No Perfect Hero(23)

She looks me over with a measured gaze, though her pleasant smile never fades. I clutch a hand to my chest, taking a few steadying breaths, then offer a smile and tuck my hair back uncertainly.

“Sorry,” I manage. “You just startled me.” I offer her my hand – then take it back, wiping it on my thigh once I realize it’s still got flour on it. “Haley West.”

“Yes, dear. I know who you are. You've become quite the hot topic since the wind blew you into our little town.” She takes my hand, a light, ladylike grip, but still warm as she squeezes and lets go. “I’m Wilma Ford. Warren’s grandmother and owner of Charming Inn.”

“Oh! Of course. I hadn’t realized.” I hope she’s not upset with me over the vandalism, even if it wasn’t my fault.

But it’s weird, I think, that Warren is related to the owner but renting the most remote cabin on the property, paying for it and everything. I keep my smile on anyway, wrapping my arms around myself. “It’s a lovely place, Mrs. Ford. I love the view.”

“Yes, I'd hoped to provide a touch of atmosphere for vacationing couples.” The look she casts Warren is loaded, and my cheeks burn while he ducks his head with a fierce, almost petulant scowl. “Perhaps my grandson will entertain you with the story of the cliff that gives the town its name. For now, though...are you all right, darling Haley?” She cocks her head at Tara. “And who's this delightful young lady?”

Tara beams. “I’m Tara! Auntie Hay's sidekick.”

“So your niece, I see.” She bends toward Tara in a prim little curtsey, and I already know Tara’s about to have a new idol when this woman reminds me of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada.

Tara, God bless her, spent two weeks practicing her sassy little that’s all and haughty little turn the first time my sister Marie let her watch that film. “It’s lovely to meet you, Tara. I hope nothing’s frightened you too much since you came here.”

Tara shakes her head quickly. “I’m not scared. And neither is Auntie Hay.”

“It was just a little paint,” I say. “We’re fine, I promise. I’m sorry about the damage to the cabin, though.”

“Nonsense.” Wilma waves a hand. “You’re the one who deserves an apology, dear. This sort of thing is entirely abnormal around here. Your stay will be completely compensated for as long as you’d like. You’re welcome here in Heart’s Edge, even if that terribly childish prank may have indicated otherwise.”

“Oh, um...thank you.”

Wow. So maybe the rush to step in and fix things is in the family genes too. If only Warren had his grandmother's finesse.

It’s not hard to tell he's simmering, standing behind this woman with his jaw clenched so hard the thick muscles in his neck bunch and strain. He’s also suspiciously silent, and I’m starting to get an idea of who rules the roost in this family. I offer a small smile. “I really don’t want to impose or take advantage of your hospitality. I might be here just a little while. Turns out my end goal just turned into a fumble, and...well, I don’t have anywhere to go. So I’m looking for a job to save up until I can move on with some cash. That might take a few weeks, if you don't mind–”

“Nonsense. It'll take as long as it's meant to, and you’re still welcome,” Wilma says firmly. “In fact, I just might have a lead for you.”

Warren makes a garbled sound, starts to bite off a curse, then stops himself as Wilma’s sharp eyes cut to him. I almost grin, barely holding it back.

It's kinda magical. Watching this big, tattooed, blue-eyed badass of a man brought to heel by a woman half his size and three times older and wiser.

It makes him seem less frightening. More like a big grizzly bear who still loves his granny.

And it makes me feel a bit warmer inside. A little less alone and bereft and dripping with bad luck, to have this woman treating me so firmly like I’m family and she just wants to help.

Not even my own sister does that.

It's not that our relationship is bad. Growing up with our dad hooked to the bottle, we both learned to be self-sufficient and closed off, maybe a little too distant.

It’s hard for Marie and me to lean on each other. Or to offer to open up when it was every girl for herself when he came home smelling like vodka and rye.

I pull myself from those memories, from their darkness, and back to the brightness of the living room and Grandma's job offer. “Whatever it is, I’d be happy to help. I’ve done a lot of everything. Back in Seattle I was a claims adjuster, but I’ve got customer service experience, call center experience, and I’m an artist...”

“So I’ve heard. You’ll have to show me your paintings some time. Perhaps I could commission a piece or two for the house.” Wilma hooks her arm in mine, leaning on me almost companionably, her eyes gleaming with a wickedness that belies her age. “But for now...how do you feel about college boys and short skirts?”

Uh, oh.

Whatever I expected to come out of her mouth, it wasn't that.

And the soft, slightly amused quirk in her lips tells me I'm in for trouble.





*



So I guess I’m staying in Heart’s Edge.

As a waitress.