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“Guess who got a new job today?” Sam singsonged, obviously in a good mood.

“That’s great,” he mumbled around tasty bliss, then finished chewing and swallowed. “Where?”

“Latte Dah. I’m a barista now.” She rolled the
r
with gusto.

“But you don’t even like coffee.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know how to make it, and that’s far more important.”

He put his fork down. “What about the library?”

“I’ll still have that, too, if I want it. But Molly’s offering more hours and better money. That means I’ll have the money to get my own place even sooner.”

Sam didn’t like living with their mother—not that Tate blamed her—but she wouldn’t move in to his extra bedroom, either, however temporarily. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I told you I’d give you the money so you could move out.”

“And that’s very kind of you, but no. I don’t want your money,” she insisted.

Stubborn girl.
“Then why don’t you come work at the clinic instead of picking up part-time jobs all over town?”

Sam snorted. “Besides the fact that I don’t want to work for you?”

He sighed. “Yes, besides that.”

“If I had any training or experience in the veterinary business, or even any interest in learning, I’d consider it. But I don’t want a pity job from my big brother.”

It was times like this when he wished Sam was more like their sister Ellie: sweet, quiet, and much more persuadable—at least when he was doing the persuading. But Sam . . . Sam often made him want to pull his hair out. They were too much alike. “It wouldn’t be a pity job.”

“Then what would it be exactly?”

He thought for a moment, then grinned, since she couldn’t see it. “Nepotism.”

“Because that’s
so
much better.” He could almost
hear her eyes rolling. “Thank you, but no,” she added seriously. “I need to do this myself.”

“Sam . . .”

“Tate . . .” she echoed in the exact same exasperated tone. “I called you because I wanted you to be happy for me.”

“And I am. I just don’t want you killing yourself when you don’t have to.” He wasn’t rich, but he could certainly help his sister through a bad time. If she’d just
let
him do it, for God’s sake.

“Put your cape away, Superman. I don’t need rescuing tonight,” she said, as if she could read his mind. “Look, I know the offer’s there,” she continued in a much kinder tone, “and I promise I’ll take you up on it if it all gets to be too much or goes rocketing into hell. But let me at least
try
to fix my life by myself first, okay? I got myself into this mess—and, well, I have my pride, too.”

It nearly killed him, but he reluctantly agreed. Then he ate more pot roast to keep himself from arguing with her about it as she moved on to other topics. He’d just have to start hanging out at Latte Dah more when she was working and make sure to tip well. He could slip her a little extra so she couldn’t refuse it without making a scene.

He heard his mother in the background, followed immediately by a muttered curse from Sam before she said she’d talk to him later and left him holding a dead phone. Sam’s pride really
was
running the show; otherwise she’d be begging him for a loan to get her out of that house.

Hell, he knew that was why she’d gotten married so young, but since she’d been burned by her poor choices, she was being more careful now. And here he was with the money to help assuage his guilt for leaving her and Ellie there with their parents while he went to school,
and she wouldn’t take it from him. This was his chance to make that up to her, and she wouldn’t let him. It was frustrating.

Ellie, at least, seemed happy enough, up in Mobile, married to a marine biologist she’d met when he’d been down here studying fish or shrimp or something like that. He couldn’t complain about Doug—much—and she had the kids and some volunteer work to keep her busy. She’d warned him that it was best to let Sam find her own way, but at the same time she wasn’t here dealing with their mother or watching Sam barely keep her head above water.

He ate more pot roast, but his irritation at the orneriness of all women in general had sucked all the enjoyment out of it. He swallowed the last few bites and stuck the plate in the dishwasher.

There was nothing he could do about Sam or Iona or anyone else tonight, and in a way it felt good to just accept that. Anyway, after the day he had today, he deserved a lazy, brain-dead evening of doing nothing. He grabbed a couple of Iona’s cookies and took them to the other room with him.

He’d certainly earned them.

Chapter 2

“Y
ou can do it, Molly.”

Molly wanted to throw a cruller at Helena. Instead, she took a bite and chewed slowly, waiting for the urge to waste perfectly good pastries to pass. “Everyone keeps saying that and totally ignoring the fact that I probably can’t.”

“Only because you don’t want to.”

Helena’s reasonableness was really grating Molly’s nerves today. But Helena Wheeler was also her best friend and the only person she could really complain to about this without risk. “Here, then,” she said with a smile, pushing a pile of Mrs. Kennedy’s notes across the table to Helena. “Why don’t you do it?”

Helena used one finger to gingerly push it back as if it might have claws to grab her and pull her in to the event against her will. “I’ve got enough on my plate, thanks. I’m on four different committees already.”

“Who knew
you
were such a joiner?” When Helena rolled her eyes, Molly understood. “I see. That’s what you get for sleeping with the mayor, honey.”

“No,” Helena corrected her. “That’s what your boyfriend’s mother does to you when you can’t tell the woman no because she doesn’t need another reason not
to like you. It has nothing to do with Ryan’s mayoral duties.”

“It’s sweet to see you in fear of your future mother-in-law.” As if dating the mayor wasn’t enough pressure to conform and behave, the Tanner family as a whole was kind of a big deal in Magnolia Beach. Molly remembered all too well the expectations that came with aligning yourself with
the
family in town—and especially formidable mothers-in-law. She patted Helena’s hand as she got up to refill their coffees from the urn behind the counter. The shop was empty except for her, Helena, and Toby Baker over in the corner on his laptop frowning at his Great American Novel as he did every Wednesday.

“I choose to view it more like purgatory.” Helena sounded resigned to the fact. “I’ve got quite a few sins to atone for.”

“And your penance is coordinating bake sales and charity raffles?” She had a few sins of her own to atone for . . . Maybe that was why the Children’s Fair had landed in her lap.

“And the annual Best Dessert Contest and the church rummage sale. It’s the eighth circle of hell, I tell you.”

Molly bit back a giggle. Poor Helena—also known as “Hell-on-Wheels” in certain circles—still had a lot to live down. Their wayward youths were something they’d bonded over when Helena had returned to Magnolia Beach last fall, but Helena was facing down her past with strength and class—and succeeding brilliantly. It was a little annoying, really, when Molly thought about it. “I’m surprised they let you in the door of a church.”

“They’re not too picky when it comes to sacrificial lambs.” Helena accepted the refill with a grateful smile.
“I’m just surprised you weren’t suckered into doing anything long before now.”

“I keep a low profile,” she admitted. “
Especially
around sign-up sheets. But because everyone sees me all the time in here and around town, they just assume someone else has their hooks in me and that I must be doing something somewhere.”

“Lucky,” Helena grumbled.

It was both the blessing and the curse of owning a coffee shop: she knew everyone and everyone knew her, but the relationships were all pretty superficial. At first it had been a relief, giving her a clean slate and a chance to create her own story in a town that didn’t know anything about her. She’d enjoyed the anonymity and the freedom and the simplicity of it all.

By the time it started to feel a little lonely, Helena had arrived and became the first
real
friend she’d made in Magnolia Beach, the first person she’d gotten close to in the last few years. “To be fair, though, I thought you’d have to wrest control of the rummage sale out of Edith Mackenzie’s cold, dead, arthritic hands.”

“The old guard is getting, well,
old
. New blood needed and all that,” Helena concluded grimly. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“While that is both true and reasonable, it doesn’t address the fact that I have the entire freakin’ Children’s Fair to deal with. I called Mrs. Wilson yesterday and you’d have thought she’d never even heard of such a thing being done before.”

Helena snorted. “That’s because Mrs. Wilson wouldn’t touch the Children’s Fair with a ten-foot pole.” Molly felt her jaw drop, causing Helena to laugh. “She and Mrs. Kennedy had a huge argument over it about fifteen years ago,” she explained. “No one seems to know exactly what it was about, but it was a whole big hoopla. Mrs. Wilson still chairs the Memorial Day
committee that oversees all the events, but the Children’s Fair is its own thing.”

Typical. The one piece of gossip that would have been immensely helpful to know was the piece she’d never heard. “How do you know all that?”

“My grannie, of course.” Helena grinned. “Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Kennedy are still friends and still play bridge, but they just don’t bring up the Children’s Fair.”

“Then why did Mrs. K tell me to call her if I needed help?”

“Sheer perversity?”

“Great.” She’d spent hours going over Mrs. Kennedy’s notes the day before, but they were disturbingly incomplete to have been handed off to someone with no experience. Hell, she’d never even set foot in the Children’s Fair area. She didn’t even know exactly what the hell she was organizing. “I’m so screwed.”

Helena sipped her coffee. “You should talk to Tate. I heard his name pop up in connection to the Children’s Fair at one of my committee meetings. I’m sure he could sort it all out.”

Tate was Helena’s best friend, second only to Ryan in the “great and perfect men” pantheon. But Tate was Helena’s champion, not hers, and Molly didn’t necessarily share her friend’s complete and utter confidence in his charity-organizing abilities. “Mrs. K mentioned him, too, but I can’t seem to figure out exactly
how
he’s involved with this,” she hedged. “I see he’s signed some checks, but . . .”

“If he’s got hands in the money, then he knows something about it. Does it really matter how he’s involved, as long as he is and can help?”

“Well . . .”

“Then call him up. You have his number, right?”

“Actually, no, I don’t.” She knew Tate, of course; he was Nigel’s vet and often came in for coffee. And she’d
gotten to know him better recently since hanging out with Helena also often meant hanging out with Tate. But they weren’t
friends
; they were more like friendly acquaintances. Hell, she’d gotten to know Ryan a lot better in the last few months, too, but she wouldn’t feel comfortable calling him up for a favor, either. Beggars really shouldn’t be choosers, but . . . “I don’t know. I’d feel bad for dragging him into my new mess.”

Helena waved that away. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Tate’s really more
your
friend.”

“He’s your friend, too,” Helena insisted.

“But we’re not tight or anything.”

“You don’t have to be for something like this.” Once again, Helena was being very reasonable, but Molly wasn’t sure she was in the mood for reasonable at the moment. She wanted more sympathy first.

But Helena
was
sort of right, now that she thought about it. Since at least half of the money raised from the Children’s Fair supported the county animal rescue—and probably explained Tate’s involvement with the event—it made sense for her to involve him. But it didn’t make her more comfortable with the idea of asking him. Admitting her inadequacies to Helena was one thing. Admitting them to Tate was something else. But the other half of the money went to the women’s shelter—a cause she supported wholeheartedly—so she had really big expectations sitting on her shoulders. And she didn’t want to screw this up.

Helena glanced at her phone and tilted her head in apology. “I gotta run. I’m meeting Ryan for a late lunch.”

She had a small smile on her face, though, which made Molly think they wouldn’t be having that lunch at Ms. Marge’s diner. Helena and Ryan were quite possibly the strangest match in Magnolia Beach—a
reformed hellion and the town mayor sounded more like the premise of a romance novel than an actual working relationship—but they were happy and that made Molly happy. Plus, without Ryan Tanner in the picture, Helena would have gone back to Atlanta last fall, and Molly would have missed her new friend terribly. “That’s fine. Just leave me here.” She sighed. “I wonder if a million paper cuts count as slitting my wrists . . .”

Helena met her eyes. “Seriously. Call Tate.”

She shrugged. “I’ll keep digging through this, see if I can make heads or tails of it first. If I can’t . . .”

“Do you have book club tonight?”

“No.” Her “book club” had first been a cover for her trips to Mobile to see her therapist and then for that self-defense class she took. Why she’d felt the need to hide it, even from Helena, she had no idea. This wasn’t Fuller, and people weren’t keeping tabs on her.

“You haven’t been in a long time.”

“It kind of fizzled out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if you want to start one up here. My brain could use the exercise.”

Helena wanted to join a book club. She really was settling in. Molly laughed. “Talk to me after Memorial Day, okay?”

“So if you’re not busy tonight, why don’t you come to Grannie’s for dinner?” Helena offered. “Grannie knows everything about everything, so between the three of us—and Ryan, too—I’m sure we can figure it all out.”

Sometimes she forgot that this wasn’t Fuller, and she wasn’t on her own anymore. She had a posse—however small. “That would be great. Thanks.”