His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart

I don’t have my till set up yet, so don’t worry about it.”

      “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

      “I’m real worried.” She flashed him a smile, a friendly one that had entranced him since his first day of kindergarten. She leaned both elbows on the counter and studied him for a moment. “Can I ask you for a favor? I know you said you’re busy, but could you possibly find a spare minute to take a look at my car?”

      “You mean that rusted-out rattletrap you drive?”

      “That rusted-out rattletrap is paid for, cowboy. That’s how I can afford the luxuries of being self-employed.”

      “Sure, you can’t afford a vehicle that runs.”

      “Hey, my car runs. Sometimes.” She lifted one shoulder and made an attempt at a smile.

      “Since I’m the only mechanic in town, I guess the real question is, can you afford to have me look at it?”

      “Now you’re getting greedy.”

      “Lots of folks accuse me of that.” He winked. “But for you, being my favorite customer, I’ll make an exception.”

      “Oh, boy,” she teased back, but the sadness in her eyes remained, dark and steady.

      And he knew why. He didn’t know if he should say anything. Didn’t know if bringing up the subject of her sister would give her more pain. Comforting her…well, it wasn’t his right. That right belonged to the man whose ring used to sparkle on her left hand, a small diamond on a gold band.

      “I’ll come over and take a look when things get slow. On a hot day like this, I never know if I’ll be bored to death or if radiators will be boiling over all around town.”

      “I’m running late. I’ve got to get in the back and start the muffins baking. Thanks again, Zach.”

      “No problem.” He watched her move away, heading toward the kitchen with ease and grace, leaving his heart hammering.

      Longing filled him, and he controlled it. He didn’t want her to suspect how he truly felt. Not today of all days, with the memory of her sister’s death and the pain of her breakup written on her face.

      Zach grabbed his cup of coffee and headed out into the morning. The sun didn’t seem quite as bright.

      Thank heavens for a busy day, Karen thought as she laid two slices of bread on the cutting board. A few hours ago, a tour bus had limped into town, blowing blue smoke out the back. The stranded senior citizens had divided themselves between the coffee shop and the town’s diner. Add that to the regulars and she could hardly make sandwiches fast enough.

      “How are you, dear?” a kindly woman asked from the other side of the counter. “I heard about the breakup. You look like you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

      Karen reached for the mustard jar and slathered a knifeful on both slices of bread. “I’m doing fine, Mrs. Greenley, and don’t believe those rumors you’re hearing.”

      “I never do. Just don’t you worry about what people are saying. What matters is doing what’s best for you.” The older woman turned around in line. “Helen, come up here and take a look at your granddaughter. She appears exhausted to me.”

      “I’m not exhausted.” Karen layered ham and cheese slices on top of the mustard-coated bread.

      There was a shuffle in the line, and Karen saw Gramma elbowing her way up to the counter.

      Great, just what she needed—the woman who could see past her every defense.

      Karen concentrated very hard on laying thick slabs of fresh tomato and crisp lettuce leaves just so, before she sliced the sandwich in half. “Gramma, I’m fine. Go back to your place in line. You’re cutting.”

      “I’m doing no such thing,” Gramma protested, causing a louder ruckus as she pushed her way to the edge of the counter and circled behind it.

      Karen laid the sandwich neatly on a stoneware plate and set it on top of the glass barrier. “And, no, I don’t need any help.”

      “Hogwash. Nora’s right. You’re as pale as a sheet, and the only place I’ve seen dark circles like that is on a raccoon. You need to hire help so you can take a day off now and then, missy,” Gramma admonished as she grabbed Nora’s five-dollar bill and marched to the cash register. “Now, go. Scoot. Nora and I will cover the rest of the lunch crowd.”

      “You bet,” Mrs. Greenley said eagerly. “I’ve made a sandwich or two in my time.”

      “There’s no way.” Karen shouldered against her grandmother and counted out change from the till. “I’m perfectly fine. Make yourself a sandwich, go sit with Mrs. Greenley and have a good visit.”

      “You can’t fool me, sweetie.” Gramma’s arm settled firmly around Karen’s shoulders. “Use that line on someone who hasn’t been around as long as I have. You haven’t been sleeping.”

      “I have a long line of customers—”

      “Karen.” Gramma’s voice was firm but caring. “I don’t know all that’s going on between you and Jay, but I’m on your side. Never forget that. And I know what day it is. Allison would want you to visit her, you know.”

      “I can do that later—” Karen turned away, hating that Mrs. Greenley had stepped behind the counter and was taking the next order. “I can’t afford to pay you—”

      “That’s good, because we’re volunteering.” Gramma gave her a grandmotherly shove toward the door. “I know, it goes against your grain to accept help, but you’re always doing for others, Karen. Don’t deprive me of the pleasure or I’ll drag you to my Ladies’ Aid meetings for the rest of the year.”

      Suddenly the shop was too loud. The clatter of plates, the scraping of silverware and the cackling din of voices all scraped over Karen’s raw nerve endings.

      A hand closed over hers, one whose touch was dear and loving. “Sweetheart, let me finish up for you.”

      “No, I’ll be fine.” She would be fine.

      “Go outside and get some air. Give yourself all the time you need. Nora Greenley, I can’t read your chicken scratch on this ticket. Does that say turkey and Swiss?”

      “Of course it does,” Nora answered back, digging through the commercial refrigerator. “See? I told you that you need new bifocals.”

      “That’s the last thing I want to hear.” Gramma grabbed a pair of plastic gloves from the box on the counter.

      Just like that, Karen was superfluous in her own business.

      “Hey, are you all right?” someone asked. A hand lit on Karen’s arm, the touch warm and caring.

      “No, Julie, I just need some air.” Stumbling away from her friend, Karen headed straight to the back, threading around customers and cloth-covered tables to where sunlight glinted on the glass door.

      Her hand hit the brass knob and she sprinted into the hot sunshine.

      Hot aching tears that wouldn’t fall turned the world into a blurred mass of green, blue and brown as she tripped down the walkway, running her hand along the banister so she wouldn’t lose her way. A nail head gouged into her skin and pain jolted through her palm. She felt the wet sting of blood and dropped to the stairs, burying her face in her uninjured hand.

      Mom was tumbling into another bout of depression and it seemed like nothing could stop it. The coffee shop was on the brink of disaster—the shop her sister had loved. And she’d just broken her engagement to a man her parents practically worshiped. She couldn’t stop the weight of failure pressing like a thousand-pound rock on her chest.

      Worst of all, she still missed Allison with a fierceness that nothing could erase. Not time. Not grief. She’d