A Cinderella Story. Maureen Child
be was a man even Sam didn’t know anymore. And that’s just the way he liked it.
“Well, maybe one day you’ll explain to me what’s behind you hiding out up here.” Ken gave him a slap on the back. “Until then, though, I’d be a fool to complain when you’re creating things like this for me to sell—and I’m no fool.”
Sam liked Ken. The man was the closest thing to a friend Sam had had in years. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Ken about the past. About the mess he’d made of his life before finding this house on the mountain. So Sam concentrated instead on securing a tarp over the table and making sure it was tied down against the wind and dampness of the snow and rain. Ken helped him cover that with another tarp, wrapping this one all the way down and under the foot of the pedestal. Double protection since Sam really hated the idea of having the finish on the table ruined before it even made it into the shop. It took both of them to carry the table to the truck and secure it with bungee cords in the bed. Once it was done, Sam stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded to Ken as the man climbed behind the wheel.
“Y’know, I’m going to say this—just like I do every time I come out here—even knowing you’ll say ‘no, thanks.’”
Sam gave him a half smile, because he was ready for what was coming next. How could he not be? As Ken said, he made the suggestion every time he was here.
“Why don’t you come into town some night?” the other man asked, forearm braced on the car door. “We’ll get a couple beers, tell some lies...”
“No, thanks,” Sam said and almost laughed at the knowing smile creasing Ken’s face. If, for the first time, he was almost tempted to take the man up on it, he’d keep that to himself.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ken nodded and gave him a rueful smile. “But if you change your mind...”
“I’ll let you know. Thanks for coming out to pick up the table.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we sell it.”
“I trust you,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I wish that was true,” Ken told him with another long, thoughtful look.
“It is.”
“About the work, sure, I get that,” Ken said. “But I want you to know, you can trust me beyond that, too. Whether you actually do or not.”
Sam had known Ken and Emma for four years, and if he was looking for friendships, he couldn’t do any better and he knew it. But getting close to people—be it Ken or Joy—meant allowing them close enough to know about his past. And the fewer people who knew, the less pity he had to deal with. So he’d be alone.
“Appreciate it.” He slapped the side of the truck and took a step back.
“I’ll see you, then.”
Ken drove off and when the roar of his engine died away, Sam was left in the cold with only the sigh of the wind through the trees for company. Just the way he liked it.
Right?
“Oh, God, look at her with that puppy,” Joy said on a sigh.
Her heart filled and ached as she watched Holly laughing at the black Lab puppy jumping at her legs. How could one little girl mean so much? Joy wondered.
When she’d first found herself pregnant, Joy remembered the rush of pleasure, excitement that she’d felt. It hadn’t mattered to her that she was single and not exactly financially stable. All she’d been able to think was, she would finally have her own family. Her child.
Joy had been living in Boise back then, starting up her virtual assistant business and working with several of the small businesses in town. One of those was Mike’s Bikes, a custom motorcycle shop owned by Mike Davis.
Mike was charming, handsome and had the whole bad-boy thing going for him, and Joy fell hard and fast. Swept off her feet, she gave herself up to her first real love affair and thought it would be forever. It lasted until the day she told Mike she was pregnant, expecting to see the same happiness in him that she was feeling. Mike, though, had no interest in being anyone’s father—or husband, if it came to that. He told her they were through. She was a good time for a while, but the good time was over. He signed a paper relinquishing all future rights to the child he’d created and Joy walked away.
When she was a kid, she’d come to Franklin with a foster family for a long weekend in the woods and she’d never forgotten it. So when she needed a fresh start for her and her baby, Joy had come here, to this tiny mountain town. And here is where she’d made friends, built her family and, at long last, had finally felt as though she belonged.
And of all the things she’d been gifted with since moving here, Deb Casey, her best friend, was at the top of the list.
Deb Casey walked to Joy and looked out the window at the two little girls rolling around on the winter brown grass with a fat black puppy. Their laughter and the puppy’s yips of excitement brought a quick smile. “She’s as crazy about that puppy as my Lizzie.”
“I know.” Joy sighed a little and leaned on her friend’s kitchen counter. “Holly’s telling everyone she’s getting a puppy of her own for Christmas.”
“A white one,” Deb supplied.
Rolling her eyes, Joy shook her head. “I’ve even been into Boise looking for a white puppy, and no one has any. I guess I’m going to have to start preparing her for the fact that Santa can’t always bring you what you want.”
“Oh, I hate that.” Deb turned back to the wide kitchen island and the tray of tiny brownies she was finishing off with swirls of white chocolate icing. “You’ve still got a few weeks till Christmas. You might find one.”
“I’ll keep looking, sure. But,” Joy said, resigned, “she might have to wait.”
“Because kids wait so well,” Deb said with a snort of laughter.
“You’re not helping.”
“Have a brownie. That’s the kind of help you need.”
“Sold.” Joy leaned in and grabbed one of the tiny brownies that was no more than two bites of chocolate heaven.
The brownies, along with miniature lemon meringue pies, tiny chocolate chip cookies and miniscule Napoleons, would be filling the glass cases at Nibbles by this afternoon. The restaurant had been open for only a couple of years, but it had been a hit from the first day. Who wouldn’t love going for lunch where you could try four or five different types of sandwiches—none of them bigger than a bite or two? Gourmet flavors, a fun atmosphere and desserts that could bring a grown woman to tears of joy, Nibbles had it all.
“Oh, God, this should be illegal,” Joy said around a mouthful of amazing brownie.
“Ah, then I couldn’t sell them.” Deb swirled white chocolate on a few more of the brownies. “So, how’s it going up there with the Old Man of the Mountain?”
“He’s not old.”
“No kidding.” Deb grinned. “I saw him sneaking into the gallery last summer, and I couldn’t believe it. It was like catching a glimpse of a unicorn. A gorgeous unicorn, I’ve got to say.”
Joy took another brownie and bit into it. Gorgeous covered it. Of course, there was also intriguing, desirable, fascinating, and as yummy as this brownie. “Yeah, he is.”
“Still.” Deb looked up at Joy. “Could he be more antisocial? I mean, I get why and all, but aren’t you going nuts up there with no one to talk to?”
“I talk to him,” Joy argued.
“Yes, but does he talk back?”
“Not