“I have interesting news,” Brooke said.
“More interesting news?” Monica fanned herself. “How will I bear the excitement?”
Brooke grinned, then glanced at Emily. “Remember Leather and Lace?”
“Of course, the naughty lingerie store that was interested in buying my building. I felt like I let them down when I decided to open Sugar and Spice.”
“You didn’t let them down too much. They haven’t given up on making Valentine Valley the home of their third store. They’re looking into purchasing another building, and will be visiting soon. The owner’s written to the preservation-fund committee about a grant to renovate a run-down building on Grace Street, behind Hal’s Hardware.”
“That’s right across the street from Wild Thing,” Monica said with a grin. “It’ll fit right in with the nightclub crowd.”
“Hey, I’ve seen their store in San Francisco,” Emily said. “It’s a classy, upscale place.”
“Nothing naughty?” Brooke asked, feigning disappointment.
Emily smiled. “Well, I didn’t say that.”
Monica turned her suspicious gaze on Brooke. “And since when do you need naughty lingerie? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Brooke had a momentary flash of Adam and how she’d felt when they’d been standing close. “Nothing going on here,” she insisted.
“Girlfriend, join the club,” Monica said. “Maybe the Valentine mojo only works for some people.”
They clinked the last two chicken wings together as Emily smiled and shrugged.
Before the explosion, Adam had dreaded the idea of leaving the Marines for a civilian existence. He thought life would be vanilla without all the constant alertness and threat of danger.
But he’d changed his mind, having had enough of danger and the consequences of one wrong move. But that didn’t mean he wanted vanilla, either. For the first time, he understood what that truly meant. Oh, he got in long runs every day like a good Marine, even through the snow. But he had absolutely nothing else to do. He was starting to go stir-crazy, and the memories of his dead friends were getting too close to the surface. Since his discharge, he’d been able to battle those memories into the furthest corners of his mind through physically demanding work. It had been good to think of nothing but the job, then be so exhausted that he could sometimes keep even the nightmares away.
But he didn’t have that anymore, and he was starting to think of his buddies, of Eric, who used to be afraid of heights but was so proud of the jump wings he’d won at Army Airborne School, of Zach, a young dad who’d collected rocks for his son. And then there was Paul, the cookie thief, a greenie with an attitude and ego that had taken a blistering in boot camp. It had been Adam’s job to show the young man that his training had prepared him for anything the mountains of Afghanistan could dish out. As their sergeant, it had been Adam’s job to keep them all safe, and he’d failed.
And still he pushed the memories away. Two days had passed since the fire, and when the wind was right, he could still smell the residue. When he wasn’t talking to his grandma, he did odd jobs around the boardinghouse—fixing a drip in an upstairs bathroom; hanging a framed photo for Mrs. Thalberg; nailing a spindle back in place on the porch railing that Mrs. Ludlow’s walker had slammed into. The widow sedately assured him she hadn’t been hurt, but the skunk she’d been scaring away ran fast.
So far none of the jobs required a trip to a hardware store, but Grandma had more on her list, and soon he’d be forced to go into town. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Most people would remember him and would ask all about his service with the Marines, his part in the war. To acquaintances, he was good at deflecting, but with people who believed they knew him and deserved every answer? He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
Grandma Palmer had made it easy. He’d said he didn’t want to talk about Afghanistan, and she’d never asked again. She was giving him time, he knew, assuming he’d eventually open up. She didn’t know what had happened, and it was best that way. No point in anyone else suffering. He deserved to take it all on himself. His grandma didn’t need to know about such sorrow. Together, they used to make annual trips to the cemetery to honor their deceased relatives, especially her husband, his grandpa. She’d told him stories that even she chuckled over, but as a boy who was used to gauging his parents’ moods, he’d seen the old sadness in her eyes. He was kind of surprised she hadn’t suggested the cemetery yet, considering his own parents were there now. Not that he cared to visit them.