Sweet Dreams on Center Street (12 page)

And her patience. Burnout had destroyed both her dreams and her
business. Men like Stud Man and this mule man here made it hard for Cupid and
his helpers. She'd decided that Cupid was on his own. Cecily was too disgusted
to care anymore. Let those losers go online and lie through their teeth, let
them do their own screening and set up their own meet-and-greet parties to their
hearts' content. She was done, done, done. She'd tied up loose ends, made a few
final matches, then closed her doors.

“A dating service, huh?” said this latest poor specimen of the
male species.

“I can guess what you're thinking,” she hurried to say. “But
not all dating services exist to match gold diggers up with millionaires.”
Although that had been the case with most of her customers.

“Good. You set my mind at ease.”

Sarcasm, always a nice trait in a man. Cecily managed a polite
smile, then turned her back and contemplated the thin icing of snow on the
mountains. When she'd been up here for Waldo's funeral she'd thought it was nice
to see the town growing. This kind of growth, however, they didn't need.

“There you go, ladies,” he said at last. “This will hold you
until you can get over to Swede's and pick up a new tire. He charges an arm and
a leg for towing but his tire prices are reasonable.”

As if they didn't know that? Swede Lind had been in business in
Icicle Falls for the past twenty years. In fact, he was the grandfather of the
new bank manager who was giving Samantha grief.

“Thanks,” Samantha said. “I'd offer you some chocolate to show
our appreciation but since you don't like it—”

“Who said I don't like it?” he asked. “I just think the
festival is a dumb idea.”

Samantha shook her head, but she promised him a box. Then they
got into the car and left the Neanderthal to go back to his drooling Neanderthal
customers.

“Well, he's something else,” Cecily said contemptuously.

Samantha sneaked a look Cecily's direction. “But he's hot.”

“A great cover doesn't make a great book.”

“Is that something you told all your customers?”

“There wouldn't have been any point,” Cecily said. “They never
listened.”

“Well, make sure you listen to yourself. When it comes to
guys—”

Cecily cut her off. “I know. You don't have to remind me.”

“Okay. Just sayin'.”

Thankfully, Samantha let it go at that. There was no need for a
sisterly lecture. Cecily had learned her lesson. No more bad boys who insisted
they wanted to get married but cheated on you with your best friend. No more men
who pretended to have money and then asked you for loans and then forget to pay
you back. No more losers! Heck, no more men. Period. Look at all the grief a
girl got from them.

And, speaking of grief. Mom was still in her jammies when they
arrived at the house, even though it was midafternoon. “Welcome home,” she said,
and gave Cecily a hug.

Their mother normally smelled like Calvin Klein's Obsession.
Today she smelled like…well, it wasn't Calvin Klein.

Cecily remembered after their father died waking up in the
middle of the night to hear her mother crying, but during the day Mom used to
put up a good front. This time around, she wasn't trying to hold up that false
front. Maybe she figured this time around she didn't need to. Who knew?
Regardless of the reason, it was unnerving.

“You're earlier than I expected,” Mom said. “I haven't had a
chance to get dressed.”

What had she been doing? Cecily looked around the house. A fine
layer of dust coated the furniture. A couple of photo albums lay open on the
couch and a half-finished mug of chocolate mint tea sat on the coffee table.
Well, she was allowed, no matter what Samantha thought.

“Would you like some tea?” Mom asked.

“We can make it if you want to get dressed,” Samantha said in
an attempt to be diplomatic.

“I'll be right back.”

“No rush,” Cecily told her.

As soon as their mother was out of earshot Samantha said in a
low voice, “This is how she's been.”

Cecily gave a helpless shrug. What did Samantha expect her to
do about it, slap Mom and tell her to snap out of it? “We've got to give her
time.”

Samantha frowned and Cecily decided to drop the subject and
search the kitchen for tea and distraction.

Samantha followed her. “She'll be better now that you're here.
I think she needs someone to need her. Once we get her involved with the
festival she'll be fine.”

Cecily wasn't so sure about that. Busyness wasn't a miracle
cure for a broken heart. She knew from personal experience.

Half an hour later Mom joined them, looking more like herself
with her hair freshly washed and wearing gray wool slacks and a black sweater—a
V-neck, which had become her trademark ever since she learned that turtlenecks
weren't flattering to older women.

“How are you doing?” Cecily asked, handing her a cup of Earl
Grey.

“I'm fine,” Mom said. “It's good to have you home,
sweetie.”

“It's good to be home,” Cecily said. Here she'd gone off to
follow her heart, prove herself and fill the world with love only to realize
that her heart had misled her. Filling the world with love was a Herculean task
when the world was overflowing with selfish, shallow people.

And then there were the people who were simply too busy for
love, like her sister. Samantha managed to sit still long enough to drink a mug
of tea, but then she got fidgety.

“I know you need to get back to the office,” Mom said, giving
her permission to escape to work.

“I should.” To Cecily she said, “Maybe you can tell Mom about
some of the things we were discussing in the car.”

Cecily agreed, and after Samantha left she started to talk
about the festival. But somehow, they drifted from the subject of Mr. Dreamy to
Mom's own dream man, Waldo, and out came the photo albums. Cecily didn't mind
looking at them, though and, unlike Samantha, she didn't have a problem
reconciling the man they'd all liked with the man who'd brought so much chaos
into their lives.

“He didn't have the best head for business,” Mom admitted,
touching a picture of Waldo sitting on the deck, raising a glass of wine in
toast to her, “but he had the best heart. And I was so happy to find love again.
I never thought I would.”

Lucky Mom. She'd found true love not once but twice.

“I keep hoping you girls will find the right man soon.” She
smiled at Cecily. “They say there's someone for everyone. But I guess you know
that.”

“I used to believe that,” Cecily said. “I'm not sure I do
anymore. People expect too much. And give too little,” she added, thinking of
her two ex fiancés.

“Not always. You'll find someone,” Mom said, patting her
arm.

She'd found two someones in the exotic soil of sunny California
but neither had turned out to be good. Obviously she was about as qualified to
find her own Mr. Right as a surgeon was to operate on himself. “And how do you
know that?”

“Because you're too wonderful to be wasted.”

Her mother had said the same words to her when she was going
through her rebellious phase, only much more sternly. “Seems to me I've heard
those words before,” she teased.

“They're still true.” Mom leaned back against the couch and
regarded her. “I think God has been waiting for you to come home. I think He's
got the perfect man for you somewhere right here in Icicle Falls.”

Cecily envisioned the Neanderthal who had been her welcome-home
committee.
Or not.

* * *

Samantha had a quick conference with Jim, their sales
rep, promised the moon to a supplier and then put in a call to city hall to see
how the permits were moving along.

This time she was spared having to deal with Pissy. Emily
Brookes, one of the office workers, answered the phone. “Just calling to see how
the permits for our chocolate festival are coming along,” Samantha said
cheerily.

“Gosh, I guess okay,” Emily said. “I haven't heard anything one
way or another. Do you want to talk to Priscilla?”

Not any more than Pissy wanted to talk to her. “No, that's
okay,” Samantha said. “I'll check later.” These things took time and her form
was probably making the rounds of different departments—unless Pissy had
shredded it.

Think positive,
she told herself,
and went back to work. She answered a slew of emails and then shot one to Ed
York, running the Mr. Dreamy contest idea past him (not that she was
micromanaging—she simply wanted another opinion). Ed gave the idea a resounding
thumbs-up and Samantha resigned herself to going along with what she still
considered a very tacky event.

Well, good news for Cecily, she supposed, and put in a call
home.

“Bailey just phoned,” Cecily told her. “Now she's not only got
the two-day winery tour package, she also talked Adventure Outfitters into
donating a kayak to give our Mr. Dreamy, as well.”

“That's some prize package,” Samantha said, impressed.

“That's not all. It looks like we've also got a
twenty-five-dollar gift certificate for both Italian Alps and Big Brats—free
Italian and German food. And I think Cass is going to give us a certificate for
her place, too. So, we'll have a nice prize package for our Mr. Dreamy.”

“Sounds like it. Ed York thinks it's a great idea.” Samantha
regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth.

“You were running this by Ed?”

“Just keeping him up-to-date,” Samantha said, improvising
quickly. She heard a big sigh on the other end of the line. “No micromanaging.
Really.”

“I hope not,” Cecily said. “By the way, we're about to make
dinner. Want to come by?”

“With my malnourished bank account my new motto is never turn
down a free meal.”

It would be good to get in some sister time and, much as she
hated to admit it, she'd appreciate having Cecily present as a cheerful third
party for what could be a slightly strained meal with Mom.

The casserole supply had finally dwindled but Cecily had found
some chicken soup Bailey had made and left in the freezer and she'd coaxed Mom
into making biscuits. The aroma of baking biscuits and simmering soup reminded
Samantha that it had been a long time since she'd eaten and her stomach rumbled
in anticipation.

“This is the perfect meal for our drizzly mountain weather,”
she said as she kissed her mother's cheek.

“Too bad that drizzle isn't snow.” Cecily placed bowls around
the dining table.

“We could have used it. It's been a tough season,” Samantha
said. “But things are bound to improve,” she added. “I think we're on the right
track with this festival. We need events to attract tourists. Once they come
here and see how beautiful it is, hike the trails, hit the shops and the
restaurants, we'll have them hooked. We're every bit as pretty as those
high-priced ski resort towns and a better bargain.”

“We should put that somewhere in our advertising,” Cecily said
thoughtfully. “Resort living at affordable prices. What do you think, Mom?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” their mother said as she filled
a serving bowl with biscuits.

“Do you like that better than ‘Icicle Falls, Your Mountain
Destination'?” Cecily asked.

“Either one would be lovely,” Mom said noncommittally.

Their mother used to love to brainstorm clever slogans and
advertising ideas for the company. No storm tonight, just a calm
Stepford Wives
smile. She didn't have much to
contribute to the conversation, either, other than agreeing with Cecily that
Bailey's soup was excellent.

“So, should we watch a movie?” Cecily asked after they'd
finished eating.

“Why don't you girls go out and enjoy yourselves?” Mom
suggested instead.

Because we're broke,
thought
Samantha.

“We'd rather stay here with you,” Cecily said. “Let's watch a
movie.”

Mom shook her head. “If you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed
and read.”

“Oh. Sure, if you'd rather.” Cecily sneaked a look at the
cuckoo clock in the kitchen.

“Mom, it's only seven,” Samantha protested. Mom never went to
bed before eleven. But then she never used to sleep in till noon, either.

“I know. I'm tired,” Mom said. “You two go have fun.”

Like they could have fun with disaster hanging over their
heads, held off by mere threads of hope and determination?

Their mother kissed them both on the cheek, then scooped up a
photo album and disappeared into her bedroom.

“She's really struggling,” Cecily said as soon as Mom was out
of earshot. “I kept trying to interest her in coming up with ideas for ads but I
couldn't hold her attention. Hardly surprising, but still.”

“I know,” Samantha agreed. “She seems like a ghost of her
former self. I thought having you here would help her perk up.”

“You can't rush grieving. It's going to take time.”

The one thing they didn't have. Samantha raised a finger to her
mouth to gnaw on a nail and then remembered she didn't have any left. She
frowned at her mangled fingertips.

“I see your old habits have returned,” her sister observed.

“Yeah, well, it beats eating the inventory,” Samantha retorted,
then sighed. “I need a new vice.”

“You wanted to take up drinking. Why don't we go over to
Zelda's?”