Because of Audrey. Mary Sullivan

      “Here.” She handed him a mask. “You should wear it until these guys finish their work.” A frown wrinkled her forehead.

      “You don’t look happy,” Gray observed. “What’s the problem?”

      “The noise.”

      “That’s temporary. It won’t last.”

      “The dust. Look at our desks.”

      A fine gray film settled over everything.

      “I’ll have a cleaning crew come in on the weekend.”

      Hilary sighed. “But what kind of chemicals, or even old mold, have you stirred up with this destruction?”

      Gray loved language, loved how he could manipulate it to his advantage in business, but hated how it could be corrupted.

      “This isn’t destruction, Hilary. This is change.”

      She didn’t answer, just stood her ground like a wiry-haired bantam hen.

      “In another week, things will settle down,” Gray said.

      “Given how hard it is to get work done in this—” she gestured with her chin toward the open space, not the contractors and their work, he noticed “—I fervently hope it gets better.”

      He barely held himself back from shaking his head. New ideas were always hard to implement. Hilary and her employees had been working with the same systems for years. “These changes should further innovation and fresh thinking.” Something Turner Lumber could use, he didn’t say aloud.

      “The open concept should inspire a more communal sense of the company, and the resultant community should inspire more communication and new ideas.”

      Hilary nodded but didn’t look convinced. “We already enjoy plenty of community here.”

      “Then you should support an increase in that.” He had enough resistance to deal with from his dad. He didn’t need to face it here at work, as well.

      “Listen, Hilary.” He sounded testy. Too bad. He was on edge and tired of facing problems everywhere he turned. “Given that you called me home to help, I expected cooperation from you.”

      “I didn’t think you’d be changing everything.”

      “What did you think I’d do?”

      “Make it the way it was before your dad started making dubious choices.”

      Hilary was as naive as Dad was. There was no salvation for the company without upgrading it, not in the current financial environment, not using strategies that were forty and fifty years old.

      He entered the office he’d set up for himself in the corner to catch his breath and to prepare for his meeting with Arnold Haygood, Turner Lumber’s accountant. His area had sliding walls that opened to the larger space. Most of the time he left the walls open, keeping himself involved. When he needed to have sensitive conversations or make phone calls that he didn’t want overheard, he could slide the walls closed for the best of both worlds.

      Still, that feeling of suffocation, the difficulty breathing, had followed him into the office, and had nothing to do with renovation dust or face masks.

      He needed to push the deals through on the sale of the land and finish liquidating more of Dad’s assets, so Gray never had to step in here again, never again had to experience this cloying panic.

      Maybe it was time to sell the company. He’d been fighting the idea, keeping it as a last resort. He shouldn’t let emotion get in the way of business, but as much as these were Dad’s people, they were also his.

      Despite his current anxiety, his memories of running through this place as a child were good. He knew everyone who worked here. What if the new owners mistreated them?

      Before leaving Boston, he’d toyed with the idea of selling his company there and moving here to live, not just swooping in to fix whatever was wrong, but to actually stay and run Turner Lumber. Leaving Marnie behind, though, never being able to visit her gravesite, saying goodbye yet again, this time permanently... He couldn’t do it.

      Then he’d come home and all of this weird behavior had started, the panic attacks and anxiety, the suffocation.

      So then he’d thought he would hire a good manager to take over. But now, with the letter from this woman, and more and more demands on limited dollars, he had to consider that maybe it was time to just sell.

      Panic clutched at him again. If having Dad declared incompetent made him nauseous, the thought of how disappointed Dad would be if he sold the company rather than keeping it and running it himself as part of his heritage made him positively ill.

      “Hilary,” he called.

      Seconds later she stood in front of his desk. She was nothing if not efficient.

      “After the men finish the renovations for the day, have all of the employees gather in the office.”

      Hilary waited, but Gray didn’t explain. He knew he needed to make changes and he knew the staff should be told, but he had to confirm everything with Arnie before he spoke. He and the accountant could hash out details this afternoon.

      * * *

      AT LUNCHTIME, AUDREY closed her floral shop and walked down Main to the Sweet Temptations Bakery and Café, resolutely avoiding thinking about that disturbing incident with Gray. He’d been strange, almost unbalanced, but still so handsome, so smoothly...right.... With those pale gray eyes so striking against his perfectly tanned skin, it almost hurt to look at him.

      There’d been that brief moment when he’d let his guard down, when he’d been petting Jerry, his expression tender and almost wistful.

      Then he’d turned hard. She disliked that version of the man with all of her heart.

      A movement in the window of Enchanté caught her attention, Marceline waving and gesturing toward a black teddy with pink polka dots and pink bows. Oh, so cute. Oh, so sexy.

      She couldn’t possibly afford it.

      Audrey had dresser drawers that overflowed with basques and silk knickers and corsets. Oh, she loved lingerie. She’d been diligent in her search for amazing undergarments at excellent prices. With her full figure, she needed good support and quality material. So much beautiful French lingerie. So little space, time and money.

      And no one to wear it for. She did wear it, though, every day, but, oh, it would be lovely to have someone to whom she could show it off.

      She shook her head and mimed drying tears from the corners of her eyes, making Marceline smile, and walked on. Someday she would share her favorites with a special someone.

      At the café, she ordered a couple of soups and sandwiches then carried lunch along Main to the Army Surplus.

      When she stepped into the store, she breathed deeply of the mothballs and incense that made up her friend’s unique scent.

      “Noah?” she called.

      He came out of the back carrying a pile of boxes, bobbing up onto the balls of his feet in his signature walk that kept him looking young and boyish, one of the things she adored about him.

      He bussed her on the cheek. She didn’t return the favor. Noah didn’t like lipstick. She giggled and thought of doing it anyway, of leaving a big swath of red gloss across his cheek, but suppressed her inner imp.

      “What did you bring today?” he asked.

      “Tomato garlic soup and pastrami on rye.”

      “Hot mustard?”

      “You got it, cowboy.”

      Noah smiled, cleared off the counter and pulled up a couple of stools. He retrieved their bamboo reusable cutlery from a drawer and handed it to her while she set out their lunch, the routine comforting. They might as well be a married