Small-Town Hearts. Ruth Logan Herne

today off, so…”

      Hannah flashed a smile of understanding and welcome Ben’s way. “So you get to hang out here today, huh, big guy?”

      Ben beamed. “With Meggie.”

      “And me.” Hannah sent Megan a look that said more than words, and headed south. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

      “Thanks, Hannah.”

      Megan watched her retreating back as Hannah wound her way beneath the trees, heading for home. For a fleeting moment she wondered what it would be like to have Hannah’s athleticism and freedom, the chance to just go off and do whatever you wanted a good share of the time.

      But she refused to dwell on their differences. Hadn’t Reverend Hannity just offered a delightful homily equating God’s timing with gardens, using metaphors like “the flowers of tomorrow are held in the seeds of yesterday” and “take the time to cultivate the garden within”?

      Meg swallowed a sigh.

      Right now her internal and external gardens were weed-riddled, and while she appreciated the good reverend’s warmth and wit, she’d give anything to feel like she was in charge of her life, at least part of the time. But between work constraints, helping with Ben and dealing with the aftermath of her public humiliation, she pretty much felt like a puppet on a string.

      “Thanks for bringing me to work with you, Meggie.”

      Ben’s sincerity offered the kick she needed. She had much to be grateful for, starting with a business she’d built and loved, a sweet apartment upstairs that allowed independence and proximity to her store, a beautiful hometown just beginning to plow its way out of an economic backslide, and family and friends that loved her.

      She refused to acknowledge what so many knew, that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by boyfriends twice in the past several years. She climbed the wide, wooden front steps of the candy store and grinned at Ben. “Glad to have you on board.”

      His smile tipped her world back on its axis, the sweet, impish grin a quality that couldn’t be bottled. Ben might have the inquisitive nature of an errant child, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and there were plenty of people who could take a lesson from that.

      “Hannah, that looks great.” Meg indicated the neon-colored lollipops and nodded approval, the eye-catching array complementing the season. “Picture-perfect. Total attention grabber.”

      “Nothing to compare with what approacheth from yonder stone parking lot. Take heed!” Hannah pseudowhispered as she crossed into the production kitchen, her eyes teasing. “A man of certain breeding and gentility comes hither. Might we ready some tea for him, perchance?”

      Megan shot her a withering look, glanced through the front window and decided the hop, skip and jump in her chest was a leftover sugar high from not sticking to diet soda. She dusted her hands on her apron, tucked the look of surprise away, headed for the counter and faced the door as their early visitor reappeared. He met her gaze and grinned.

      Knowing how his easy demeanor had affected her defenses earlier, she should have sent Hannah to the counter. But she didn’t, which meant she was either healing or a glutton for punishment.

      Hannah moved forward, glancing at her watch. “Miss Russo, might I by your leave long enough to deliver today’s cookies to the mercantile and café just shy of the village green?”

      Megan rolled her eyes, met Hannah’s gaze and nodded at the obvious ploy. “As always, I am grateful for your help, Miss Moore.”

      “As am I for the gainful employment, Miss Russo.”

      The man swept them an appreciative look. “Obviously whatever’s in the water down here is contagious. If I stay for a few weeks, will I begin to talk like that, too?”

      Megan regarded him with care, a hint of amusement lifting her voice, much as it had an hour earlier. “If one were to linger and reside amongst the genteel of yesteryear, one would surely find their faith, warmth and culture most contagious, kind sir. Do you plan to take lodgings in this vicinity?”

      “If that’s your cagey way of asking if I plan to be in town awhile, the answer is yes. I have business here.”

      Hannah pushed through the front door with a wave. “I shall leave you to your verbal sparring while I deliver these forthwith.”

      Megan watched Hannah go with mixed feelings. Volleying words with this guy was easy with others around. Somehow it felt less natural on her own. She busied herself righting a rack of flavored candy sticks that didn’t need straightening, their old-world appeal and low cost an invitation to purchase in bulk.

      The man reached into his pocket and withdrew cold, hard cash, a welcome sight in a retail establishment. He eyed the credit card machine on the counter with a look of disbelief, then turned to her. “You said you couldn’t take credit cards.”

      “And such as this is true, kind sir, two blocks from my place of business, in the middle of the street at break of day.”

      He frowned and moved closer to the counter, giving Megan a clear view of those gray eyes, light in the middle, their color deepening as the iris widened. His straight, dark hair stopped a hint longer than military length, and the square set of his jaw marked him as a man of decision. But in Megan’s recent experience, men of decision quickly pivoted into indecision where matters of forever were concerned, so she wasn’t about to believe anyone’s chin, no matter how delightfully rugged it appeared.

      He angled his head while waiting for her to conclude her perusal, as if accustomed to women sizing him up.

      Totally understandable, considering his appearance.

      She bit down a sigh, put a serene face in place and inclined her head. “But as you bear witness, kind sir, I have a machine of that nature here.”

      “Oh, I see all right.” He let his gaze rest upon her for long seconds, his look inviting challenge. “I think I’m reading you loud and clear, Miss…?”

      “Megan.” She gave a slight curtsy, very much in character. “Megan Russo, in actuality, the proprietor of this establishment and sister to Benjamin, the fine young man who made your acquaintance this morning.”

      His smile deepened. Broadened. He held out a hand. “And I’m Daniel Graham, but my friends call me Danny.”

      “Whereas I am scarce an acquaintance of yours, I shall be delighted to call you Mr. Graham.” She sent him a quick, smiling look over her shoulder as she moved along the counter, hoping he’d follow.

      He did.

      She bit back a grin, wishing this weren’t fun, wishing he weren’t absolutely adorable, wishing she hadn’t been burned twice already and fairly certain that public humiliation was her permanent Facebook status, since that seemed to be how her life rolled these days. Focus, Meg. Ignore the cleft in his chin, the crinkled eyes and that light of awareness. Remember, you don’t know him, and probably wouldn’t like him if you did.

      She paused once she had the counter between them and offered him an expectant look. “How might I be of help to you this day, good man?”

      It had to be wrong to think anyone was this cute, this over-the-top, heart-stoppingly magnetic. Right?

      Danny tried to prevent his reaction, to no avail. She captivated him, plain and simple. The look, the quirky nature, the spunk, the knowing smile. He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this in, well…

      Ever.

      He’d had a variety of relationships over the years, and knew way too many Saks Fifth Avenue-friendly types from his years in Philly and New York, coupled with his regular excursions to Grandma Mary’s sprawling Northeast venues.

      Nothing prepared him for the total impact of this quaintly clad young woman whose eyes held challenge and maybe, just maybe, a hint of cynicism, enough to make him wonder why and how it got there in a locale