes, it would. Too bad I’m not in the market right now.” She closed the magazine with a sigh and slumped against the cushions. “I’ve got news.”
Charlie leaned a shoulder against the arched entry to her dining room. “Champagne news or beer news?”
“Beer doesn’t go with cookies.” Addie wrinkled her turned-up nose in disgust.
“Neither does champagne,” Tess said, “but hey, don’t let that stop us. If you’ve got any,” she added.
“Please.” Charlie grinned. “Jack would be insulted to hear you question the quality of his wine cellar.”
“Jack’s not here.” Tess raised one eyebrow. “And since when did he start missing out on an evening with you?”
“Since he got sucked into his own plot to prove his community spirit and volunteered to coach Little League.” Charlie straightened and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll go get the party plastic and be right back.”
“What are we celebrating?” Addie tucked a long blond curl behind one ear. “Is this about your waterfront project? About the windows?”
Addie’s shop forever teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, but that wasn’t the only reason Tess had incorporated touches of stained glass in her design. They added a vintage detail that would help the building blend with its Victorian-era neighbors.
Charlie walked into the room carrying a bottle and a small stack of plastic cups and paper napkins. “I hear Quinn got the job.”
“So much for my big news.”
Charlie shrugged. “Small town.”
“Big mouths.” Tess took the napkins and fanned them across the coffee table. “Bigger noses. I don’t know why
“Isn’t Quinn the contractor who left town a few years ago?” asked Addie. “Something about an accident on a job site?”
“Yeah.” Tess sighed dramatically. “But he’s back.”
“Heard his wife left him.” Addie frowned. “Heard he had a drinking problem, too.”
“Had being the important word here.” Charlie popped the cork from the bottle. “Jack likes him.”
“Jack likes everyone,” Tess pointed out. “He’s been seen buying crushed cans from the crazy guy who sells trash down by the wharf. He even continued to like you while you were trying to run him out of town a couple of months ago.”
“You shouldn’t lump Charlie in the same sentence with Crazy Ed.” Addie folded back a page in the magazine on her lap and passed it to Tess. “How about this gown? The lace is so delicate.”
“You shouldn’t lump Charlie in the same sentence as
“Don’t bother showing me,” Charlie mumbled around a mouthful of sugar cookie. “I’m only the bride.”
Tess watched her soon-to-be-married friend stack her booted heels on the rickety coffee table. The tomboyish redhead would be horrified to hear that her pint-size frame and pixie-style nose were two of the most obvious items on a long list of features that could be termed
“Isn’t Quinn the guy who drives that big black truck?” asked Addie. “The one with the gold shamrock on the door?”
“That’s him.” Tess scowled. “He was at the site tonight when I swung by to gloat. Spoiled a perfectly good mood.”
“Which happens so rarely.” Addie shot her a sideways glance. “He’s kind of…”
Tess narrowed her eyes. “Kind of what?”
“Kind of…hot.”
“Hot?”
“Hot,” Charlie said. “H-O-T. Not that I’d notice, being engaged to someone who’s even hotter.”
“Hot. Huh.” Tess shrugged to prove her disinterest, even if she agreed with her friends. “I suppose. If you go for tall, dark and brooding.”
“Who doesn’t?” Addie shared a knowing grin with Charlie. “Especially you, Tess.”
“Brooding gets old after a while.” Tess straightened with a sigh. “I know I’m getting tired of it myself, tonight. Time for some fun. Time to pick out a dress.”
“And flowers,” Addie said.
Charlie groaned and slumped in her chair. “I thought this was supposed to be a party in honor of Tess’s big news.”
“It is.” Tess poured a half inch of champagne into her cup. “And this is how I want to celebrate.”
“By making me miserable?”
“You know what they say about misery,” Tess said. “It loves company.”
“Thanks a lot,” muttered Charlie.
“Any time.” Tess grabbed a sugar cookie and snuggled back against the sofa cushions. “What are friends for?”
CHAPTER THREE
QUINN EDGED his way through his apartment door that night with his arms full of breakfast supplies and a fast-food dinner. “Hi, Neva.”
“Here, let me take that.” Neva Yergin, his elderly neighbor and part-time sitter, shuffled toward him to take one of the sacks and set it on the narrow counter in his tiny kitchen. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”
“Hope I didn’t interrupt
She shook her head. “Commercial break. But I’d better scoot next door before they start round two.”
“Okay.” He pulled the quart of milk and canned cat food she’d asked him to pick up for her from one of the sacks and set them aside. “How’s that disposal working?”
“Like a charm. Thanks again for fixing it.”
“No problem.”
Neva slipped her things into her bulging tote and headed toward the door. “She got home right on time. Been sitting at that computer all afternoon.”
Quinn stopped short of a sigh. He didn’t approve of Rosie’s method for shutting herself away, but he couldn’t ask Neva to drag his daughter out of her room and force her to find something better to do with her time. His neighbor was doing far too much for him already, more than he could repay with the rent he subsidized, or the occasional repair or sack of groceries.
“Thanks, Neva,” he said as the door closed behind her.
He moved into the cramped space that served as a combination living and dining room and switched off the television. The radiator rattled and wheezed and coughed up traces of mildew and aging plaster. Beyond the tall, grime-streaked window overlooking Third Street, a siren’s wail competed with the hum of passing traffic. Not the best place for raising a kid, but he’d had his own needs in mind when he’d signed the lease for an efficiency apartment two floors above the Karapoulis Travel Agency storefront.
And if they moved away, there’d be no Neva a few steps down the hall to keep an eye on Rosie after school. “Rosie,” he called.
No answer.
He set the bucket of chicken on the table and headed toward his daughter’s room, pausing in the doorway. “Rosie.”
“What do you want?” She sat slumped in her desk chair with her back to him, reading a note on her monitor screen.
“It’s time for dinner.”
“In a minute.”
“Now.”
The only part of her that moved was her finger on the mouse as she clicked to another screen.
“Rosie.”
“What?”
“You didn’t set the table.”
“I didn’t know what time you’d be home.”
“I’m home now.” He held his breath and grasped for patience, trying to avoid another fight. Another scene. There’d been far too many of both since her mother had dumped her on his doorstep. “And it’s time for dinner.
“Okay.” She clicked to a page with a picture of a wild-haired rock guitarist caught in the glare of a gigantic spotlight. A tidal wave of electronic noise flooded the room.
“Turn that off.” He stepped through the door. “It’ll still be there after you’ve eaten.”
“All right.” She blew out a martyred sigh and whirled in her chair to face him. “Chicken again?”
“Yeah.”
“Jeez.”
“We can go to the store this weekend. You can pick out some things you like to cook.”
“I’m not your slave.”
“No. You’re my daughter,” he said, feeling foolish for pointing out the obvious. “And I want you to come and eat your dinner.”
