His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart

to figure out what we were missing. We were never really happy. We were never truly unhappy. Lukewarm.”

      Karen stood and paced to the window. She could see Jay in his mother’s backyard, pushing the mower. Tall and dependable, he was a handsome man with golden hair and sun-bronzed skin. The faint growl of the engine rumbled through the glass, and looking at the man whose ring she’d worn made sadness weigh on her heart. “Granddad wasn’t your true love.”

      “I made a life with him and it worked out fine. I was blessed. I won’t say otherwise.” Gramma paused, letting the silence fall between them. “But a woman yearns to be something more than ‘reliable’ or ‘comfortable’ to the man she loves.”

      Karen turned from the window, relief filling her. “That’s the real reason why I broke the engagement. It wasn’t only about the coffee shop. He doesn’t really love me, so how will he feel about me in ten years?”

      “Love can grow and deepen with time.” Gramma slipped an arm around Karen’s shoulder. “But there are never any guarantees. Are you having regrets?”

      “I know I hurt him. He’s a fine man, but he’s not the right one. I’ve prayed and prayed over it. Mom thinks I’m being foolish. But you don’t.”

      “No, I don’t. Did the Lord answer your prayers?”

      “No. No confirmation either way.”

      “You’re a good girl. God will answer you. Be patient.”

      “See, that’s my problem. I’m not good. I’m just average.”

      “Average? My granddaughter? Nonsense.” Gramma marched Karen to the table and gestured for her to sit. “You are a bright, beautiful young woman and as good as can be. I ought to know, since I’m your grandmother. A woman my age is wise about these things.”

      “You’re biased.”

      “I guess love will do that.” Gramma ran her fingers through Karen’s brown hair. “Do you know what I think?”

      “I’m afraid to guess.”

      “You might look good as a blonde. Ever think of that?”

      “What do you mean? Color my hair? What does that have to do with this conversation?”

      “You’d be surprised.” Gramma looked up into the mirror on the wall behind the kitchen table. “I’ve been thinking about getting rid of this gray hair. Maybe that’s my problem. If I dyed my hair red and bought a sports car, I wouldn’t be the same old reliable Helen.”

      “You wouldn’t be the grandmother I know and love.”

      “I’m not getting any younger, so why wait? And at my age, what am I waiting for? I want something different than spending most of my days in this lonely house. I want to know passion in my life. That’s what I want.”

      Karen twisted around in her chair, surprised at the unhappiness etched on her grandmother’s face.

      “You and I have the same problem, Karen. We’ve been good girls all our lives and in my case, it’s been a few decades too long.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I’ve been living a lukewarm life for sixty years now, and that’s not how I want to be remembered. I don’t want people to say, ‘Helen was nice,’ at my funeral. I want them to say, ‘Remember the fun we had the day Helen drove us through town in her new convertible.’”

      Karen’s hand trembled, and she didn’t know what to say. Today at the cemetery, she’d felt the same—that time on this earth was too short to spend with regrets.

      Sympathy for her grandmother filled her. “If you want, I’ll go with you to the beauty shop. We’ll get your hair done so you’ll look beautiful.”

      “Thank you, dear. I knew you’d understand.” Gramma held her close, and Karen hugged her long and hard, grateful for this grandmother she loved so much.

      Chapter Three

      Karen was placing fresh flowers on the tables in the quiet hours before the lunch rush started when an engine’s rumble on the street outside her shop caught her attention. A gleaming black motorcycle pulled into an empty parking spot out front, ridden by a man wearing a white T-shirt and jeans.

      “There’s trouble,” matronly Cecilia Thornton, Jay’s mom, commented over her iced latte.

      “With a capital T,” Marj Whitly agreed.

      With the way Zach’s muscled shoulders and wide chest stretched out that T-shirt, there was no word other than ‘trouble’ to describe him. Karen watched him swing one leg easily over the bike’s seat and unbuckle his helmet. Shocks of thick brown hair tumbled across his brow.

      Zach might look larger than life, but she knew at heart that he was a good man.

      He strolled down the walk in front of the row of windows and winked when he caught sight of her. Eager for the sight of a friendly face, Karen quickly set the last little vase in the center of the last table.

      The bell above the front door chimed. Zach strode through the door. Her pulse skipped and she didn’t know why.

      “Working hard on a Saturday, as usual. Don’t you know you’re missing a fantastic morning out there?” Zach raked one hand through his tousled locks, rumpling them even more. He lowered his voice. “I’d offer you an escape on my bike, but I don’t think Jay’s mom will approve.”

      “You noticed her glaring at you?” Karen circled around the counter.

      “Always.” His eyes sparkled, holding no ill will toward the woman who frowned at him from the far corner of the dining room.

      “Is it too early for lunch?”

      “Not in my shop.”

      “Then I’ll have a bologna and cheese with mayo and mustard, on white.” Zach nodded in Cecilia’s direction. “Good morning, ladies.”

      The two women’s eyes widened in surprise. Cecilia managed a polite response, even though it was clear she didn’t approve of the likes of Zachary Drake.

      See? With that kind of attitude in Jay’s family, it was a good thing she’d broken her engagement.

      Zach leaned over the counter, a mischievous grin curving across his mouth. “I don’t think they approve of my mode of transportation.”

      “It’s not the bike, Zach.”

      “Are you saying those woman don’t approve of me?”

      “You’re crushed, I see.”

      “Devastated. Is Cecilia’s death-ray glare of disapproval getting to you?”

      Biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing, Karen donned clear plastic gloves. “Cecilia’s death-ray stares aren’t hurting me any. I missed you this morning. You didn’t come in for coffee. Are you two-timing me over at the diner?”

      “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a devoted man. Not even the diner’s full breakfast menu can tempt me away from your charming shop.”

      “A loyal customer. Just what I like to hear.”

      “I have to confess I made my own java and took a thermos of it fishing with me this morning.”

      “I didn’t know bachelors could make coffee.”

      “You see, there’s this little scoop that comes in the can. It’s easy to measure.”

      “A can? You didn’t even grind your own beans?” Karen unwrapped a loaf of fresh bread. “I’m disappointed in you.”

      “I know, but I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I’ll bring my thermos over and let you fill it for me.”

      How