Secretly Smitten (13 page)

“And who are you exactly?” She pressed herself farther back against the ladder in a pathetic attempt to hide it. “What I mean is, how would you know what’s illegal in Smitten? I’ve never seen you before.”

He raised a brow. “I’m the new city manager. It’s my job to know the city codes—and to see that they’re implemented.”

Zoe shook her head in disbelief that a complete stranger was telling her about Smitten. “I’ve been in this town my whole life. We don’t have a city manager.” She looked to her sister for backup, but Clare just shrugged as if none of it concerned her.

“The town board hired me. With all the recent successes after Sawyer Smitten’s wedding, this has become a real destination spot. That requires more management than your selectpersons can handle, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I’m afraid too.”

“You’ve heard we’ve been in contact with RailAmerica to get the railroad to come back to Smitten.” He felt his temple, then looked at the tips of his fingers, tinged by his own blood.

“Naturally.” Zoe loathed his know-it-all tone, as if she were some kind of weekender to be patted on the head and sent home with a bottle of maple syrup.

“Dealing with the railroad will be one of my primary duties, but safety is priority one. A ladder on the sidewalk of Main Street in the middle of high season is a genuine hazard. I’m glad it was me who walked into it and not an elderly tourist. It’s going to take cash to get that railroad here, and a lawsuit is something we can’t afford.”

Zoe tried to see things from his perspective, but the way he acted, as if he cared more about Smitten than she did, made her want to tell him that elderly people paid attention to where they were going. When she didn’t answer, he kept talking.

“With these uneven bricks, a ladder on Main Street is not ideal in any season. This”—he gripped the ladder—“should be secured and surrounded by emergency cones.”

She stood at attention and saluted. “Aye aye, captain.”

He looked away from her. “I didn’t mean to give orders.” His hurt expression, combined with the expanding puddle of blood on his temple, made the exchange feel surreal, as if someone else ruled her words—though she knew it was her own dark side afraid of change.

“Come back into the store and I’ll clean that up for you.” Her fingertips aimed toward the small cut, but she clasped her fingers into a fist and veered at the last moment.

“I should have introduced myself first. I’m William Singer.”

“Can you? Sing, I mean. Our choir is always looking for baritones.”

“I can’t. Tone deaf as they come, so the name is, I suppose, unfortunate.” He pulled the ladder from behind her and fastened it shut. “Can I put this somewhere for you?” He paused. “I assume you’re done with it.” He looked up at the sign she’d just attached. “You did that yourself?”

She nodded.

“It looks good. Straight.”

“Thanks to my sister Clare.” She nodded toward her sister, but William never removed his eyes from hers. He set the ladder against the wall again.

“Cupid’s Arrow.” He stepped back toward the street and crossed his arms over his chest. His jacket stretched and protested against his rounded biceps, and Zoe realized how out of place he looked in a suit. No one wore a suit in Smitten except on Sundays for church; during the week, it meant a funeral service. “A baby shop?”

“Aunt Violet told you it sounded like a baby shop,” Clare said.

It was as if they were children again, and Clare had added
neener, neener, neener.

“It’s a
matchmaking
service.”

He blinked as though she spoke in a foreign tongue.

“People are so busy these days even in Smitten that they don’t make time for connection. Human connection,” she added, staring at the phone contraption strapped to his ear.

“Are you married, William Singer?” Clare asked, and Zoe glared at her sister.

“Me?” He pressed his left hand, void of a wedding ring, against his chest. “No, I’m not married.”

Zoe wanted to change the subject before Mr. Singer asked about signing up for her services. She intended to discourage short-timers—guys like this who might just want to date someone while they were in Smitten, then vanish into the proverbial sunset alone. She might be desperate to sign people up for the service, but she wasn’t willing to compromise her principles. She wouldn’t willingly allow hearts to be broken by a traveling man.

He lifted the ladder again, as anxious to finish the uncomfortable conversation as she was. “You want to show me where to put this before someone else walks into it and the city has a lawsuit on its hands?”

“Mr. Singer, you weren’t looking where you were going. I’m not a fan of this Star Trek communicator stuff becoming reality, for that reason. If you’re going to live here in Smitten, you should know we prefer proper communication. Face-to-face.”

He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m grateful you’ve decided to share that with me.” He lifted the ladder a few inches higher. “Where did you want me to put this?” he asked again.

“I’m Clare Thomas,” her sister said. “We weren’t formally introduced.” She scowled at Zoe as if to remind her she was supposed to be a matchmaker. “Follow that alley to the back of the store. That’s where Zoe keeps the ladder.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Clare,” he said, setting the ladder down again to shake her hand. “This country air produces very pretty women.”

Clare rolled her eyes, and Zoe veiled a smile with her hand. “You don’t have to waste your city talk on us Smitten girls. We appreciate the effort, though, and as long as you don’t cite me, that’s compliment enough.”

“Let me ask you something.” William set the ladder down. “Does this personal communication in Smitten get any easier on a guy?”

“You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s heavily invested in Cupid’s Arrow
,
and change is not her strong suit anyway. You represent change.” Clare narrowed her eyes just like their mother did, and Zoe thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt her to be less forthright—as her mother always told her. She could still think her truth without saying it.

Political insincerity may have worked where William Singer came from, but he’d have to sharpen his skills with authenticity if he meant to stay in Smitten. Of course, he wouldn’t stay in Smitten. He had short-timer written all over him, so she tried not to muster any sympathy for the way his strong jaw set against the slightly pitiful scrape alongside his eye. Nor would she notice how darling it made him look, even if her heart did soften at the sight of it.

CHAPTER TWO

W
illiam Singer wondered how long he’d last in a town like Smitten. So far, no one had exactly rolled out the welcome mat for him, and he’d found the books were like those of most old towns: in the red. Somehow they’d always managed to pull out of deep trouble with some creative community event and last-minute inventive accounting. The town had a long way to go as far as laws, codes, and upholding them went. The place was a lawsuit waiting to happen. If he’d learned anything in his career, it was that playing by the rules never went over well with people used to doing things their own way. He wasn’t looking forward to imposing reality on the town of Smitten. Telling Zoe Thomas alone the truth might get him ridden out of town on a rail. He had the feeling she could dish it out but maybe wasn’t as adept at receiving truth. Then again, who was? It was always easier to spot the sawdust in someone else’s eye than the plank in one’s own.

He followed her down the small alley between the two storefronts on the historical Main Street. Little more than a brick tunnel. He had to turn the ladder sideways to fit, and he kept banging it into the brick wall, as he had a hard time looking away from Zoe’s small and elegant figure. Even in scruffy jeans and with her blunt haircut, she was the essence of femininity. She turned when he crashed the ladder into the wall for the third time.

“How did you get this out there to the street?” he asked.

Zoe shrugged. “Practice, I guess.” She faced him and watched him carefully as though he hid some great secret. “I’ll take it from here.”

He tightened his grip. “Not a chance. A gentleman—”

“We Smitten women don’t need to be taken care of,” she interrupted. “We’re a tough breed.” She smiled, and he noticed her long, graceful fingers as they grasped the cold metal near his own hand. He remembered the feel of them only a few moments prior, and he clutched the ladder tighter rather than reach for her.

“My mama would have my neck if she knew I let a lady carry her own ladder.”

She stared at him with her laser focus, as if she could read coordinates of everywhere he’d been in the last ten years. “Your mama didn’t grow up here. The women of Smitten have been taking care of things for longer than you’ve been alive. Women don’t make it in a logging town unless they come from tough stock.”

He eyed her diminutive, elegant hands again, and something snapped in him. He didn’t ever want Zoe Thomas to fend for herself again, though he couldn’t understand where such a thought even came from. They passed an open door to the office and he noticed a pot steaming on the stove. “Is that something you need to turn off?”

She stepped back and looked inside. “No, it’s on low. It’s simmering.”

“Do you live here?”

“No, I don’t live here. It’s my shop. I’m starting a matchmaking and event service. I’ll coordinate social events and hopefully make a few romantic matches.” She glowed with pride and her enthusiasm was contagious. Unfortunately, his mouth took over.

“How does one make money at that exactly?” He watched as a small spark of light died in her eyes, and he regretted his words before the last one was even out of his mouth.

She glared at him. Apparently he wasn’t the first person to ask that question.

“If you don’t mind my asking. I mean, it seems like romance just happens here in Smitten.”

“There’s a small monthly fee, and I’ll get a cut from the events I run, but I’ve already got an active online community. I receive a small income from the ads there and from member fees. There will be sports activities like singles’ day at the ski slopes, canoeing at the lake, and a swing dancing class—just to name a few ideas.” Her eyes twinkled with excitement, and she absolutely came to life when she talked about her plans.

William didn’t think he’d ever witnessed anything so mesmerizing as Zoe’s enthusiasm. Her zeal was positively contagious. He found himself thinking maybe
he
needed a dating service. Church certainly hadn’t brought him the woman of his dreams, but a ladder and a swollen temple may have.

She led him to a small wooden shed in the back alley, and following her lead, he folded the ladder into the wooden shack and leaned it against the wall.

He couldn’t stop worrying about the pot left alone. These old buildings with their notoriously faulty wiring and wooden frames were little more than kindling to a simple spark. “Are you sure that pot is okay?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“What is that you’re making?”

“Just dinner,” she answered.

“Zoe, I know you’ve done things a certain way for a long time here in Smitten, but you’re killing me with the gas on in that building. I can’t leave without taking a look at the wiring.”

“You’re not with code enforcement. Aren’t you a glorified accountant?” She looked down at her feet after she said it. “I’m sorry.” She met his gaze again. “I didn’t mean that.”

He laughed only because it sounded like she did mean it—and she meant it very intently. “Maybe I am a glorified accountant, but I’m also in charge of zoning laws for the city. This street is zoned commercial, but I’m nearly positive you’re not zoned for commercial cooking. That means you’re most likely not insured for damages if there’s a fire. That means the city itself gets sued, and trust me, this is why I have a job.” He walked down the alley and entered the building through the side door, propped open by an old logging stump.

“Make yourself at home.”

The wafting scent of onions and nutmeg met him, with a hint of sawdust and must. The first thing he noticed in the crumbling building was all the exposed wiring along the wall. It took every ounce of self-control not to rip out the new city manual he was writing and flag her for the myriad electrical issues. “Zoe.” He pulled his notebook from his interior suit jacket. “You can’t cook in here until you get this exposed wiring covered. You could blow up a city block with one spark.” He turned off the burner and the flame died.