One More Kiss Page 2

  “Yeah, well. Have fun with that banner. We’ll see if we can get there tomorrow.”

  “Wait, are you saying now you might not make it tomorrow?”

  “I said we’ll see,” he said dryly.

  Betty stamped her foot. “I’m giving you a terrible online review for this,” she said.

  She waited for his retort, but Louie had hung up the phone.

  Betty held out her phone at arm’s length. A thousand smart remarks were right there on her tongue, ready to be lashed out, even though the connection was dead.

  Just stay quiet, she told herself. Raising her voice would just draw more attention to her store and her catastrophe of a sign. But then she felt the uneasy prickle of eyes watching her, and knew it was already too late.

  She turned around slowly to see Valerie Lofgren standing on the other side of the street—Rolling Pin coffee in hand—staring at her, openmouthed. Betty forced a smile, even though she was sure it came out looking like a leer. Betty held a hand up in a greeting.

  “Morning, Valerie,” she said, wishing that anyone else was crossing the street right now to chat with her.

  Valerie’s kitten heels clicked delicately on the sidewalk. Her aquamarine eyes were wide as she stared at the banner. “Goodness, Betty,” she said, taking in the sign and the monster-laden Halloween display underneath it, “that’s quite a statement you’re making there.”

  “I’m not making a statement,” she said, wishing Valerie would just go away already so she could find a ladder. “It’s a big misunderstanding. It’s supposed to say satin. Satin is here. I got in a new shipment of the stuff, and it’s great for making Halloween costumes. Pirate shirts and princess dresses and—” She stopped, shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Valerie poked her tongue into her cheek like maybe she wasn’t so sure she believed what Betty was saying. Like maybe Betty had planned all this.

  “I need to find a ladder,” Betty said, not feeling up to the task of justifying herself to Valerie. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Wait,” Valerie said, “before you go.” She tilted her head, studying Betty’s storefront. The pearls around her neck flashed in the fall sunshine.

  “I wonder,” Valerie said carefully, “if this might be a good time for you to think about more than just the banner. If perhaps your stock could use some consideration as well.”

  Betty felt the hairs on her neck stand up in warning. “Consideration meaning what exactly?”

  Valerie gave Betty that tight smile of hers, and it took Betty straight back to high school, when Valerie would do the same exact thing when she was talking to Cole Anderson, Betty’s boyfriend. She was always talking to Cole, it seemed, always fixing him with a look that might have been friendly except that Betty always got the impression she was trying to steal Cole away.

  Cole denied it, of course—denied it right up to the day when Betty caught him with his tongue down Valerie’s throat and his hand up her perfectly ironed shirt, creating a whole set of creases and wrinkles that Valerie normally wouldn’t have tolerated.

  Cole had apologized, had told her that Valerie didn’t mean anything and that it had all been a terrible mistake. That could have been true, Betty acknowledged, or it could have been a pack of lies. Either way, it was probably just as well. They were seniors, and Cole was heading off to the University of Michigan after graduation. It’s not like they were going to stay together across the miles—they’d agreed to seeing other people in college. Nevertheless, deep down Betty had thought they might stick together for a while. She’d hoped they might try anyway.

  But once he cheated, Betty found her heart hardening with a cold metallic feeling like anger and hurt welded together. For a time, Cole dutifully sent her e-mails saying that he missed her, that he’d talk to her when he was home for break, that he regretted how he’d behaved with Valerie. In spite of the apologies, Betty didn’t want much to do with him. She found herself too busy to hang out when he was back in town, and his correspondence slowly tapered off, month after month, until it ended entirely. It was almost a relief when the e-mails finally stopped.

  Of course, that was all a long time ago. It was water under the bridge. She hardly ever let herself think about what might have happened with Cole if Valerie hadn’t been in the picture. It was rare that she let herself imagine a future with him—what could have been—if he hadn’t messed it all up with the woman standing in front of her right this very moment. Betty squared her shoulders and pushed the memories out of her mind. It was all ancient history.

  Valerie tapped a lacquered nail against her paper coffee cup. “I was just wondering if you might want to pare back some of the darkness in your window. You know, mix in some Captain Americas and firefighters with all the vampires and mummies.”

  Betty stared at the display, which she’d worked so hard on the day before. There were no severed heads, no bloody body parts, no screaming animatronics. It was ghoulish, sure, but then so again was Halloween. Even in light of all the recent town pranks, she wasn’t sure what adding a firefighter would do.

  “I think the display is fine,” she said, “apart from that banner, of course.” You could have the most edifying display in the world, but the minute you put Satan is here next to it, it would take on a completely different context.

  Betty turned to head down White Pine Hardware for a ladder, but Valerie apparently wasn’t done. “It’s just that some of the other board members of the Lutheran church have been talking, and we all agree that Halloween is maybe getting a little out of control. Getting too scary, perhaps. Too violent. Too many pranks. It might be better to take it to a more…wholesome place. Don’t you agree?”

  There was that smile again, and Betty felt her face heat with frustration.

  She understood if folks didn’t want the pranks around town to escalate into something dangerous. But was policing the holiday the answer?

  Halloween was her favorite time of year. She adored the rustling corn stalks propped up against streetlights along Main Street. She could stare for hours at candles flickering inside carved pumpkins on porches, or the way the bright leaves of the trees whispered secrets along the banks of the Birch River.

  She’d adored Halloween since she was a kid because it meant she could be anything she wanted. She didn’t have to be “Bucky Lindholm” and get teased about her jutting front teeth at school or worry that her oversized incisors were why she’d lost Cole Anderson to Valerie.

  You could be anything you wanted on Halloween, and that was the whole point. It was the one night where no matter how freaky you were, it didn’t matter. She took in Valerie’s trim wool pantsuit and her lovely raven hair pulled into a classic knot and figured Valerie never had to rely on costumes to make herself feel accepted, to feel part of the pack.

  She was about to tell Valerie that the church board should keep their opinions to themselves when Valerie took a step forward, and Betty glimpsed that the other woman’s shiny patent leather heel was millimeters away from a grimy blob of bubblegum.

  It would serve Valerie right getting her expensive shoes all gunked up while she stood there and gave Betty a hard time. Betty was all but ready for the satisfying squish of the bubblegum as it tacked onto the delicate sole when her stomach pinched with something like guilt.

  It’s not like Valerie was a bad person, for crying out loud. She didn’t stick a gun to Cole’s head and make him kiss her. It’s true that her actions had stung at the time, but that was ages ago now. Whatever was in their past, the two of them had gotten along fine these last few years. They’d chaired countless bake sales together, organized book drives for the library, and chipped in for church fund-raisers. They both loved this town; there was no doubt about that.

  Betty took a deep breath. “Careful you don’t get gum on your shoe, Val,” she said, glancing down at the sidewalk. “And I’ll think about some different things to add to the window display here. Maybe a robot or a prince or something.”

  �
��Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate that. We just don’t want to give the appearance of egging on these hoodlums who think Halloween is a time to get wild and destructive and evil.”

  “Of course not.”

  Valerie smiled—for real this time. “Say, as long as I have you here, can you order in some more of those raspberry-scented markers I like? I’m going through them like water.”

  “Sure thing,” she said, even though it wasn’t her usual stock. But Valerie paid full retail price for the markers and Betty came out a little ahead. Besides, Valerie was a real estate agent who crafted lovely, hand-lettered signs for just about everything—from open houses to short sales—and her taste in writing implements was specific. If Betty didn’t order the markers, Valerie would have to go all the way to Eagan to get them—and that was nearly an hour away.

  “I’ll get the order in today. UPS should have them here quickly.”

  Valerie thanked her again and turned to go, when suddenly there was a flap of black across the street.

  It was Randall Sondheim, pastor of the Lutheran church. He was wearing his typical dark coat and getting his typical donut and coffee every Wednesday morning from the Rolling Pin. The edges of everything shimmered just a little, the way they always when she saw him these days. That is, until he apparently caught sight of the sign and decided to head over. She felt her face heat, wishing he’d turn and walk the other way. She didn’t want any man of the cloth—but especially this man of the cloth—thinking she’d ordered a sign welcoming Lucifer to town. Before Betty knew it, she was staring face-to-face with his unusual gray eyes and high, chiseled cheekbones.

  Her heart pounded, the way it had started to a few weeks ago, when the pastor began coming into her store to look at fabrics to recover his office chair. It was probably nerves making her heart slam into her ribs like this, she reasoned, since the pastor was always so focused and intense. Even now, his gaze burned into her as if to ask what in the world was going on with the sign above her store.

  Her face flushed crimson. “Hello, Pastor. I can explain about this. I was just looking for a ladder to take it down, in fact. It was supposed to say—”

  “I was just telling Betty,” Valerie interrupted, “that the church board was discussing how out of hand Halloween has gotten, and what a bad influence her display window could be. It could stir up more trouble.”

  Betty turned to the other woman. “Now wait a minute, that’s not what—”

  “And based on my directives,” Valerie continued, as if she wasn’t there, “Betty has agreed to remove this sign and put more family-friendly stock in her window.”

  Betty clenched her fists, suddenly picturing Valerie’s conversations with Cole Anderson all over again.

  “It’s a victory for the moral fiber of the town,” Valerie said, gazing at the pastor through her long eyelashes. “Don’t you think?”

  The only thing Betty could think of was how she wished she could stick that hunk of sidewalk gum right in Valerie’s face.

  The pastor took a sip of his coffee. He looked from Valerie to Betty.

  “What was the sign supposed to say?” he asked.

  “Satin,” Betty said. “It was supposed to say, Satin is here.”

  She didn’t know what she expected him to do, then. She wondered if maybe the pastor’s eyes would darken at the typo, or if his brows would pull together in disapproval, or if he’d take Valerie’s arm and lead her away from Betty’s sinful storefront.

  Certainly she didn’t expect laughter.

  But that’s exactly what happened.

  The pastor cracked up loud enough to get geese honking on the nearby river. He threw his head back with amusement, his whole face crunched with the force of it, his eyes sparkling like Moccasin Lake in the summer.

  His laughter was booming—a cannon of power she didn’t expect. It thrilled her and made her nerves spark. She thought she could listen to that sound forever and not grow tired of it.

  The pastor grabbed hold of Betty’s arm for support. She glanced at the way his strong fingers rounded over the top of her arm, and wondered at the solidness of his grip. Her insides fluttered wildly. He’d certainly never touched her in the basement of the Lutheran church when they chatted after his Sunday sermons. Before now, he’d never touched her at all, in fact. Not that she minded. She shouldn’t be getting so worked up, but she couldn’t help it. It was deliciously thrilling.

  I should get out more, she thought to herself.

  “You’re…you’re s-serious,” the pastor wheezed, “about the typo?”

  “Yep,” she said. And promptly got the giggles, too.

  It was all over then: The pair of them could hardly stand for clutching their stomachs and losing their breath with laughter. Betty was literally crying tears of hilarity. She wiped them away only to see Valerie standing cold and stone-faced, staring at them both.

  “Are you two finished?” Valerie asked.

  That set them off all over again. It was minutes later when Betty finally felt like she could focus on anything except how crazy and ridiculous the whole situation was. Satan is here. Good grief.

  “I think the tone of this town’s Halloween festivities could use some dialogue,” Valerie said pointedly when they’d quieted down. “Pastor, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make an appointment to speak with you about this privately.”

  Her emphasis on the word privately needled Betty.

  The pastor wiped his eyes. Morning light slanted across his sharp cheekbones and ignited hints of amber in his dark hair. It made Betty slightly breathless to realize the man was so handsome. How had she never paid attention before?

  “Of course,” the pastor said, his voice slightly strained, possibly from making an effort not to guffaw all over again. “Come by anytime. In the interim, Betty, can I help you get this banner down?”

  Betty shrugged. “Maybe. Or we could replace it with a new one. Say HELLo to savings?”

  Laughter rumbled in Randall’s chest. “Note our new address, 666 Main Street?”

  “Prices are FALLEN?”

  They cracked up all over again. As they struggled to catch their breath, Valerie clicked away on her shiny heels, wishing them a terse “Good day.”

  Finally, when they’d spent themselves on laughter, Randall straightened and took a deep breath. Behind him, Main Street’s awnings flapped in the breeze. “When I first came over, I was on my way to get a coffee and a cruller from the Rolling Pin. How about I double the order, and I can help you with that banner?”

  The heart hammering was back. He wanted to stick around.

  “That would be fine. I can go get a ladder from the hardware store if want to grab breakfast.”

  “Be back in a moment, then,” Randall said and started off across the street.

  She watched his long strides eat up the pavement and marveled at the effervescence she felt. After the morning she’d had, she should be slamming doors and tossing bolts of fabric around like ragdolls. Instead, she was standing on Main Street, grinning like an idiot and looking forward to the project ahead.

  With Randall Sondheim.

  Betty smiled bigger. She should be furious. Incensed.

  Instead, she was downright happy.

  Not that she was going to get overworked about it. She took a breath, reminding herself that the pastor’s help didn’t mean anything. It was probably just him being kind, the same way he was always pushing Mrs. Ivard’s wheelchair into the church before the sermon started, or the way he was always going last in the potluck line to make sure his congregation was served first.

  She was probably just a form of charity for him. Nothing more.

  Even so, her mood matched the sparkling fall sun and she thought suddenly that she could face down a whole storeful of bad signs if Randall Sondheim was going to stick around and ply her with coffee and donuts while he helped her take them down.

  Chapter Two

  Randall Sondheim stood at the counter of the Rolli
ng Pin staring at the menu board but not reading the words. His mind was stuck on Betty Lindholm, and the fact that he was going to spend the rest of the morning with her. Just the two of them. Working to take down that banner together.

  His gut kicked in an unfamiliar way. It took him a moment to realize it was excitement. Followed closely by nervous wariness.

  “Heya, Pastor.” Jessie Reed was behind the counter, giving him her usual red-lipped smile. Her hair was pulled into a twist and she had on a dress that reminded him of his favorite old movies: the ones with Humphrey Bogart or Rita Hayworth; cigarette smoke and tumblers filled with hooch. Jessie came faithfully to church every Sunday, and one day after service he’d asked Jessie why she preferred vintage clothing. She’d replied that she might only be twenty-one, but she had a soul meant for another time. He thought he’d understood precisely what she’d meant by that.

  She put her bony elbows on the counter. “You’re a little late today. You want your usual?”

  Randall always came in on Wednesday mornings. And he always ordered the same thing: black coffee and a sour cream cruller. “Not today,” he said, staring at the menu board again and realizing he had no earthly idea what kind of donuts Betty might like. “I’m ordering for two.”

  Jessie raised a finely penciled brow. “You don’t say. Who’s the lucky gal?”

  Randall jerked his head in the direction of the fabric store. “Betty Lindholm is having some trouble with a sign above her door.” He hoped he sounded sufficiently businesslike. He didn’t want Jessie to know he’d been looking for a way to spend time with Betty Lindholm for quite a while now, trying to get closer to the way she smiled with her small, perfect teeth or the way she ran her business with sharp savvy. Not to mention that Betty was one of the few people who didn’t handle him with kid gloves—who didn’t think “pastor” and immediately put on a mask of good behavior.

  But beyond his lame attempts at picking out new fabric for his office chair and shoveling her snow during a recent storm, however, he hadn’t gotten very far.