In the Mood for Love (7 page)

Embracing the future, Harper swigged water then traded her teddy for workout gear. She switched on CNN, switched it off, switched it on. Better to be aware. She skimmed TMZ then pulled up a contact list of her clients. She had a lot of work to do before Sam got here and … right.

Daisy.

Harper hopped on her exercise bike, phone in hand. Her multitasking abilities were excellent if she did say so herself. She pedaled and texted:
AGENDA FULL THROUGH LUNCH. MEET ME HERE AT SIX
?

Five seconds later Daisy replied:
COCKTAIL HOUR
!
WOO-HOO
!

Harper smiled. Not for the first time, she imagined the eccentric geriatric as the star of her own quirky reality show. She texted back:
PINK COSMOS FOR TWO
. Because even though she’d been avoiding alcohol, Harper figured she’d have reason to celebrate by six o’clock.

Today she was going to make it into Sugar Creek and back without a meltdown.

Today she had a lifeline.

SIX

Daisy Monroe shuffled into the kitchen rocking (as the kids said) plush moose slippers and a hot-pink robe embroidered with a purple crown and the word
PRINCESS
. She didn’t care that her morning ensemble was more suited to a teen. She cared that it made her smile.

Last year she’d invested in her own business, a trendy café called Moose-a-lotta. She not only worked behind the counter, she sometimes dressed in a moose costume, appearing at special functions as Millie Moose, the mascot of Moose-a-lotta. Her partner, Chloe, nine months pregnant with Daisy’s first great-grandbaby, had had an encounter with a bull moose resulting in a life epiphany. Born and raised in the Green Mountain State, Daisy had a lifelong appreciation of the antlered creature and it had been a hoot decorating their café with eclectic moose-a-bilia. Clocks, pillows, salt and pepper shakers, mugs. They even had their own logo—a cartoonish moose wearing cat-eye glasses and chef’s hat—a reflection of the owners’ personalities. Daisy owned an assortment of metallic and blingy bifocals and Chloe had graduated with honors from a culinary arts institute. Which is why they’d met in the first place, but that was another story.

As for the princess robe, it had been a gift from Daisy’s honey, a man who appreciated her whimsical side. A man who treated her like royalty. Which is why she had decided this very morning not to operate behind Vincent’s back, but instead, to include him in her scheme.

As always, the owner of Oslow’s General Store, Sugar Creek’s go-to grocery since 1888, had beaten her to the kitchen and had breakfast waiting on the table. Daisy told herself it wasn’t because he didn’t trust her not to burn down his house (her concentration wasn’t what it used to be—or so her family told her), but because he liked doting on her. Which felt significantly different than being made to feel like you were no longer able to care for yourself.

Vincent turned to face her, toasting her with a percolator and a wide smile. “Morning, Petunia.”

She found it amusing that he’d nicknamed her after a flower when she’d been legally named for another flower. She thought it was cute. Like Vincent. (Or Speedy, as she sometimes called him.)

“Morning.” She smiled as he pulled out her chair and poured her a cup of coffee, treating her—as always—like royalty. Princess Petunia.
Hee.
“I got a text from Chloe,” she said as he took his seat, “asking if I could work the afternoon shift instead of the morning. A last-minute scheduling snafu.”

“Not a problem,” Vincent said, while slathering his toast with apple butter. “I’ll take a break from the store and drive back to give you a lift. Marvin can handle Oslow’s for a half hour solo.”

“Your son could handle the store all day, every day. Something he’s told you time and again, but you’re too set in your ways to retire.”

“I’m too young to retire.”

“You’re seventy-three.”

“You’re seventy-six and you’re still working.”

“Yes, but this is my first job. You’ve been working your whole life. You deserve a break. At least cut down to half days like me and we could have some fun together.”

He glanced over. “I thought we
were
having fun.”

He looked a little stricken and Daisy was reminded of how sensitive Vincent was compared to her deceased husband. Just one of the things she loved about him. Smiling, she reached over and brushed crumbs from his snowy beard. “Of course, we’re having fun, Speedy. I meant
more
fun.”

Vincent was a grounded man with a gentle soul. Which was nice, but kind of boring. She’d been pleased as punch when she’d learned he occasionally indulged in nocturnal joyrides, racing the back roads and tipping the needle past seventy.
Yes
! Hence, his pet name—Speedy—which no one else understood because Vincent Redding plodded along in everyday life. Slow and easy. Steady and sure. A chubby, white-bearded, Santa-like man who favored baggy-seated denims, plaid shirts, and red suspenders.

The ever cautious man narrowed his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

Over the last few years, Daisy had developed a reputation for being reckless. She preferred to think of herself as a thrill-seeker. So what if she incurred a few bumps and bruises as a result of the random adventure? Life was short and, after losing Jessup (a man who’d expected Daisy to behave like a prim and proper wife) to cancer, she’d vowed to make up for lost time, grabbing the gusto, the brass ring, and whatever else snagged her attention along the way.

“I’m compiling a family bucket list,” she said while drenching her French toast with a local maple syrup.

“What’s a bucket list?”

Daisy gaped at her other half, her significant other, the man she was living with in sin—unless you counted the vows they’d taken at Rocky’s wedding as legal, which they weren’t. “Haven’t you ever seen that movie?”

“What movie?”

“The one with that actor, the one with the crazy eyebrows and dark sunglasses. You know, the one who starred in the ‘cuckoo nest’ movie. And that other actor, the handsome black geezer from
Driving Miss Daisy
.”

Vincent munched on his toast and considered. “Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman?”

“If you say so,” Daisy said.

“What movie?”

“The Bucket List!”

“Never seen it.”

“We’ll have to remedy that,” Daisy said. “Just know they lived life to the fullest even if it meant breaking the rules.”

“Knowing you,” Vincent said, “I understand bucket list. But what’s family bucket list?”

“A bucket list involving family.”

Vincent sipped coffee then smiled, his kind eyes twinkling with interest. “Could you expand on that explanation?”

Daisy nodded. Her old heart fluttered and it had nothing to do with her ongoing medical issues. Her first husband, Jessup Monroe, her wedded husband of fifty years, wouldn’t have asked her to
expand
on her thoughts. Jessup, God rest his soul, had been too wrapped up in his own business to care diddly about her personal aspirations.

Focusing on the here and now, Daisy plucked a folded paper from her pocket and passed it across the table. “I’m blessed to have a large family—including extended family beyond the immediate Monroes. Some of them are floundering in the romance department. Before I kick the bucket I’d like to make sure they’re as hooked up and happy as I am right now. With you.”

Vincent flushed as he slipped on his reading glasses. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if you’re asking me to play matchmaker—”

“I’ll do most of the work, but I’d appreciate a partner in crime.” She wasn’t supposed to drive anymore, not that she didn’t sneak now and then, but she had lots of places to go. Every one of her grandkids and nieces and nephews had offered to give her a ride anytime, anywhere, but she’d prefer to keep these matchmaking missions private.

“Your heart acting up?” Vincent asked.

She’d had a mild attack over a year ago—something she’d managed to keep from the family until Vincent had spilled the beans, darn him. Now everyone hounded her all the more about her health. “No,” she said. “Why?”

“You mentioned kicking the bucket.”

“No one lasts forever and this matchmaking thing could take a while. Take Sam for instance.”

“I see he’s at the top of your list,” Vincent said while squinting at her writing. “Chicken scrawl,” he called it.

“He’s a tough nut,” Daisy said, while cleaning her plate. “The Cupcake Lovers have all but given up on fixing him up. But not me. I know another tough nut, and I think I can crack them both.”

“I know this nut?”

“Harper Day.” No sense holding back when Daisy had planted the seed to move forward earlier this morning.

Vincent wrinkled his nose. “The snooty publicist?”

“Not snooty.
Aloof
.”

“Same difference. She’s shopped at Oslow’s, though not in a while. Organic produce only.”

“She’s health conscious.”

“I’ve tried talking to her, friendly conversation. She has a way of answering your questions and ignoring you at the same time. Always on her phone—talking, texting.”

“Multitasking,” Daisy said.

“It’s rude,” Vincent said.

“I told her that once,” Daisy said. “I don’t think she can help herself. Her brain’s always running. She comes to Sugar Creek to wind down, but I’ve never seen her in slow mode. Never seen her relax. She doesn’t have any interests outside of work. Except maybe Sam.” Daisy leaned forward and waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve seen her sneak looks at Sam and vice versa. I think they’d be good together.”

“Never mind that her primary residence is across the country,” Vincent said. “Sam likes sweet-natured women. Harper’s self-absorbed and, like you said, kind of manic.”

Daisy had thought the same thing, but then she’d started picking up on little things. Things maybe other people didn’t notice. Harper wasn’t self-absorbed at all. She was obsessed with keeping self-destructive people on track. A Hollywood soul-saver who was also obsessed with lost-soul Mary Rothwell. A gifted publicist who had a soft spot for the Cupcake Lovers and their devotion to spreading sugary sunshine to soldiers.

Daisy would bet her Millie Moose costume that Harper stuffed down her own needs and dreams because she felt other people’s needs and dreams were more important. Daisy knew a kindred spirit when she saw one.

“Remember how I used to be?” she asked Vincent. “Reserved. Prim and proper.
Aloof.
There was more to me than met the eye, but I kept it locked away, kept my true self to myself, and pretended to be the person Jessup wanted me to be. Sensible and serene.”

Vincent slid his glasses to the end of his nose and peered over the rims at Daisy. The sympathy in his direct gaze made her legs all noodly. “I always sensed you were holding back. I like that you’re comfortable enough with me not to put on pretenses.”

“Comfortable enough and safe enough,” Daisy said. “Harper needs to learn that it’s okay to kick back and enjoy life. To focus on her own happiness.”

“And you’re going to help her with that.”

“I’m going to point her in the right direction.”

“Sam.”

“He needs a challenge. Someone to spice up his life.”

“Harper.”

“See! We’re on the same wavelength.”

“Mmm.”

“I have an appointment with Harper later tonight. Out at the Rothwell Farm. I don’t suppose—”

“Sure.”

“Maybe after, we can take a joyride through the state park.”

His lip twitched. “Maybe.” He turned his attention back to the list. “Hey. My granddaughter Peppy is listed.”

Peppy Redding would be another tough nut. Mostly because she was such an odd bird. A songwriting guitar player who’d flitted all over the country trying to hitch her wagon to a star. Struggling financially, she’d returned to the home roost, temporarily living with her dad, Vincent’s son Marvin, and taking up with a local band. All Daisy really knew was that Peppy was a disappointment to her father and a source of concern for Vincent.

“Why is my granddaughter on your family bucket list?” he asked.

Now it was Daisy’s turn to frown. “I guess I assumed, given our … situation, well, I thought … Don’t you think of my family as your own?”

“I’m fond of everyone, of course. But I guarantee they don’t think of
me
as family.”

“Sure they do.”

Vincent tossed her a skeptical look.

“Okay. Maybe not my son. And maybe not Devlin.” Her eldest grandson was practically a chip off his old man’s block, both of them being overprotective stick-in-the-muds.

“It would be easier if we made our
situation
legal.”

“Why ruin a good thing?”

Vincent sighed. “More coffee?”

She’d hurt his feelings.
Again.
But darn it all, she’d already been that route with Jessup. It’s not that he’d abused her, but he’d strangled her spirit, manipulated her behavior, narrowed her scope. Daisy didn’t believe in divorce. And she’d feel bad about kicking a man out. If things turned sour with Vincent, she needed to be able to walk away. Just one of the reasons she’d moved out of her home and into his. It gave her the freedom to leave. Life was short and freedom was priceless.

“I’ll do it,” Vincent said as he stood to clear the table.

Daisy snapped out of her reverie. “You’ll cut back on work to help me with my family bucket list?”

“Yup.”

“Just like that?”

“Nope.”

Daisy shot to her moose-slippered feet, snatched up her dishes, and shuffled to his side. “What’s that mean?” she asked as he filled the basin with hot water and a squirt of Palmolive.

“Means you owe me.”

Daisy slid their dishes into the sudsy water. “What are we talking?”

His fleshy lips twitched into an ornery smile that sort of scared and excited Daisy at the same time. “When I know, Princess Petunia, you’ll know.”

SEVEN

Sam steered his truck along Swamp Road at a leisurely pace. Unlike last night, he wasn’t racing to Harper’s rescue. He was picking her up for a date. Their first date. Considering he’d already proposed marriage, they were going at this bassackward. Then again their short association had an overall slam-bam theme. From their adrenaline-surged initial meeting to their subsequent erotic liaisons. Sam had caressed, sampled, and admired every inch of Harper Day’s delectable body, yet he didn’t know anything about her beyond the obvious. That wouldn’t go well with immigration and it didn’t sit right with Sam. Today they’d take it slow. Today they’d talk. As in a meaningful two-sided conversation.