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Authors: Hope Ramsay
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store these last few weeks, reading genre fiction and letting the world pass her by. She wasn’t up on current events.
“Honey, the Lyndon family is in a snit about him,” Arwen said. “He’s Pam Lyndon’s nephew, and my boss at Lyndon, Lyndon & Kopp is his uncle. You didn’t know this? He didn’t tell you?”
“Well, at least he’s not a serial killer,” Courtney said brightly. “We can be thankful for that, even if he is a lying douche bag.”
“A filthy rich and unbelievably cute douche bag,” Arwen added.
How could this be? The duchess had been in the store yesterday and hadn’t acknowledged Jeff at all. Why? Surely she’d recognized him, even if he hadn’t been wearing pants.
And why hadn’t he been honest about Pam? She’d told him everything. Trusted him. And he’d been lying from the start.
Melissa sank her head to the table and thunk ed it a couple of times before the swearing started. The profanity didn’t last all that long, because her vocabulary of bad words was limited, and also by the time she started to repeat herself, her throat had closed up, her eyes had overflowed, and talking had become impossible.
Chapter Eight
S econdhand Prose wasn’t open on Mondays, but Jeff found himself standing on the sidewalk staring through the windows. Dickens was keeping watch on his cat tree as always, but the place was dark.
He pounded on the door because he desperately needed to talk to Melissa and she’d been ignoring his phone messages and texts. He was just about to channel Stanley Kowalski, the character in A Streetcar Named Desire who stood outside the window and yelled his wife’s name for all to hear, when a diminutive, fiftysomething woman wearing a big, brown tweed sweater tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You know, if you would just read the sign on the door, you’d realize the store isn’t open today.”
“I know that,” he said as civilly as he could manage, considering his current state of mind. Why the hell was Melissa avoiding him? Yesterday had been amazing. Had he screwed up somehow? Damn .
“Good. I’m glad you can read,” the woman said with a nod. “And since the store is closed, it doesn’t make any sense to be pounding on the door. You’re disturbing my beginning knitters class.” She waved in the direction of the adjacent storefront with the sign over the door that said EWE AND ME FINE YARNS AND KNITTING SUPPLIES . The women of the aforementioned knitting class were gathered around the yarn shop’s window, trying to watch their instructor do battle with him.
“Do you know where I can find Melissa Portman?” he asked.
“I know who you are,” the woman said. “And so does Melissa.”
It was like the woman had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What?”
“You’re Jefferson Talbert-Lyndon. And I heard at the Merchants Association meeting this morning that you lied to Melissa about your name and background. And everyone wants to know why.”
The woman shook her finger in his direction as she continued. “Shame on you, lying to a nice girl like Melissa. What were you up to? Softening her up so that Pam Lyndon could buy her out on the cheap?”
The scorn in the woman’s voice shamed him. “No. You have it all wrong.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The knitting instructor gave him a cold stare that he was all too familiar with. He’d seen that look in his editor’s eyes at the moment when George had lost faith in him, when the tide of public opinion had turned against him.
If the merchants were gossiping like this, then it wouldn’t be long before his father’s family heard all about it. And then things would get much, much worse.
He needed to do something fast if he ever wanted to regain Melissa’s trust.
And not just talk. Talk was cheap, and apologies at this point would fall flat.
And not just writing a check. He’d already done that, and Melissa would be finding out about it soon. But paying her taxes had
“Honey, the Lyndon family is in a snit about him,” Arwen said. “He’s Pam Lyndon’s nephew, and my boss at Lyndon, Lyndon & Kopp is his uncle. You didn’t know this? He didn’t tell you?”
“Well, at least he’s not a serial killer,” Courtney said brightly. “We can be thankful for that, even if he is a lying douche bag.”
“A filthy rich and unbelievably cute douche bag,” Arwen added.
How could this be? The duchess had been in the store yesterday and hadn’t acknowledged Jeff at all. Why? Surely she’d recognized him, even if he hadn’t been wearing pants.
And why hadn’t he been honest about Pam? She’d told him everything. Trusted him. And he’d been lying from the start.
Melissa sank her head to the table and thunk ed it a couple of times before the swearing started. The profanity didn’t last all that long, because her vocabulary of bad words was limited, and also by the time she started to repeat herself, her throat had closed up, her eyes had overflowed, and talking had become impossible.
Chapter Eight
S econdhand Prose wasn’t open on Mondays, but Jeff found himself standing on the sidewalk staring through the windows. Dickens was keeping watch on his cat tree as always, but the place was dark.
He pounded on the door because he desperately needed to talk to Melissa and she’d been ignoring his phone messages and texts. He was just about to channel Stanley Kowalski, the character in A Streetcar Named Desire who stood outside the window and yelled his wife’s name for all to hear, when a diminutive, fiftysomething woman wearing a big, brown tweed sweater tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You know, if you would just read the sign on the door, you’d realize the store isn’t open today.”
“I know that,” he said as civilly as he could manage, considering his current state of mind. Why the hell was Melissa avoiding him? Yesterday had been amazing. Had he screwed up somehow? Damn .
“Good. I’m glad you can read,” the woman said with a nod. “And since the store is closed, it doesn’t make any sense to be pounding on the door. You’re disturbing my beginning knitters class.” She waved in the direction of the adjacent storefront with the sign over the door that said EWE AND ME FINE YARNS AND KNITTING SUPPLIES . The women of the aforementioned knitting class were gathered around the yarn shop’s window, trying to watch their instructor do battle with him.
“Do you know where I can find Melissa Portman?” he asked.
“I know who you are,” the woman said. “And so does Melissa.”
It was like the woman had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What?”
“You’re Jefferson Talbert-Lyndon. And I heard at the Merchants Association meeting this morning that you lied to Melissa about your name and background. And everyone wants to know why.”
The woman shook her finger in his direction as she continued. “Shame on you, lying to a nice girl like Melissa. What were you up to? Softening her up so that Pam Lyndon could buy her out on the cheap?”
The scorn in the woman’s voice shamed him. “No. You have it all wrong.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The knitting instructor gave him a cold stare that he was all too familiar with. He’d seen that look in his editor’s eyes at the moment when George had lost faith in him, when the tide of public opinion had turned against him.
If the merchants were gossiping like this, then it wouldn’t be long before his father’s family heard all about it. And then things would get much, much worse.
He needed to do something fast if he ever wanted to regain Melissa’s trust.
And not just talk. Talk was cheap, and apologies at this point would fall flat.
And not just writing a check. He’d already done that, and Melissa would be finding out about it soon. But paying her taxes had
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