Imagine That (12 page)

Emily liked causes. They gave her something to fight for. A purpose. A needed distraction from the almost obsessive focus on her newfound character flaws. So, when she was asked to join a committee to help raise funds for a new roof for the library, Emily jumped at the offer.

The other members of the committee included Miss Elsie, Seth Graham, which made Emily wonder if the minister was required to be on every committee in town, Lauren Nelson from the bookstore, Catherine Manning, the mayor's wife, who surveyed the room and its occupants as if she were wondering how they'd come to be breathing the same air as her. Addison's fiancé Ethan Thomas, and two English teachers from the high school — Marjorie Shannon, a fortyish woman with red-gold hair and freckles, and Andrew Laughton who taught British Lit — rounded out the group.

Andrew Laughton even possessed a British accent, along with an abundance of charm, which Emily discovered when he raised her hand to his lips as they were introduced. He placed a brief kiss on her knuckle, and a lock of ink black hair fell over his forehead, while penetrating blue eyes regarded her with frank masculine appreciation.

Good grief, Lord Byron had come back to life. Emily studied the odd assortment of people who made up the committee and began to assign each a role. In addition to Byron, they had a Miss Marple (Miss Elsie), a Prince Valiant (Seth), the White Witch (Mrs. Manning), Gatsby (Ethan Thomas), a grownup Laura Ingalls (Marjorie Shannon), and Lizzie Bennett (Lauren Nelson).

Miss Elsie tried to lead the meeting, but Catherine Manning took over the proceedings before the older woman finished her
hello and thank you for coming
introduction. Since no one wanted to get into a tussle with the mayor's wife, they let her.

“A charity auction is the best way to raise enough funds,” she said, her gimlet eye sweeping around the table like a hawk searching for a hapless mouse in a field. Clearly, anyone who objected would do so at his or her own peril.

“The bachelor auction at the spring carnival was quite the affair,” Andrew Laughton said, ignoring the real threat that he could be dive bombed and carried off in Mrs. Manning's sharp talons at any second.

The mayor's wife rounded on him with a ferocious scowl. “We will not be selling men at
my
auction. We do not make a habit of trafficking human beings in Covington Falls.”

“I found Addison through that auction,” Ethan Thomas said. “I have fond memories of it.”

Sparks shot from her dark eyes. “
No people
. We will sell high-quality items. Antiques, vacations, services such as house maintenance, gourmet meals, that sort of thing.”

Boy, Mrs. Manning sure did work herself up into a passion. Emily thought she saw spittle fly from the woman's mouth. She glanced at the man who'd started the fireworks. Andrew winked and put a finger to his lips in a
shhh
gesture.

Startled, Emily burst out laughing.

Her merriment evaporated when she found herself in the cross hairs.

“Did you have something to add, Miss Sinclair?” Mrs. Manning asked, one pencil-drawn quirked eyebrow letting Emily know she too was seconds away from being disemboweled.

Emily gulped. Good grief. If the woman raced into battle with that expression, even hardened warriors would fall back into full retreat.

“No, I think an auction would be nice,” Emily said. “In fact, I'll put up the first item. The first printed copy of
Kingdom of Dreams
. Signed of course.”

“Is it worth a lot?”

Worth a lot?
Emily fought the urge to reach across the table and snatch the hair from Mrs. Manning's head. Arrogant cow.

“Miss Sinclair's offer is more than generous,” Pastor Seth said in an even tone meant to restore order.

Even the mayor's wife took the hint. She nodded and flashed a
vote-for-me
half smile. “We're grateful to be sure.”

Okay, the mystery of why Prince Valiant had been named to the committee became clear. Holy men had powers to quiet even the foulest of beasts.

“A signed, original E.J. Sinclair will bring an excellent price, I'm sure,” Marjorie Shannon piped up.

Especially if E.J. never found her inspiration again, Emily mused.

“The tome will be a collector's item for certain,” Andrew added. “Particularly when the people of our fair town have made her acquaintance and have come to realize how utterly charming she is in real life.”

Every head swiveled around. Emily should have gotten used to being embarrassed by now, but still she fought the rising tide of heat in her cheeks without success. When the committee returned to duty, she shot Byron a peeved glance. The cheeky pot-stirrer grinned at her.

“Getting back to the duty at hand,” Catherine Manning said. “We will have to set a date and begin collecting auction items. Someone will need to be in charge.”

Andrew braved censure again and raised his hand like any proper schoolboy.

“Yes, Mr. Laughton?” Mrs. Manning asked, ice returning to her voice.

His smile widened. “I nominate your more-than-capable self to head such a monumental challenge.”

“Second,” Ethan Thomas said without missing a beat.

Mrs. Manning hesitated. “Oh… I am flattered, of course, but my duties as mayor's wife preclude me from—”

Then Miss Elsie, in a rare moment of gumption, cut in. “All in favor of Catherine Manning heading up the auction say
aye
.”

“Aye!” the room chorused as one.

Miss Elsie beamed. “Bless you, Catherine. Talk about generosity. We will, of course, assist you any way we can. Now, shall we discuss possible dates?”

Check. And mate.

Emily covered her mouth to hide a grin. Catherine Manning hadn't bargained on having to work at anything, which was why Andrew had cornered her into the job, of course. Their eyes met again, and she tipped an imaginary hat in his direction. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. As the meeting continued and dates flew around the room, Emily settled back to watch. At one point, something hit her in the arm. Startled, she looked down to find a folded piece of paper on the table. She picked it up.

Join me for coffee after we
'
ve solved the pressing problem of the library roof?
—
A

Emily's pulse sped up. Who wouldn't be flattered at such an invitation? She caught Andrew's eye and nodded.

Once the meeting concluded, Emily waited around until everyone cleared out. Andrew went to the door and then jerked his head, indicating he'd meet her outside. She found him in the parking lot. He was leaning against her car and grinning like a kid who'd made off with stolen candy.

“
The Old Diner
is a short walk,” he said. “Or would you rather drive?”

Emily took in the clear blue sky. “Walk.”

He fell in step beside her.

“Of course you realize the White Witch had no intention of volunteering anything except her opinion,” Emily said.

He gave her a bemused glance. “White Witch?”

“From
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe
. Mrs. Manning reminded me of her.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “How appropriate, and yes, I knew exactly her intention. Women like Mrs. Manning always want to rule the peasants and make them do the actual work while they take all the credit.”

“It was a neat trick.”

“Tell me, E.J. Sinclair, did you come up with nicknames for all our committee brethren?”

Emily coughed.

“Ah, you did,” he said. “Even me?”

She nodded.

“I'm curious,” he said.

“Byron, of course, as though you've never heard the comparison before.”

His eyes twinkled. “Oh, surely. What about the rest? Our lovebirds, Pastor Graham and the principal, Ethan Thomas?”

“Prince Valiant and Gatsby.”

He nodded. “Hmm, yes, I see it. The ladies? Don't tell which name applies to each. Let me guess.”

Emily played along. “Miss Marple, Laura Ingalls, and Lizzie Bennett.”

He stopped for a moment. He didn't even bother to guess. “Amazing. What shall we call you then, Miss Sinclair? You must have an alter ego.”

“I already have one,” she said. “She writes books about fairies.”

“So you do.”

At the diner, Andrew held the door open and ushered her inside with a gallant bow and wave. She ordered coffee and blueberry pie. He reverted to his heritage and ordered tea, but acceded to her choice of pie.

He honored their waitress with a smile when she returned with their order. The kind of smile a rogue of old must have used as he climbed through a bedroom window to visit his lady love. The waitress responded as any innocent damsel would. With pink cheeks and stammering tongue. Judging from the woman's response, she would not have been averse to a secret tryst.

Emily watched his performance with amusement and a touch of awe. “I think you enjoy reveling in your reputation as a modern day Lord Byron,” she said as soon as the waitress drifted away.

“I enjoy making a lady feel beautiful,” he responded, as he stirred cream in his tea. He glanced up through thick, dark lashes. “I enjoy watching a woman laugh. Seeing a spark appear in her tired eyes. Besides, I find a little extra attention can make a woman's day. Our poor waitress might have faced complaining customers or been slighted in her tips. Now, she has something more pleasant to think on.”

She studied him as she doctored her coffee. “So, charming women is some sort of community service? How altruistic of you.”

His teeth gleamed as he grinned and doffed an imaginary cap. “Cheeky as well as beautiful. A fascinating combination.”

“Now, you see, I don't know if I should be flattered, or put out I'm only receiving a compliment because you think my day needs brightening.” She forked blueberry pie into her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! This is amazing.”

“
The Old Diner
is known for its heavenly pies.”

She scooped up another bite. “Mmm! How has this secret not been let loose on the world?”

“Like any proper lady, we like to maintain a little mystery.”

The cryptic comment pulled her attention away from a blueberry haze of deliciousness. “While we're on the subject of mysteries. You strike me as a huge puzzle.”

“Me?” He lifted his cup, pinky raised just so, and regarded her with wide eyes. “I am but a humble English teacher doing my best to impart the glories of the written word to students, who, for the most part, do not care about stuffy tomes written centuries ago.”

“Exactly,” Emily said, aiming her fork at him. “So, why are you here hiding out in this little hamlet?”

“Why are
you
here?” he asked, turning the tables on her inquiry.

“No fair. I asked first—” She broke off as something caught her eye. Or
someone
.

Nate stood at the counter. Her laughter died. She needed oxygen to laugh, and, as usual, he'd sucked all the air out of the room.

Andrew noticed her attention had veered away and glanced over his shoulder. “Someone interesting over there?”

“Nate Cooper.”

“Ah, I believe he painted my neighbor's house. You know him obviously.”

Emily pulled her gaze away and focused on demolishing her pie. “Long story.”

Andrew could ask a million questions with a mere arch of a brow. “The best tales always are. Shall we invite him to join us?”

“No!”

“You're sure?”

Emily tried not to squirm. “Yes… except… I should speak to him. About the auction, you know. Maybe he could donate his services.”

Andrew studied her for another moment before nodding. “By all means, go ask him.”

****

Nate recognized Emily's laughter even before he saw her. Like a homing beacon, he turned his head. She sat in a booth, and not alone. She was laughing. Flirting. With Andrew Laughton, a teacher at the high school. Nate didn't really know him. Wasn't sure he could be friends with a guy dressed in a tweed jacket. Who wore tweed anymore, other than self-important college professors and characters from those British specials on the public television channel?

Emily glanced up. Their eyes met, and his brain stopped functioning. Man, talk about unnerving. She said something to Dr. Tweed and then slid out of the booth. Nate didn't miss Andrew's subtle glance at Emily's backside as she walked away.

Eyes front, Don Juan.

“Hi,” Emily said when she reached him.

“Hey.” Great. He'd been reduced to one-syllable words. Real profound.

“How's your mother?” she asked, then bit her lip, no doubt remembering his mother's words about how he liked having someone in his life who didn't ask about her health right off.

“Bad day,” he said. “She had chemo this morning, and I came for some hot tea. It seems to settle her stomach a bit.”

“I hope it helps.”

“Not much else I can do.”

The helplessness made another assault on his already hair-trigger temper. Nate tried to shove the monster down, but then his gaze snagged on Dr. Tweed across the way. The guy had the nerve to grin and give a salute. Nate scowled in return.

“I'm on a committee to raise funds for a new roof for the library,” she said.

His swiveled around toward her again. “You're joining committees now?”

“It's something to do, and it is the library after all.”

“Yeah, makes sense.” All right, he had to know. “How did you meet Andrew Laughton?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder. The jerk wiggled his fingers again. She clucked her tongue and swished a hand at him.

“He's on the committee with me,” she said. “He teaches British Lit at the high school.”

“Oh right.” No wonder he wore tweed and sniggered like an idiot. He probably understood all her wild ramblings, though. “I bet you have a lot in common.”

“I suppose. Look, I came over to ask you something.”

Right. Dragged herself away from Sir Andrew's company so she could beg a favor. Maybe she had a clogged drain. Ten-to-one, her new friend wouldn't know how to fix it. “Uh-huh.”

“We're doing an auction for the library. People will be donating all kinds of things, including services like photography and meals, even house care. I thought maybe you'd like to donate your time. It doesn't have to be a whole house. Maybe a room?”

Yep. Not quite plumbing, but close. To save the library of all places. Might as well torture him. Memories of staring at pages of books with no idea what anything meant brought on a cold sweat.

He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“How can you say no?”

“Haven't got the time right now.”

Nate realized
he
was being a jerk. She didn't know what books represented for him. What the sight of her with Dr. Tweed did to his peace of mind, either. He shouldn't care if she chose to go out with someone who was probably a much better match for her, but somehow he did. More than was good for him.

Her eyes about popped out of her head. “It's for the library.”

“Remember, I'm the guy who hates books.”

“So much that you don't care if the roof caves in, ruining everything inside? They don't have only books in there. Did you know all the old Covington Falls newspapers are bound up in leather volumes? From decades ago? They might even go back to the town's founding.”

“Not much of a fan of newspapers, either. I don't know too many big words, what with me being a dumb painter who still lives with his mother.”

The barb hit home and she stammered. “I apologized for misjudging you.”

She'd still thought he was a loser. Based on his job. Which emphasized the fact they had no chance. Being from two different worlds wasn't only a phrase, but a reality of life.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “Maybe you should go back to your professor. I have to hurry home. Mom's by herself today.”

She swallowed and stepped back. “All right.”

He watched her walk back to Dr. Tweed. Tried to tell himself turning her away was the right thing. She belonged with someone like the professor. Someone who could quote poetry to her. Someone who understood and even laughed at her literary quips. Who could perhaps even help jump start her imagination.

Nate could never be that someone.

Right?