A Baxter's Redemption. Patricia Johns
Friends from her youth weren’t going to see her any differently now than they’d seen her then. But then again, she hadn’t exactly done anything to change their view, either.
“Starting my own business,” Isabel repeated. “A chocolate shop.”
“And having someone else run it, of course...”
“No, running it myself.” Isabel chuckled. “Is it so shocking?”
“That’s just wrong.” Carmella leaned back and shook her head. “I mean, if you really like running a business, do it. But don’t let it take over your life. That’s what men do, and they drop dead from the stress. Look at it this way—” Carmella put her glass down onto the tablecloth and leaned forward again. “You could work your fingers to the bone, or you could marry a nice but boring guy like Greg Cranken, and live a comfortable life. I mean, starting a business might be fun at first, but before you know it, it turns into actual work. Do you remember those scarves? Actual work. Trust me. I tried making purses and selling them online. I don’t like to speak of it. You’d think I’d have learned from your scarf debacle.” She shuddered. “I made, like, three purses before I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“I’m not husband hunting,” Isabel replied with a shrug.
Britney cleared her throat. “She knows what she wants to do, Carmella. Let her be.”
“Thanks, Britney.” It wasn’t often that they were on the same side.
“Fine, fine.” Carmella heaved a sigh.
“So how are you and Brad?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.
“We’re good. He’s in New York for a couple of weeks on business, and when he gets back, I’m going to London for a bit of shopping. You should totally come.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be busy,” Isabel replied.
“With the business. See?” Carmella shot her an annoyed glance. “Your sudden interest in making money instead of spending it is already getting in the way of a perfectly good shopping trip.”
Isabel laughed. “I love how you just say what you’re thinking.”
“Someone has to,” Carmella muttered.
Carlo came by their table once more, a pad of paper in hand and a smile on his lips. “What can I get you ladies today?”
Carmella sucked in a deep breath and half closed her eyes in thought. “I’ll take a green salad with goat cheese and olives, quiche and a side of quinoa.”
“And for you?” He turned to Isabel. His smile flickered, his adoring attention slightly more difficult to maintain when it came to her. This was the way it would be from now on. While she’d been used to the fawning attention of every man within a mile’s radius, she was now no more than a plain woman with pretty friends.
“Actually, I’ve got to get going, girls,” she said, hoping she sounded more apologetic than she felt. “I have another appointment.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t meeting James for another two hours, but she felt stifled, and she desperately needed to get out into the fresh air. Britney pulled out a mirror and checked her eyeliner, batting her lashes as she inspected herself yet again.
“What appointment?” Carmella demanded. “Don’t tell me this has to do with business, because I’ll scream.”
Isabel laughed. “You’ll survive. I’ll call you, okay?”
“You’d better.”
“I will,” Isabel insisted. “And I’ll see you later, I’m sure, Britney.”
Britney fluttered her fingers in farewell, snapping her compact mirror shut. Isabel slid from her spot and dodged around the waiter. She beelined out of the bistro and into the welcoming air. Then she directed her steps toward her SUV across the street.
She wasn’t the same woman she used to be—her beauty queen crown had been hung up for good. Beneath her irritation with her scarred appearance and her annoyance that she was no longer the prettiest one at the table was a certainty that she wanted more than the life she’d taken for granted.
Much more.
She wanted the people who knew her to look at her with respect. Not jealousy. Not attraction. Not even admiration. She wanted someone to respect her for her mind.
* * *
JAMES GLANCED AT his watch, then took a sip of coffee. Ruby’s Diner was a low-key place, located just outside town along the highway. It was an old-fashioned diner with a striped awning over the front door and red, plastic-covered stools along the counter. It catered to travelers and truckers, but the Haggerston locals also took advantage of the down-home cooking. Ruby had died several years ago from a stroke, but her niece took the place over and kept the name. Ruby was still part of this place, in name and in spirit.
This wasn’t a Baxter sort of establishment, and maybe that was why Isabel had chosen it.
It was two o’clock, and Isabel was due anytime now. He sat at a table near the back, assuming that Isabel might appreciate some privacy when it came to her business concerns. He’d been surprised that she texted him to begin with. He had a feeling that she didn’t trust him—whether that stemmed from her relationship with her father, or some “first” impression, he had no idea.
After a milk shake at the local ice-cream shop—heavy on the cream—he’d taken Jenny back home and dropped her off. She seemed to be in relatively good spirits, but he always worried. Life wasn’t easy for Jenny. People didn’t always understand Down syndrome, and they oftentimes expected things from Jenny that she couldn’t deliver. She lived in a world that didn’t “get” her, and she was always trying to prove that she wasn’t any different. Except that she was.
The front door opened and James turned to see Isabel step inside. She wore a white, breezy summer dress that scooped down in the front—not enough to sacrifice modesty—and flowed over her figure in the most flattering way. A broad, pink belt cinched her narrow waist, and she pressed a matching pink purse between her side and her elbow. She glanced around the diner, and a few truckers looked up from their meals admiringly. She still had it—the ability to draw all the attention when she walked into a room. She just didn’t seem to realize it.
James stood and she smiled and headed in his direction. James sat when she did, and he gestured for the waitress.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing.” She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Sure. Thanks.”
The waitress came by and poured another cup for Isabel.
“Anything else?” the waitress drawled. “We have some specials today—”
“No, thank you.” Isabel smiled up at the waitress easily. “Coffee is fine for me.”
The waitress retreated, leaving the two of them in relative privacy, and Isabel heaved a sigh. “Thanks for meeting up with me. I have a lease for you to look over.”
“Oh?” James accepted the papers that she slid across the table, his trained eye moving down the page, identifying the typical clauses and subclauses of a commercial lease. He raised his eyebrows in interest and looked at her from over the pages.
“You’re leasing the old bakery?”
“Yes.”
He turned back to the lease and perused the last of it. It looked like she’d negotiated a surprisingly low price for the place, too.
“This looks pretty straightforward,” James said. “It’s a month-to-month lease—open-ended so that you can get out if your business fails or you want to take down your shingle, for whatever reason.”
“No