Summer in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 2) (4 page)

Eliza must have sensed another speech coming on because she spoke quickly. “Please raise your hand to offer nominations. Wait to be recognized. I’d like both the person’s name and qualifications.”

Ami shot her arm high in the air.

Eliza’s gaze swept right past the waving hand as if it weren’t there.

“Eliza,” Lynn Chapin called out. “I believe Ami has her hand up.”

The smile on Eliza’s face never wavered. “Thank you, Lynn.”

Eliza glanced at Ami and made an impatient go-ahead gesture.

“I’d like to nominate my sister, Primrose Bloom Delaney.” Ami spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Prim has a degree in accounting, worked as an actuary for many years in Milwaukee, and has recently moved back to Good Hope to stay. She’s very organized and can be counted on to get things done. Thank you.”

Applause broke out in the room, quieted by one swift slice of Eliza’s hand.

“The problem is,” Eliza said, that phony smile still on her lips and her voice sugary sweet, “Prim is new to our community. I think we’d like someone with a little more investment in Good Hope for this opening.”

“I have a friend—” Katie Ruth Crewes began, then halted when Gladys shot her the stink eye. “On second thought, I don’t think she has time right now.”

Gladys raised one bony hand, the jewels gracing each finger sparkling in the light.

“Yes, Gladys?” Eliza’s expression brightened. “Do you have someone you’d like to nominate?”

“Indeed I do.” The older woman’s tone was as regal as the swath of silver in her dark hair.

“I love that you’re nominating someone,” Eliza said. “If you feel this person would make a good Cherrie, I’m confident she’s who we should select. After all, she’ll be taking your spot.”

Eliza settled her gaze on Ami for a second, then smiled to the group. “I think that would be best.”

The murmur of voices indicated agreement.

Eliza clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “Tell me, Gladys, who is it you want to be the next Cherrie?”

Ami felt as if she were at some political party’s national convention when Gladys rose, lifted her arm as if holding a torch, and bellowed in a voice guaranteed to reach the third-floor rafters, “I throw my support behind Primrose Bloom Delaney.”

C
hapter
F
our

Prim dropped the phone into her pocket and wondered just when she’d lost her mind. But it was too late to back out now. According to Ami, her being a Cherrie was a done deal. She moved to the window and stared, unseeing, into the sunshine.

For better or worse, she was going to spend the next month working with Max Brody.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Prim yelped and jumped back.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Max stood on the other side of the picture window. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the front door.

Face burning, Prim moved swiftly to unlatch it.

Before she could attempt to explain why she’d had her face glued to the window, Max strolled past, not quite able to hide his grin. “Happy to see you’ve taken up Jeannie Alcorn’s flag.”

The odd response drove away any excuse she might have been conjuring up in her head.

Prim saw him glance around the room and stifled a groan. The boys had gotten out of the house before she could insist they pick up the large pads of paper they’d been drawing on earlier. The pads, as well as a dozen colored pencils, were scattered across the floor.

Boris had added to the mess. In the dog’s enthusiasm to lick Connor like an ice cream cone, the wolfhound had upset his basket of toys. But she couldn’t blame all the clutter on the twins or the dog. Her gaze lingered on the shirts and socks scattered across the top of the kitchen table. At the moment, an open floor plan no longer seemed like such a fine thing.

“Who’s Jeannie Alcorn?” Prim asked in an attempt to distract him.

Max’s gaze returned to her, his expression faintly amused. “She used to rent this house. She was also captain of the neighborhood watch committee. Nothing happened on the block without Jeannie knowing about it.”

“What does she have to do with me?”

His lips twitched. He gestured with his head toward the spot where she’d been standing only moments before.

Prim flushed. “My dad had mentioned he might drop by. He—”

The words stuck in her throat when Max took her hand. The feel of his skin, so warm against hers, brought back the memories of the reception and how good it had felt to whirl across the floor in his arms.

Even now, his light touch made her quiver. She couldn’t make herself pull away.

“I was teasing you, Prim.” Max’s thumb absently stroked her palm. “It’s good to have someone watching out for the neighborhood.”

Her cheeks heated. She jerked back her hand. “When you saw me at the window, I was seeing if—”

“Your dad had stopped over.” As if sensing her embarrassment, Max’s voice remained steady as he finished the sentence for her. “I’m here because I have a proposition for you.”

Without warning, he moved close. So close the delicious scent of his cologne made rational thought difficult. “Pro-proposition?”

“Yes. A proposition.” He gazed into her eyes and she found herself drowning in the liquid blue depths. “And Prim, I need you to say yes.”

Her heart fluttered as if a thousand butterflies were trapped inside. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

When he took her hands in his, she forgot how to breathe. Finally she found her voice. “What do you want?”

For a long moment Max simply stared into her eyes. Then he shook his head and took a step back, dropping her hands. She could almost see him doing a reset as he collected his thoughts.

He cleared his throat. “I want you to be the next treasurer of the Cherries. Gladys is retiring . . .”

Prim barely listened to his next words as relief surged over her like a crashing wave, leaving her weak and trembling. It had to be relief she felt, because there was no reason, no reason at all, for her to be disappointed.

He continued to talk, but her brain had shut down several minutes earlier and was taking its sweet time restarting.

Finally, she held up a hand. “Stop right there.”

The explanation of all that would be entailed if she accepted his “proposition” ceased, but the determination in those baby blues still shone brightly.

He immediately launched a second offensive.

“You know how much Good Hope merchants depend on tourist dollars. Merchants like Ami and Beck.” He shot her a smile that had her insides turning to mush. “Events planned by the Cherries bring millions of dollars into the Good Hope economy. They—”

“Yes.”

He stopped. “What did you say?”

She smiled, a full-blown smile that felt as good, as right, as the decision she’d made. “I told Ami this morning she could nominate me, for all the reasons you’ve outlined. Just before you got here, she called to tell me I’d been voted in.”

Prim knew boys could be unpredictable, men too, but she was unprepared when Max snatched her up and twirled her around, hollering, “Thank you, God,” or maybe it was, “Thank you, Prim.”

Her head was still spinning when he set her down, framed her face in his hands, and kissed her.

A yearning so strong it nearly toppled her rose up as the kiss gentled, then ended.

“M-Max,” she stammered. “I—”

She wasn’t sure what she planned to say, because the boys were suddenly there, demanding to know what the shouting was about.

“Mr. Brody and I were celebrating some good news,” Prim said, not looking at Max.

Callum narrowed his gaze. “Your face is red and your hair is sticking out.”

Connor studied her for a moment, then nodded agreement with his brother’s assessment.

Great
, Prim thought. Red-faced with hair sticking out. Now, didn’t that paint a pretty picture? Resisting the urge to sigh or simply run to her room and put a pillow over her head, she smiled brightly instead. “It’s because of the twirling.”

“What’s that?” Callum tilted his head, not appearing convinced.

“It’s when you pick someone up and spin them around,” Max said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone that inspired confidence. “Want me to show you?”

Callum considered.

“I want to try,” Connor said.

“Okay. I pick you up under your arms.” Max stepped toward the boy, then lifted him. “Then we do this.”

All of a sudden Connor was spinning round and round and calling out, “Woooooo.”

“My turn,” Callum demanded, stepping forward.

Despite his protests for more, Max put Connor down near Prim. She set her hands on her son’s shoulders to steady him, just in case he was dizzy.

She still felt unsteady from her twirl.

Callum shrieked for more, his small body almost parallel with the ground as he spun around.

When the two finally stopped twirling, Max rested his own hand on the top of a nearby bookshelf. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one a little unsteady from their . . . twirl.

“It’s Mommy’s turn,” Connor told Max.

“I’ve already had my turn, sweetheart,” Prim reassured him.

“Mommy’s turn. Mommy’s turn. Mommy’s turn,” Callum chanted, and his brother joined in until finally Max held out his arms and Prim stepped into them.

They’d only made one rotation when the front door opened with a clatter.

“Why didn’t someone tell me you were having a party?”

The abrupt halt to the twirling had Prim stumbling slightly when Max put her down. His hand closed around her arm for the briefest of moments as she steadied herself.

“Dad.” Flushed and out of breath, Prim crossed the room to her father. Steve Bloom was a tall man with a lanky frame and a perpetual smile on his face. His pewter hair matched his wire-rimmed glasses.

She gave him a quick hug. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I knocked, but with all the commotion . . .” Her father’s speculative gaze scanned the scene, taking in, no doubt, her red face and disheveled hair and the boys’ happy grins.

In the center of it all, Max.

“Steve.” Max moved forward, and the two men exchanged a one-armed man hug. “Prim told me you might be stopping by.”

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much comfort it brings me to know that you’re right next door to my girl.” Steve’s gaze shifted to his grandsons. “And to these two monkeys.”

“Mr. Brody twirled us, Grandpa.” Connor lifted his arms. “Way high in the air.”

“We were cel’brating,” his twin added.

Callum may have stumbled slightly over the word, but it came out clear enough to have her father raising one eyebrow, his gaze shifting between her and Max.

“I’m a Cherrie, Daddy. Like Ami.” Prim hooked her arm through his. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make some tea and tell you all about it.”

Steve glanced at Max’s briefcase sitting on the floor, then back to her. “If you’ve got business to attend to, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re family,” Prim chided. “You could never intrude.”

“If anyone is intruding, it’s me.” Something in the way Max said the words told Prim he believed them.

“You’re not intruding, either. You’re as close to a Bloom without carrying the name.” In saying the words she knew to be true, Prim felt herself settle, as if she’d stepped off shifting sand onto solid ground. Years earlier, way back in middle school, Max had been matched with her dad by the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization in Good Hope. “I swear you spent more time at our home than your own.”

“Prim’s right. You’re family. Always have been. Always will be.” Steve’s tone brooked no argument. “And forget about the tea, Primrose. I’ll take my grandsons out back to play some ball and you two can get down to your business.”

Prim hesitated. “Are you sure, Daddy?”

“Positive.” Steve’s gaze shifted to his two grandsons. “Ready to hit it out of the park, boys?”

“Yay,” they cheered until Prim had to put her hands over her ears.

“Let’s take some of that energy outside.” Putting a hand on each boy’s shoulder, he guided them to the door.

Just like that, she and Max were alone.

Prim glanced at the briefcase her father had noticed. “You have some specifics you want to discuss?”

“If you have time.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, making no move to retrieve the case. “Prim, about the kiss.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Temporary insanity. No biggie.”

He nodded, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe the explanation any more than she did, but thankfully he would let the matter ride, at least for now.

“Shall we sit out here? Or would the kitchen table be better?” Prim gestured to the sofa, drawing Max’s attention to her green stretchy shirt that showed off high, firm breasts. When her hand dropped, he admired the way the denim hugged her shapely thighs.

Something stirred in him, a familiar yet altogether new sensation. Masculine interest, to be sure, but something more. “Here will be fine.”

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when she settled herself in a nearby chair rather than sitting next to him on the sofa.

Clearing his throat, Max fought to recall the subject needing to be discussed.
Ah, yes, the Cherries.
“I’m serious. You’re a perfect fit to be the Cherries treasurer.”

Prim’s eyes turned soft. “You always did have confidence in me, Brody.”

Hearing his last name on her lips, spoken in a teasing tone that was once so familiar, took him back to high school days. Back to a time when he and this widowed mother of two had been a team.

“Often, more than I had in myself,” Prim murmured.

Max realized with a jolt that while he’d been tripping down memory lane, she’d continued to speak.

“The Cherries desperately needed someone with your accounting expertise.” Max resisted the overpowering urge to cover her hand with his. Which made no sense. Just like the kiss. That had made no sense, either.

Temporary insanity.

Hadn’t he learned his lesson when his last girlfriend had gone back to her ex? There were major risks when you got involved with a woman whose heart still belonged to another.

“I never wanted to be a Cherrie,” she admitted in a soft voice, as if imparting a confidence. “But they do such good work for the community. While I don’t have money to donate like MarJean Thorpe, I do have the time.”

“Giving of your time, lending expertise, can be just as valuable as a monetary donation,” Max assured her.