One More Kiss (6 page)

Now it was Willa’s turn to smile. “You don’t say.”

“It’s not like that,” Betty said, more sharply than she meant to. “He’s getting a cut of my profits until this mess dies down, so I can associate the store with the house of God. Buy here, support the Lutheran church. It’s purely financial.”

She hated the way she sounded, as if her brain wasn’t suddenly clouded over with the truth that she wanted to have more than a financial relationship with Randall Sondheim. Except it wasn’t a two-way street. The idea was bitterly disappointing, more than she wanted it to be.
I’m too old for this crap
, she thought. And then the clouds in her brain gathered all over again, darkening anew with the fact that soon she was going to be too old for anything—for marriage, for kids, for any of the dreams she’d secretly locked away in her heart for years.

“Oh, Betty,” Audrey said, reaching across the table to take her friend’s hand, “I’ve only ever seen this look on your face one other time. And it was when I told you that Brian Collins asked me to prom, and I said yes, only to find out he was joking.” Audrey swallowed visibly, perhaps remembering how both she and Betty had a hard time in high school together as awkward, unpopular girls. Today, Audrey was stunning, with thick auburn hair and a rock-hard body from teaching physical education up at the high school. But maybe, Betty thought, the past was never as deeply buried as you wanted it to be.

“It’s been a long time since I got my hopes up about a guy,” Betty admitted. “And—God, I feel so stupid saying this—but for a second there I had this idea that Randall liked me.”

“He did!” Willa said. “I mean, he does! He told me himself. A couple weeks ago, we chatted and he was adamant about figuring out a way to get with you. Not that he used those words. He was more, well, reserved about it. But there was no question he liked you.”

Betty blinked. “He came and talked to you?”

“He did. He confided in me, so I didn’t say anything to you. I figured he was nanoseconds away from asking you out anyway. And he was clear as a bell, Betty. He likes you.”

Betty stared at her fingernails, chipped and worn from working all morning in the display window. Disappointment fizzled. “He must have changed his mind, then. This morning he seemed great—but then, he helped me take down my banner and it was like he was a whole different person. Suddenly cold and unfeeling.”

“You know, Sam did that,” Anna said, piping up from her end of the table. Her ebony hair cascaded around her shoulders. “When we were in college, I mean. We had a few classes together and I thought there was something between us, but every time we spent any length of time together, he was so weird. All flat and robotic. I finally figured out he’d had a stutter as a kid, and when he talked to me, it came back. That’s how much he liked me. When he was finally able to relax and be himself, everything just clicked.”

Betty smiled at her friend. “Thanks, but I don’t think Randall has a stutter.”

“So then it’s probably something else,” Stephanie said. “Maybe he has an illness.”

“Great,” Betty said dryly, “how comforting.”

“Not a life-threatening one. But maybe, you know, gout or something.”

“Gout?” Betty laughed. “Next you’ll tell me he has scurvy from not eating enough limes while his pirate ship is at sea.”

“Or rickets from hiding out in his cellar,” Anna said, giggling.

“Or he’s carrying a top-secret government virus that could wipe out humanity if he’s with a woman,” Audrey said.

“Maybe he’s just impotent.” Betty shrugged.

Willa snorted. “I don’t think so, Betty. I’m sure his spirit
rises
when he’s around you.”

The whole group exploded into laughter, Betty included. They slapped the red table and belly-laughed, and Betty’s heart swelled at the sound of it. She might never find a husband, but she had found a sisterhood, and that was no small thing.

“You know,” Willa said, wiping away a tear of laughter, “when scientists want to find the answer to something, they do experiments. How about if you do the same thing, Betty? To get an answer once and for all about Randall?”

She blinked. “What, like take blood and hair samples and test them somehow?”

“No, nothing like that. But why not wear something sexy next time you see him, and gauge how he reacts? If he doesn’t notice then, fine, you have your answer. He’s not into you. But if he
rises
to the occasion, so to speak, then you’ll know he likes you and there might be something more to the story. Like what Anna was saying happened with Sam.”

“I don’t know,” Betty said. She gestured to her jeans and work boots. “Have you met me? I don’t exactly do sexy.”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Willa said. “I have a closet full of clothes that could do the trick.”

“It seems overly complicated for something that’s probably quite simple,” Betty said. “I could just ask him, you know.”

What she didn’t add was how the simplest truth was almost always the easiest one. And in this case, she pretty much figured that Randall Sondheim had seen her goods up close and decided he wasn’t buying. Nothing more than friendship anyway.

“You could,” Willa acknowledged. “Or you could do something a little daring and see what happens.”

Betty chewed her lip. Outside the back room’s windows, golden light slanted through the trees, setting the leaves blazing with color. A dog barked in the distance. She wasn’t so sure about this. Dressing sexily to tempt a pastor seemed like becoming precisely the dark woman the townspeople were afraid she already was. Then again, maybe it would be fun to figure out where Randall stood with her. Once and for all.

“All right,” she said to Willa. “Maybe I’ll give it a shot. I have a meeting with Randall tomorrow at four o’clock. Can you work your magic by then?”

Willa grinned. The whole table leaned forward in anticipation.

“Honey, by four o’clock tomorrow, Randall Sondheim won’t know what hit him. Mark my words.”

Willa lifted her glass. The liquid looked magical in the low light—like a potion or a spell of some sort.
What the hell
, Betty thought, and clinked glasses in a toast.

To trying something new
, she thought, and slammed back the rest of her drink.

Chapter Four

E
verything was wrong. It was all terribly, horribly awry, and at five minutes to four o’clock, there was nothing to be done about it.

“I look like a hooker,” Betty moaned, pulling desperately at the hem of her skirt. “What have you done to me?”

Willa pressed her mouth into a hard, straight line. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I never took you for a drama queen, Betty Lindholm. You’re overreacting.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing here like you’re headed for a brothel.”

Betty turned in front of the full-length mirror that Willa had brought to the Knots and Bolts back room, craning her neck to make sure her ass wasn’t hanging out of the back of the skirt.

Oh, what had she been thinking? But an hour ago, with the windows thrown wide and the sun streaming in and the crisp breeze blowing up from the river, Betty had figured nothing could ruin this sparkling day. She was going to see Randall Sondheim! She was going to conduct an experiment! It was going to be exhilarating!

The idea of it had her feeling wild and reckless, and she’d let Willa have carte blanche with her wardrobe, her makeup, and her hair. And the result was mortifying. Worse than mortifying, even. It had Betty wanting to run out the back door and skip the meeting with Randall altogether.

“Betty,” Willa said firmly, “will you please just chill out for a second? I know this is more than you’re used to—”

“This is more than a
pole dancer
is used to!”

“But I’m telling you, you look good. Stop pulling on your skirt and listen to me.”

Willa joined her in the mirror. She put a gentle hand on Betty’s shoulder. “Breathe,” her friend said gently. “In and out, okay?”

Betty glared at her.

“
Breathe
,” Willa said.

Finally, she did as her friend commanded, and after a few moments her brain’s frenetic quaking lessened. Her muscles relaxed slightly. Willa nodded. “Okay, good. Now I want you to look at yourself as objectively as you can. Don’t compare yourself to how you usually look. Instead, just look at the woman staring back at you. Okay? Please?”

Betty lifted her chin as tried to do as she was told. She kept her breathing even. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, vowing not to judge too harshly.

Her hair, usually a wavy mess, was now sleek and curling gently around her ears. She was wearing a black sweater that was form-fitting, yes, but not necessarily tawdry. She also had on a gray wool skirt that ended well above the knee, but perhaps not
recklessly
so. Willa had used enough makeup to bring out the apples of Betty’s cheeks and extend her eyelashes. It was more than she was used to, that was for sure. But it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t the train wreck Betty was making it out to be.

She needed to say at least that much to her friend.

“I—thank you, Willa,” she whispered, grabbing the other woman’s hands. “I’m sorry I got carried away there for a second. It’s just that…”

She swallowed. Her hands trembled slightly, and she pulled them away from Willa’s. How could she tell her friend she no longer wanted to do the experiment at all? What if she looked good—really good—and Randall still rejected her? She ran her tongue over her teeth. She had a long history of getting pushed to the wayside, and she wasn’t keen to revisit the feeling anytime soon. She felt her throat thickening with a sadness that went back years—far beyond anything happening here in this room. She swallowed it down, trying to be brave. But everything about this moment seemed sharp and dangerous, like staring down a bayonet on a battlefield.

A giant piece of Betty wanted to go back to just being friends with the pastor—to the time before the banner when they could talk together and there wasn’t an electric current flickering inside her every time he smiled or said something insightful. She groaned softly.

“If he blows you off today, then he’s a fool,” Willa said. “Besides, it’s just a silly experiment. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re not exactly following the scientific method here.”

But there
was
a method to their madness. And Randall would have a reaction—one way or another. She could feel herself frowning deeply.

“Look,” Willa said gently, “you’re the smartest, boldest woman I know. You single-handedly helped me craft a business plan for my bed-and-breakfast. You don’t take crap from anybody, and you tell it like it is. In a word filled with bullshit, you’re the real deal, Betty. So if this guy can’t see how amazing that is, then screw him. Okay? Not literally, I mean. No screwing physically. Just screw him emotionally. Except that’s not—oh, never mind.”

Betty laughed in spite of her sinking insides. She hugged Willa, determined to remember that she had a good life in White Pine. Willa was a prime example of that. She didn’t need Randall in order to take pleasure in the everyday. She didn’t need Randall, period.

Well, except for the part where she let the Lutheran church accept a hunk of her proceeds for a bit. But that was just business.

“All right,” Betty said, “he’ll be here in a second. I should get out to the front of the store.”

“I’ll pack up and let myself out the back. Just know, you look good, Betty. Really good.”

“Thanks,” Betty said. “Whatever happens, this was nice of you.”

Betty gave herself one last glimpse in the mirror, told herself everything was going to be fine. But her pulse was humming to an anxious beat nonetheless. Because if Randall rejected her, she could tell herself it would be fine, but she knew her heart would be torn up into small bits until she could summon the strength to put it together again.

And who even knew when that would be.

*  *  *

There was no way to concentrate. The room was suddenly stifling, and Randall Sondheim could feel sweat making his shirt stick to his skin. Betty stared up at him, blinking through long lashes, and his mind went blank. Except for one staggering thought, over and over:
Betty Lindholm looked scalding hot.

Her everyday shirts and jeans were fine, but they never showed off her curves the way her current outfit did. He deliberately averted his gaze from the place where her black sweater stretched against her breasts. But then his eyes fell on her hips, on the way they filled out the skirt just perfectly below her small waist. And then there were her legs, clad in some kind of tights, that looked strong enough to wrap around his waist and tighten against him until—

“Pastor?”

Randall jerked his eyes up to meet Betty’s gaze. Had she known what he was staring at, and what he was thinking? He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw laughter in her blue eyes. He cleared his throat.

He had to be careful. He had to proceed with extreme caution.

He stared at her soft skin and her perfect lips, itching to touch both.

Maybe he just had to proceed. Period.

“I have a draft of the Sunday bulletin,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his sport coat to pull out a wrinkled sheet of paper. “I wanted to show you the verbiage. I wrote it yesterday, and Celia, my secretary, just laid it out. You can see we’re showcasing the partnership with Knots and Bolts prominently.”

He passed the paper to her across the checkout counter. Around them, fabric lined walls and shelves in an overwhelming array of colors and patterns. He wondered what it would be like to push Betty into one of the padded displays, to put his hand underneath the skirt and feel the heat between her thighs. He watched her fingers unfold the paper and imagined them twisting through his hair. He had to glance away.

“You need some water or something?” Betty asked, looking up from the paper. “You seem—rattled.”

That wasn’t the half of it, he thought. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed at his forehead. “Sorry,” he said, “just a warm day out there is all.”