A Town Called Valentine(27)

Emily gaped at her momentarily, trying to put together some sequence of events that could explain this.

Monica elbowed her. “Hey! You told me you already ate lunch.”

Emily stared at the smirking Brooke as she answered Monica. “If I’d have told you I forgot it, you’d have offered to share again, making me feel like an idiot. I had tarts, didn’t I? With healthy apples in them.” She took the bag from Brooke. “Thanks. Should I ask how you got my lunch?”

Brooke put out a hand. “I’m Brooke Thalberg.”

“Ah,” Emily said, as all the lightbulbs went off in her head. They shook hands, and she noticed Brooke’s firm grip, her skin rougher than most women’s. “Nate’s sister—and Mrs. Thalberg’s granddaughter. Did she call you?”

“Of course not. She called Nate.”

Brooke and Monica exchanged a knowing grin, then both women started to unpack their lunches. Emily hesitated, knowing she should make excuses and leave instead of being drawn into temporary friendships. But it just seemed too rude, so she reluctantly sat down on a stool.

Emily told herself she was glad Nate hadn’t shown up with her lunch himself. She didn’t have time for his sort of distraction although she was curious about his reaction to his grandmother’s call. While Monica helped a couple customers with an emergency birthday bouquet and long-stemmed roses for a dinner date, Brooke kept grinning at her, as if reading her thoughts.

When Monica returned to eat lunch, Emily said to Brooke, “I’m sorry you got drawn into this.”

“I’m not,” she answered cheerfully. “I wanted to meet the woman Nate brought to the Widows’ Boardinghouse. And he couldn’t help out with your lunch because he was having a tough time getting hold of a part we need.”

“I know I shouldn’t have imposed on your grandmother,” Emily said, after swallowing a bite of her turkey sandwich. “But Nate was pretty persuasive and . . .” Her words died off as she realized they were both watching her with speculation.

Brooke shook her head. “I don’t know if I want to hear how my brother was persuasive.”

Emily knew she was blushing when the women started to laugh. “It wasn’t like that!” she protested. “I tried to stay in my own building, but the heat wasn’t on, and he wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn, I thought there might be a better story than that,” Brooke grumbled, before taking a bite of her chicken drumstick.

Emily concentrated on her sandwich for a moment, controlling her tone, before saying, “Nope. But your grandmother is absolutely wonderful.”

“Thanks. And she really likes you. She says it’s a shame you’re leaving in a couple weeks.”

Emily explained about selling the building and moving on with her life.

“Doing what?” Monica asked.

Emily chewed a celery stick thoughtfully. “College. I’m enrolled at Berkeley for the fall semester. The first time I went, I was so in love, I dropped out to get married. It didn’t end well,” she murmured, and was grateful when the two women nodded with sympathy instead of asking questions. “Although I’m in liberal arts, I’m determined to find a more specific major that interests me.”

“You don’t sound like you did that before,” Brooke said.

Emily shrugged. “I didn’t. I’m hoping a school advisor can help me. Maybe take some kind of aptitude test or something. It’s sad to be thirty years old and not know what you want to do with your life. Monica, did you always know the flower shop was what you wanted?”

“No, I went to college. I took a lot of business courses because I knew I wanted to be my own boss. I’d always been creative—I used to draw and paint—so I tried interior design. That was when I realized it was the flowers I was drawn to more than the furniture or wallpaper. And luckily, the owner of the flower shop here in Valentine was ready to retire, so I assumed the lease. I keep taking classes, studying books, learning new things. And I love it.”

Emily was glad to hear that someone else had to figure out her career path—until Brooke spoke.

“I always knew what I would do.”

Monica groaned. “Isn’t she wonderful.”

“Hey, it’s a family business,” Brooke protested. “When you’re in the saddle by age three, guiding cattle to pasture by eight, and helping birth calves at fourteen, it’s kinda in your blood.”