Need You for Mine(40)

“Friends,” Lexi said, her face taking on an expression that was impossible to translate. With a smile, she filled the last three spots with firecracker fudge. “Then I guess Adam’s the one trying new things. Interesting. And telling.”

Before Harper could ask what was so interesting about Adam making friends with the town’s friendliest person, a bony finger jabbed her in the shoulder blade.

“Excuse me, dear.”

She turned around to find Peggy Lovett, owner of the Paws and Claws Day Spa, clutching her phone. She wore jeweled high-tops, a yellow pantsuit, an orange cardigan, and enough dog hair to cause acute asthma.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Peggy asked and thrust her cell, which was set to record, in Harper’s face.

“Okay, uh . . .” Harper leaned into the phone and gave a self-conscious “Hello?”

The older woman’s brow furrowed with disappointment. “Not with a question mark, but how you would normally greet a customer. So I can practice my greeting and get the inflection down.”

“Inflection?” Harper asked as Peggy moved closer, and that was when Harper noticed the grapefruit-shaped buttons on the sweater. “I have a cardigan just like that.”

And wasn’t that lovely. She and her grandma’s best friend had the same taste in clothing.

“Oh this,” Peggy said sheepishly. “I actually borrowed it from your closet.”

“She saw it at yesterday’s Panty Raid, and I told her you wouldn’t mind,” Clovis said, walking over in a black-and-royal-purple corset and matching broom skirt. A Panty Raid was the equivalent of a Tupperware party for Clovis, only instead of selling plastic storage with matching lids like other grandmothers did, Clovis threw pleasure parties for the town’s geriatric sector. “She’s trying to impress that new fella Roland down at the senior center. The one who, if he weren’t a retired dentist, I’d think had teeth that are too white to be real.”

Jabba plopped at Clovis’s feet, his sides heaving as if he’d just run the Boston Marathon, not waddled five storefronts down.

“Roland came into the shop asking about our Better Breath Biscuits for his Maltese, canine,” Peggy explained, “and we started talking about the importance of doggie dental care. When he left, he said he hoped to see me at Singles Night next week, and I figured if I walked in wearing your sweater, it was like saying I’m bringing sexy back,” Peggy said, then gave a little shimmy that sent her grapefruits swaying.

“It looks lovely on you, Peggy,” Harper said, and the older woman blushed. To her grandmother, she said, “And explain how your Panty Raid ended up in my closet?”

“We didn’t go in your closet,” Clovis said, sounding appalled. “Shame on you making it sound like I’d violate your privacy that way. We had it in your bedroom.”

Harper choked. “My bedroom?”

“Worked like a charm,” Clovis said. “It was my biggest moneymaker of the year so far. I even managed to get those starched blouses in the active living community off Vine Street to agree to start looking locally to satisfy their needs. Plus it skews our average customer age lower.”

Harper didn’t bother to mention that the development off Vine was a fifty-five-and-older community and still skewed their average way too high. “My bedroom is a mess.”

She couldn’t remember just how bad it had been since she’d fallen into bed after 2:00 a.m. and gotten up before the sun, but if memory served, her entire apartment was a mess. Between testing out Mother’s Day craft ideas and trying to singlehandedly save her grandma’s shop, Harper’s apartment looked as if a lingerie and glitter piñata had exploded.

“We tidied up a bit, because what better place to sell sin than in the private sleeping chambers of our very own Hometown Temptress?” Clovis paused as if she’d had an epiphany. “I coined a phrase.”

Peggy clapped delightedly, and before Harper knew what was happening the two fist-bumped like homies, even adding little explosions at the end.

Harper rubbed the headache growing between her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you know that orange is the new black?” Peggy said, running her hands over the sweater, her voice all atwitter. “And you are the new sexy?”

“In what world?” Harper asked, because the last male she’d made direct eye contact with had freckles and a milk mustache.

“The one where you landed yourself Mr. July,” Peggy said in awe, and Harper realized she had somehow landed herself a fangirl.

“Mr. July?” Oh God, this was the last thing she needed today. She was supposed to be clearing up the rumors, not encouraging them.