Love Me Forever

CHAPTER FOUR

SANDY STOOD IN the middle of the dark, overcrowded box that was Crazy for Coffee and, inexplicably, felt her small world open up. She smiled at Bjorn, who watched her a little worriedly. He was in his early forties and going home to Chicago to help his parents manage their deli because his father was in poor health. She bought a caramel-vanilla latte from Bjorn a couple of mornings a week, and he was a client of the law firm she used to work for, so she knew him fairly well. They’d had a long talk on the phone the night before.

“What’s the matter, Sandy?” he asked. “Are you claustrophobic? Because if you are, you’ll go nuts in here.”

“I’m not claustrophobic,” she assured him. She held up the folder he’d given her with the last two years’ tax returns and several other financial reports. “I’m very, very interested.”

“Okay, I don’t mean to be nosy, but how will the law office get along without you?”

“Easily, I think. They let me go. So, I’m looking for something else. Be nice to be my own boss for a change.”

Her research showed that a coffee cart had relatively small operating costs, an easily sold product, and a good profit margin. She figured that with careful management and hard work, she could do this, and do it well. She had confidence in her ability to make anything work. Well, she didn’t seem that great with relationships, but she could make everything else work.

He laughed at her. “Owning your own business definitely has its perks, but you’re It in a crisis. Or any other time, really. There’s no one else to turn to when you have a problem. Are you ready for that?”

She shrugged. “It’s just like parenting, or owning a home, or living your life. You’re It, the last word. I have a lot of experience being It.” She looked around herself and nodded. “I’d like to buy Crazy for Coffee, Bjorn.” Since Hunter didn’t want a future with her, she’d set out bravely on her own.

“You would?” He appeared surprised, then probably realizing that was not good salesmanship, added quickly, “Don’t you want to see the books? Talk to my accountant? Sales are up about 12 percent since I bought the business two years ago.”

“I did a little research on you and the business. And whenever I come for coffee in the morning, I’m usually fourth or fifth in line, so I know you have the customer base. And you can’t beat the location, on a concrete slab allowing access on both sides, right on 101 and just off the bridge.” She gazed at the supplies, the bottles of syrups, the refrigerator filled with cream, milk, fruit and other necessities. “Does the price include the inventory?”

“No. But I can tally that tonight when I close and give you a final figure in the morning.” He excused himself to respond to a honk at the north window, quickly prepared a mocha grande, handed it out the window, then dropped a few bills and a handful of change into the register.

She held out her hand. “So, we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” He took her hand and shook it. “Great.” Then he looked troubled. “My lawyer is one of your bosses. Your former bosses. Are you okay with meeting me there tomorrow to draw up the papers?”

“Sure. I’ll have a check for you. When did you want to turn it over to me?”

“The first of June is in eight days. Does that work? What about employees? I do mornings, and two high school girls come in in the afternoon. They’re pretty reliable and from the feedback I’ve gotten, they make good drinks. They just have to be reminded not to chat too long with friends driving through. Since school shuts down for the summer in two weeks, you can schedule them earlier in the day instead of just afternoons.”

“Great. I’ll keep them on if they want to stay. Think I can learn the ropes in that short a time?”

“Of course you can. But you realize how it is. You won’t officially know it all until you’ve worked it for a couple of months.”

They agreed to meet at her old office the following afternoon as soon as his staffer came on after school.

Sandy had dropped the girls off early at daycare, and went home to take a quiet moment and make a list of all she should do today. At home she sat down at the kitchen table and wrote: “acquire a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts to work in, transfer money out of savings, buy something pretty” (since it would probably be the last thing she’d be able to buy herself for some time to come), “tell Mom and Bobbie that I now own a business and see if Mom will help with the girls, take a long walk and appreciate that freedom.” There would probably be precious little for a while.

For Zoey and Addie, this would be the same as when she worked in an office all day—possibly even a little better, because she’d be home slightly earlier. Of course, she’d have to leave earlier to be ready to open at five o’clock.

A loud knock on her front door startled her out of her strategy planning. She pulled the door open, thinking it might be UPS with the Cars bedspread and pillow she’d ordered for Addie’s birthday.

It wasn’t UPS. It was Hunter.

* * *

HUNTER WASN’T PREPARED for the pretty picture she made against her blue door. Her red hair was caught up in a knot, long, straight strands of it falling to her chin. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes alight as though something had already brightened her day. She wore a white sweater, and white always made her look somehow molten.

“Ah...” He had to think a minute. He’d come over because he required some information from her, but he hadn’t expected her to look so...cheerful. He was getting the distance from her he sought, but it put him in a pit of depression. He really missed her. Why was she happy? “I know I’m the last person you want to see today, but the Food Bank called me at the office this morning and wanted a date for the opening of the Clothes Closet. And the Daily A said they could get us sponsored advertising, but, again, we need a date. We have to talk about these things.”

“I suppose we should.” She sounded halfhearted. “But, I’m sorry, I have a lot going on today, and I...”

“Sandy, come on. I have to be able to depend on you for this. You’re the one who volunteered us. The Food Bank said they couldn’t reach you. What’s happening? If you’re going to pout about the breakup, tell me now so I can make other plans.” He was sure that would get her. She couldn’t stand accusations of a childish display, couldn’t stand being disconnected from the goings-on.

“I am not pouting,” she denied, a little royal indignation in her attitude, “and I’d like to help, but you’ll have to cut me a little slack. I’ve had a slight change of plans.”

“What plans?”

“You know. Life plans.”

“How so? I have another big project I could really use your help on.” He hesitated, plotting how best to approach her about Connolly’s gift. “What kind of slack do you need?” he asked at the same moment that she asked, “What big project?”

“You first,” she told him. “What big project?”

“Astoria has a benefactor,” he blurted, sure it topped her news.

She focused on him more intently, suddenly interested. She even stepped out onto the porch. “What do you mean? Who?”

He explained about his client, the man’s previous visit to Astoria when he’d been treated so kindly, then his sale of the dessert product for big money and his retirement to Astoria. Honoring Connolly’s wish, he kept other details to himself.

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“He wants me to distribute a million dollars to our nonprofits. I thought since you’ve raised money for most of them at one time or other, you’d be a good resource for the project.”

Her mouth fell open. It was a lovely, supple mouth. He could almost feel it on his own. But—then—words would come out of it and ruin everything.

“A million...?”

“Yes. Do you want to help or not?”

She cocked her head and scolded, “Who wouldn’t want to help since you asked so nicely?” Then her look became troubled. “But my situation’s changed a little and I...I’m not sure if I can.”

“So you said. But, how? What’s changed?”

“I just bought Crazy for Coffee!” she said, appearing a little surprised by her own news.

He was stunned. Bjorn Nielsen was his client. So, she was the caller Bjorn had told him was interested in his coffee cart. Hunter had gone into the office at four in the morning to run off reports he then delivered to Crazy for Coffee.

Sandy was changing her life? He was no longer involved with her so that shouldn’t bother him, but he knew how she was—headstrong and impulsive and impervious to suggestion. Small business was a killer of dreams ninety percent of the time.

“Have you thought this through?” he asked.

Immediately her expression turned defensive. She folded her arms. “Of course I have.”

“What if you lose everything?”

“Thank you for your expression of faith in me,” she replied. “It’s so nice to know that after all we’ve meant to each other...”

He held a hand up to stop her. He was a little amazed when it worked. “What I meant was, have you investigated the business?” He knew Crazy for Coffee was sound, but that could change in a month with careless management. She’d never be deliberately careless, but things could happen she might not be prepared for. “There’s a lot to...”

“I saw his tax returns, his P&L and balance sheets.”

“Good. What about lease assignments?”

“What?”

“Lease assignments. Bjorn happens to be one of Raleigh and Raleigh’s clients. I handle his account. As I recall, he leases a few things. You’re responsible for taking those over. That’ll add to your monthly expenses.”

“Oh.” Her eyes narrowed. He suspected she hadn’t thought of that. “We’re meeting at my old office tomorrow. I used to work for lawyers, remember? They’ll make sure everything’s covered.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Used to work for lawyers? You mean you’ve already quit?”

“No, I mean they fired me.”

“What?” His annoyance at that news matched her mother’s and made up a bit for the “what if you lose everything” remark. “Why?”

“It’s a long story that involves the economy, office politics and a new partner’s secretary who can do her job and mine. Hence, the coffee cart.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He knew she’d loved her job and had done it well.

“I’ll survive. I always do.” Deep in her eyes, he saw a suggestion of fear, then she drew a breath and it was gone.

“About the coffee cart. Do you have help?”

“Help?”

“Hired help. Employees. Or do you plan to work seven days a week, twelve hours a day?”

“Yes, I have help. Two high school girls in the afternoon.”

“Do you know how to do payroll?”

Telling when she was truly annoyed was never hard. The pink in her cheeks flamed, and her eyes ignited. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Hunter. I know what I’m doing. If you don’t want to be part of my vision for my future, then I’m taking it in another direction. And you have nothing to say about it.”

She’d done this with the money she’d tried to give him, the money from refinancing her home. Before he could say that buying the coffee cart was reckless, possibly even ill-advised, she turned around and walked back inside.

He took a step forward as she prepared to close the door on him. “Tomorrow in my office,” he said. “What time can you be there? We’ll set a date for the Closet opening and make a plan for the money for the nonprofits.”

“I’m meeting with Bjorn to sign papers tomorrow.”

“Can you meet Monday?”

“That’s Memorial Day. Aren’t you and the Raleighs going to Fort Stevens for the Civil War reenactment? I’m working with Bjorn.”

“That’s right. Tuesday, then?”

“I’ll call you. The way my life is right now, we may have to do it over the phone.”

That was what he should want—dealing with her over the phone rather than sitting across a table from her or side by side in a restaurant booth. It would simplify his life.

“All right. But, I promised the Food Bank an answer by Friday.”

“I’ll phone you in the middle of the week.” She started to close the door.

“Incidentally...” The single word stopped her. “What about the girls?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you have to open at 5:00 a.m., what about the girls?”

There were sparks in her smile. “I thought I’d sell them into slavery for some operating capital.”

He groaned at her. “I meant, daycare doesn’t open that early.”

“And how would you know when daycare opens?”

He waited a beat. “Rainbow Daycare is my client. I know a lot about them.”

“Well, it was a stupid question, Hunter. When have you known me not to consider my girls? I have to go. Goodbye.” She closed the door.

He stared at it for a moment, thinking he might want to simplify his life, but it didn’t seem to be happening.

* * *

SANDY CALLED HER MOTHER from the sidewalk in front of Toni’s Boutique, an elegant clothing store for women on Commercial Street, absentmindedly noting the colorful resort wear in the window.

“You did what?” her mother exclaimed after Sandy told her about Crazy for Coffee.

“I needed employment, so I bought a business so I could hire myself. Makes good sense to me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Working for yourself only means more bills, not necessarily more income.”

“Mom, Hunter just did his best to discourage me. Come on. I need positive input. And Toni’s is having a sale. If you’ll watch the girls for me in the mornings between 4:30 and 7:00, when you’ll to take them to daycare, I’ll buy you an outfit.”

She heard her mother gasp. “Four...?”

“And a jacket,” she added quickly. “Just until I can hire someone for those hours. And a pair of shoes.”

Her mother was silent.

“And a car!” Sandy continued with theatrical extravagance. “Mom, I realize it’s a lot to ask...”

“Okay, Okay,” her mother said finally. “You’re lucky I’m an insomniac. I’ll do it. But it better be some car.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LORETTA SEPARATED PAPER plates while Sandy placed squares of cake on them. Bobbie added scoops of vanilla ice cream and Stella delivered to the crowd of little children gathered around two picnic tables in Sandy’s backyard. The yard sounded like Times Square on New Year’s Eve!

Bobbie scooped heroically from the two-gallon tub. “Who’d have thought such a big noise could come out of such little children?”

Sandy glanced up in surprise. “I don’t even notice noise anymore. The girls are always giggling or shrieking. My head rings continually.” She turned toward Stella, who stood in the yard near one of the tables and held up two fingers. “Okay, guys. Two more, then maybe we can have coffee and a piece of cake.”

Grateful for the rare sunny day in the coastal Oregon spring, Sandy smiled at the sight of her daughter and her daycare and neighborhood guests wearing their jackets and the plastic superhero capes she’d provided. She had fashioned the capes out of tarps she’d cut to shape, Bobbie had painted familiar superhero symbols on them, and all they’d had to do was convince the children to turn the capes around to the front when they sat down to eat.

Dylan, Bobbie’s eleven-year-old nephew by marriage who was helping keep order by tossing balls and leading races around the yard, frowned at Sandy. “Now those superhero capes are just bibs,” he accused.

Sandy whispered back, “Yes, but no one’s noticed yet, so please keep it to yourself.”

“Hmm. Trickery. Sweeet!” Dylan was clever and observant, and surprisingly patient with the younger children, unlike Sheamus, who found them childish from his lofty eight-year-old perspective.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.” Dylan ran off while Sandy went out into the yard to investigate a sudden scream that rang out above the din. By the time Sandy reached a boy and girl throwing punches while rolling over each other in the grass, Stella was pulling them apart.

“What happened?” Sandy asked, drawing the boy toward her and dabbing what looked like a smear of blood on his forehead. Mercifully, it was only frosting.

Towheaded and freckled, Danny Hankins jabbed a finger at the sturdy girl with blunt-cut dark hair who was fuming. “She kissed me!” he shouted in disgust.

Stella bit back a laugh. Sandy, relieved nothing worse had happened, tried to sound reasonable. “But a kiss is a nice thing. Why would you punch her?”

“Because when I wouldn’t kiss her, too, she punched me! I was just offending myself.”

“Defending yourself. Molly.” Sandy leaned over the little girl, whose eyes betrayed hurt under the anger. Considering her own situation, Sandy felt a certain sympathy for her. “It isn’t nice to hit. And you can’t make somebody kiss you. They have to want to.”

“Well. You do understand that.” A taunting male voice made Sandy straighten. She looked up into Hunter’s smile. He wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with the Raleigh & Raleigh emblem on the pocket.

“Hello, Hunter.” Her tone was polite but stiff. She noticed a giant package held against his side. “What on earth...?”

He swung a red kiddie car, large enough for a child to ride in, out from under his arm. His smile developed an edge. “If you can tolerate me long enough to let me wish your daughter Happy Birthday, I promise not to stay.”

“Wow!” Danny put a pudgy hand up to stroke the car’s bumper.

“That’s mine!” Addie declared with four-year-old vehemence, arriving at his side in a flash, wearing her tiara. She looked up at Hunter, avarice in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” He put it down on the grass, having to urge the growing circle of children around them to back up. Addie climbed right into it and uttered a little scream of delight. “My car!” she squealed, and heartlessly ripped off the rainbow-striped bow stuck to the windshield.

“Your car.” He squatted to point out the controls to her. Then he indicated the walkway that ran all around the yard and protected the flowers growing against the stockade-style fence. “It’ll work best on the walkway. You can’t go out of the yard with it or it’ll stop working. Okay?”

Sandy had to appreciate his instructions. He turned to her, his expression neutral. “Can she take it for a spin?”

“How fast does it go?”

“Two and a half miles per hour.”

“Then, yes.”

“Okay.” Hunter lifted Addie out and she squealed in protest as he carried the kiddie car to the walkway. She ran behind him and climbed back in the moment he placed it on the stone strip. “Please be careful with the flowers. And watch when you get to the corner so you can make the turn. That’s what real drivers do.”

Addie was off, the mob of children deserting their cake to follow her, screaming their delight at this new excitement and pleading for their chance to ride. Hunter turned to greet his mother, then Loretta and Bobbie. “Good afternoon, ladies. Addie invited me.”

Bobbie indicated Addie behind the wheel of her car. “Addie’s thrilled that you’re here, and it’s her party, after all.”

Addie did three circuits of the yard before she stopped, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to let your friends have a ride?” Sandy asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.” Addie’s reply was clear and concise.

“But they’re your guests.”

“No.”

“Everyone brought you presents. It would be nice if you let everyone...”

“No.”

“When you go to their houses,” Hunter said, “they’ll let you play with their stuff if you let them play with yours today.”

Addie thought about that. “No,” she finally said.

Danny hung over her. “You can have my spy nightscope for a day if I can ride your car around the yard just one time.” Danny could often be seen in front of his home after dark, night goggles on, their pop-up spotlight activated. Addie lusted after them. Sandy had a mental image of the two of them off on a spy mission in Addie’s car and with Danny’s goggles.

Addie thought again, then looked into his face, her expression fierce. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He crossed his heart and held his palm up in an oath.

She climbed up and shouted orders as Danny climbed in. “You can’t hurt the flowers, and you have to go slow there.” She pointed to the corner.

Danny rode off, the children running the perimeter with him.

“That was good, Addie,” Sandy praised, though her daughter had made the good choice out of greed, not generosity. But, truth be told, Sandy still made some of her own decisions that way. “Look at how much fun your friends are having.”

Addie caught up with the crowd of cheering children as Danny navigated the turn, slowing as instructed, before heading toward the house.

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