Where Their Hearts Collide: Wardham Book #2 (2 page)

“Hey, you know that I’ve got your back. Whatever support you need, you’ve got it.” Karen took another sip of her latte. “Is there cinnamon in this?”

Carrie nodded. “Something new I’m trying. My own simple syrups. Less sweet than the commercial bottles.”

“It’s good.” It had cooled down enough for bigger swallows now, and before long the mug was empty.
“Was good. Now gone. Hmmm. Hulk happy.”

“Hey, Hulk, before you go...” Carrie pinched her lips. Karen was surprised to see her friend look so uncertain all of a sudden.

“What?”

“The community
centre. The draft plans that council saw last night feature a new library.”

Karen shook her head. “That’s great. Isn’t it?”

“It is. But someone was there from the county library service, and she was talking about getting more involved in the community. Running book clubs, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” She got it now.

“You could meet with her.”

“And say what? Please don’t offer a professional service that interferes with my hobby?” Karen shook her head. “I don’t beg.”

“Who says it needs to stay a hobby?”

If only that were an option.
“I have a job, remember?”

“Yeah.”
Her friend dumped a heaping pile of understanding in that single syllable. More than anyone else, Carrie understood family obligations. “You could talk to your parents.”

If only it were that easy. “They aren’t the problem.”

“You sell yourself short.” It was a familiar argument. Karen had supported Carrie’s dream of opening Bun, and Carrie wanted to return the favour. She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that Karen was happy with her life just as it was. It would be easier to convince her if Karen still believed that to be true herself.

“I
gotta go to work. See you tonight?”

Carrie pursed her lips again and nodded. Karen had almost made it out the door before her friend called out. “Hey, and don’t think that’s the last we’ve discussed of the sheriff!”

Karen laughed. As much as she’d like to fantasize otherwise, there was nothing to discuss. “Wardham doesn’t have a sheriff, and I’m no librarian. Such is my lot in life.”

“I saw some kids at the park.”

Paul looked up as his daughter entered the kitchen. “Sure, we could walk over there.”

“Dad…” He bit back a comment on her whiny tone. “You don’t need to come with me.”

“Yeah, Meg, I do.
For a number of reasons.” He leaned back against the counter and tapped them out on his fingers. “Neither of us know this town yet, or the people here. We don’t get a lot of time together, so I was hoping we could, you know, do something. Together. It’s almost dinner time. And last, but definitely not least, you’re only ten—”

The last point was, as he expected, the one that turned his usually agreeable daughter into a spitfire. “I’m not a little kid!”

“I know. Sweetie, I know. As much as it pains your mother and me, you are growing up. And at your mom’s house, you can go to the park and walk to school by yourself because it’s familiar, and people keep an eye out for you. Here…we don’t know anyone yet.”

“This town seems pretty safe.”

He nodded. “It does. But…” Susan hated it when he used the looming threat of a boogyman, but screw it. She wasn’t here and he wanted to nip the conversation in the bud. “If it was perfectly safe, I’d be out of a job. Bad people are everywhere. Okay?”

It was a good thing his daughter was easily parented, because he was pretty sure he’d make a mess of a more challenging kid. “Okay.”

He pulled her into a reluctant hug and her head tucked under his chin. When did his baby get to be so tall? When did hugs become rare enough that he was just noticing where her head landed?

“Dad?”

“Mmm?”

“Can we make cookies?”

Not so big after all. “Yeah.”

She giggled against his chest. “Do you even have the stuff to make cookies?”

Probably not. “Go grab the laptop and find a recipe. I’ve got sugar and eggs, what else do you think we’ll need?”

“Uh, flour?” And the pre-teen returned in full eye-rolling force.
 He winced and she threw her hands in the air. “Come on, you don’t have any flour?”

“What would I use it for?”

“Cookies, Dad. You’d use it to make cookies.”

“I’m sorry.”
For not having flour? He wasn’t sure that was something to be sorry about, but one thing he’d learned from his short marriage was that it was usually the right answer in situations like this. “Let’s go to the store, it’s a short walk.”

“No.” She shook her head, eyes bright. “Let’s ask a neighbor. Even better plan – this way, we can meet some of those people who will watch over me when I finally get some freedom.”

Before he could stop her, Megan was streaking to the front door. He trailed behind, dread and hope jockeying in his gut. Their front walk spilled onto the shared drive. Logic dictated that her first attempt at being neighbourly would be with Karen.

Maybe she wouldn’t be home.

Maybe she would.

Which would he prefer? No question, he wanted to see her again. But from a distance, where he could pretend that he had room in his life for a tall, curvy drink of water with curly brown hair and eyes full of laughter. They’d only had one short conversation, but he had no problem at all imagining that spending time with Karen would be easy. Nice.
Hot
.

Really hot.
On every level. Why now? Why not seven years earlier? Before he made a complete disaster of his life. Before…

“Megan, hang on.” But she didn’t. And he loved that about his daughter. Being fearless and friendly would serve her well in life.
As an adult. Until then, he’d live in a constant state of worry.

“Don’t worry, Dad. This is the
done thing in small towns. It’s not embarrassing.” She rang Karen’s doorbell, and before he could say he wasn’t worried about how it looked, the door swung open.

“Yes—oh! Paul. Hi.” Karen’s gaze flicked up to him for a moment, then returned to Megan. “Hi. Do you live next door too? I’m Karen.”

His daughter nodded. “Some of the time. I’m Megan.”

The two exchanged pleasantries, and Paul stood back, struck by how similar they were. If Karen liked books, his daughter was probably going to want spend all of her time over here instead of at the park. His gut said that Karen might not mind.
There’s no way you can know that
. But he did. She liked people, even him when he was curt and rude. She’d love his daughter.
Fuck
.

“…So we were hoping that maybe we could borrow some flour.”

“Sure, how much?”

Megan turned and looked at him expectantly and he started.
“Uh. Oh, I don’t know. We hadn’t gotten as far as looking up a recipe.”

Karen gestured for them to step into the foyer and she moved further down the hall, raising her voice so Megan could still hear her as she headed into what was probably the kitchen. A moment later she was back,
shaking her head.

“Sorry. I thought I had some, but there’s barely a cup in here.”

He waved off the apology. “It’s okay, thank you for checking.” He turned to Megan. “Let’s walk to the store. It’s close.”

“It is,” Karen interjected. “But it’s also closed for the evening.”

Megan groaned and Paul winced at the display. “It’s okay, we’ll do something else. Right? Megan?”

He had to prod her shoulder, but she nodded.

“Actually, if you want...” Karen trailed off, but laughed when Megan brightened up. She leaned toward the girl and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I happen to have a key to the grocery store.”

“You do?” Megan was breathless with excitement. So that’s what it took to impress his daughter.
Twenty-four hour access to cookie supplies? How about saving lives and keeping a community safe? Apparently not.

Karen nodded and grabbed a lanyard from a row of hooks on the wall. “Shall we?”

Before he could beg off, they were halfway down the block and he was left to trail behind. Which wasn’t a bad place to be. His heart warmed at the sight of Megan skipping to keep up with Karen’s long strides. Something else warmed as his gaze drifted to the left. Those legs. God, they went on for miles. Even in capris and boat shoes, they looked good.
She
looked good. Shapely legs, curving up to the distracting sway of her hips. Long hair swinging loose down her back. Every bit of her bouncy and happy. Strange child shows up on her doorstep? Off to the store they go to liberate a bag of flour. To make cookies.

He was doing something right. His daughter wanted to
bake with him. He never thought that would happen. And that reminder was just the bucket of ice water he needed to get his mind off Karen’s hips and back to the matter at hand.

He was a dad. And for a long time, he’d barely
pulled his weight in that role. Because of work, and other distractions.

No more. He was here in Wardham for one
reason, and one reason only. To put his daughter first.

Karen liked kids. Well, she liked people, and kids were, in her experience, some of the best kind of people. Not yet jaded. Still thought they could grow up to be sports stars and fire fighters. And they could—her siblings were proof of that. Set your mind to something you love and the possibilities are endless.

She was proof of the opposite. Give up and you'd end up back at home, living your parents' dream instead.

She shook off the bitterness. It had been a long time since she'd dwelled on what could have been. It was just the rumours about the community centre that were bringing her down. It had been a week since the news broke that the library would move into the new building and expand, hire full-time staff, and offer more services. As a patron, she was excited. As someone who wanted to be a librarian a lifetime ago, she couldn't help but stifle a faint stab of jealousy at whoever would get to work in the shiny new space. Mildred Parker, who had served as Wardham's only librarian for 33 years, had made it widely known that she didn't want to work full-time, and even if she did, it sounded like the library would still be hiring new staff.

Qualified staff.
Not book club hobbyists with a decade of grocery store management experience and a penchant for getting into trouble.

"Why do you have a key to the grocery store?" It had taken almost two blocks for Megan to ask this question because there were more important things to discuss first. Like how many
people Karen knew down the street (at least half) and what the acceptable standard was in Wardham for kids to go to the park by themselves. The answer to this was whatever Paul wanted it to be, so she wisely guessed at eighteen and won Megan over when the girl realized it was a joke.

"Because," Karen gestured for the Reynolds to step inside after she unlocked. "This is my second home. My parents opened this store when I was a baby
. I worked here all the way through high school and summers home from college. When they decided to retire, I took over as manager."

"Cool," Megan breathed.

It wasn't, exactly, but it worked. Her parents spent the winters down south, wherever her brother was playing hockey, and they came home every summer, giving her a nice long vacation so she could travel or just stay home and read. A lot. And the probably too-generous salary she earned allowed her to support that same book habit through the long winter, and share it with others through the bookmobile and book clubs she organized.

“What kind of cookies are you making?"

"Chocolate chip—"

"
—Oatmeal."

Father and daughter had a nonverbal show
-down for a second, but Paul backed down first. "Apparently, oatmeal chocolate chip." Megan's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. "The oatmeal is non-negotiable, honey. It's good for your cholesterol."

Karen turned her back and headed for the baking aisle so they couldn't see her lips twisting. It was
a struggle not to laugh at them, they were too cute.

And that was enough for her mind to go there. Paul.
Cute. Daughter. Also cute, and she liked books.

Hot
Neighbour was a single dad. That wasn't a problem at all, for her, but something told her it was an issue for him. Might explain his rudeness.

If he w
ere anyone else, she'd just ask around, find out what the grapevine knew about him. How long had he been single. What his deal was.

But, for maybe the first time ever, she didn't want to share what she knew about him. And that's how gossip worked.
A two way street of information. Or in Karen's case, she was more like the intersection of Main and Front. All information normally routed through her, at the store. Paul gossip had been sparse, though, and that made their little adventure all the more interesting. Megan had alluded to the fact that she hadn’t met anyone in town yet. For tonight, they were all Karen’s. As much as anyone ever was—fleetingly.