Wanted: The Perfect Mom. T. R. McClure

      APPROACHING HER STORE from the alley, Holly paused as she neared the back door. A tiny corpse lay right in the middle of the threshold. Sonny’s teasing about gerbils echoed in her head. But peering closely, she discovered the victim was a mouse, courtesy of the brown cat she had glimpsed earlier, she guessed. Scooping the creature onto a scrap of cardboard she deposited the lifeless body in the Dumpster, then unlocked the back door of the coffee shop. She would have to return the favor.

      She set a milk-filled bowl outside the back door just as the brown tabby appeared. He sniffed the bowl and walked away.

      “Not a milk drinker, eh?” Holly shook her head. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

      She walked through the gleaming kitchen and into the quiet storefront, where she unlocked the front door and flipped her sign to Open. Although she didn’t expect any business at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. After a hectic opening day on Monday, and being reasonably busy the rest of the week, Holly figured most people would sleep late today. She expected Louise at nine. In the meantime she would get the coffee going, make some iced tea and uncover the pastries in the display case.

      She scurried around, humming a tune from her high school days, and readied the shop for business. She glanced in the tip jar. Empty. Even Sonny’s two cents were gone.

      “Goodness, I forgot to open the cash register.” She popped into the kitchen, where the green money bag protruded from her purse. Returning to the cash register, she punched in the code and the drawer opened. Withdrawing a wad of cash, she proceeded to fill the drawer.

      The bell jingled over the door. “You should keep your door locked when you’re handling that much cash. No telling who might wander in.”

      Holly jerked her head up to see Mac McAndrews’s tanned face and blue eyes. “You’re telling me.”

      His answer was a faint smile. Instead of his uniform, Mac was dressed in faded jeans, a black T-shirt and sneakers. Keeping his mouth pressed in the familiar straight line, he stood in the open door, as if uncertain of her welcome.

      “Come in.” Holly sorted the coins and thought about Sonny’s words the night he had helped her to close. They were just kids back then. “Would you like a cup of coffee? On the house.”

      The bell jingled as the door eased shut. She glanced up quickly, unsure if he was inside the store or had decided her brand of welcome wasn’t worth the aggravation. Mac approached the counter and leaned one elbow on the surface. “Will you have one with me?”

      Holly flipped down the money holders and slammed the drawer shut. Turning her back, she retrieved two mugs from the tray. “I suppose I have a minute for a cup of coffee.” Her heart beat a little faster, presumably at the thought of caffeine. Why else?

      Rounding the end of the counter, she carried the cups to the low table with the four cushioned chairs. Perching on the edge of one, she tilted her head toward the door. “Cream and sugar on the condiment counter.”

      Mac settled onto the opposite chair and reached for the cup. “Black is fine.” He leaned back in the chair, cup in hand, and surveyed the shop. “Besides, good coffee doesn’t need to be doctored.”

      Holly smiled at the unexpected compliment. “Do you drink your gas station coffee black?” Eyes lowered, she took a sip of her rich, special blend coffee, her first of the morning.

      Mac laughed loudly. “Lots of milk and sugar to disguise the taste.” Silence stretched between them.

      Searching for a topic of conversation, Holly drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Would you believe I own a coffee shop and half the time I forget to drink a cup?” She scooted back and rested the cup on the arm of the chair.

      Mac propped his ankle on his knee. “I’m not surprised. Wednesday I drove by and your line was so long I ended up getting coffee at the gas station. Again.”

      Holly made a face. “So you said. I figured you aren’t particular when it comes to coffee.”

      “I was in a hurry.” Mac patted his knee and threw her a look. “I can appreciate quality.”

      Wondering if he was still talking about coffee, Holly shivered. “I’m afraid business might slow once people get over the novelty of having a coffee shop in town.” While he read her menu board she studied him. He looked less severe than he did in uniform, more like the boy she knew in high school. Even his close-cropped light brown hair showed hints of the blond streaks she remembered. Suddenly he turned his head and caught her watching him.

      “I was thinking about our encounter the other day.”

      Heat crept up Holly’s neck and onto her cheeks as she remembered her rudeness. “I apologize, I—”

      “I’m the one who should apologize.” Cup clasped in both hands, Mac leaned forward. “I wasn’t very nice to you when we were kids.”

      She sipped her coffee, let the hot liquid lie on her tongue before swallowing. Over the rim of her mug, her eyes met his. “Really? I don’t remember.”

      Did he know she was lying? Of course she remembered. The incident in eighth grade was one of those memories that stays with you forever. It’s bad enough to think everybody is laughing at you. In Holly’s case, she had known they were. Thanks to Mac and his timely, loud and accurate insult.

      Mac kept her gaze as if trying to read her. Balancing the coffee cup on his knee, he took a deep breath. “We moved here two weeks before school started, two weeks before I entered the tenth grade. Chris was one of my first new friends. But then Chris was friends with everybody.” Mac stared into his coffee cup. “The first time he invited me to your place was for a family Christmas party.”

      Holly had a clear picture in her mind of fifteen-year-old Mac coming in the door with Chris. “That was the year Thomas and Sonny got into a fight and knocked over the Christmas tree.”

      “Never a dull moment at your house,” Mac said, grinning. “We moved here because my mom wanted to be near her sister.”

      “Who was your aunt?”

      “I doubt you knew her. She worked for the federal government. Three months after we moved here she got a promotion in Maryland. She left and we were back to not knowing anyone in town.”

      “Until you met Chris.”

      A ghost of a smile lit his face, then quickly disappeared. “I spent a lot of time at your place. Mom started nursing school. She was hardly ever home.”

      “I can’t believe you preferred the chaos at—”

      “There’s no excuse for the way I treated you, the things I did.” Mac shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

      His shoulders were set and he couldn’t meet her eyes. Apparently his apology hadn’t come easy. Although moving to a new school didn’t entirely explain why he’d singled her out for his verbal attacks. Maybe she would never know. But then, he had always been a mystery. “No worries, Mac. You were going through a hard time.”

      He shrugged. “Being with your family helped.”

      “I’m glad.”

      “I remember you riding your bay horse all the time, running barrels in the field. What was his name?” Mac pulled a paperback from the shelf and studied the front cover.

      “Twister.” She had avoided Mac through the end of eighth grade and all through ninth, but in tenth grade, things changed. She shot up five inches, thinned out. Part of the reason she’d begun competing in barrel racing was Mac’s constant presence at Chris’s side. Even then, she’d sometimes see Mac leaning on a fence post, watching. When she caught him watching her, he’d walk away. Riding Twister had built her confidence. The trampoline incident faded. “I haven’t ridden in years.”

      “Too bad. You were so good.” He returned the book to the shelf.

      Holly drummed her