But I’m not sure we’d be able to raise the money we need.”
“You have a point.” Mildred pressed a finger to her bright coral lips.
“Unless … we combine this with the Spring Fling celebration,” Sophie said. “That’s never a very big event, just a picnic on the town square and a dance at the end of the week. Making it the highlight of the week would increase awareness for the community wellness center. Maybe then all the events combined would bring in more money.”
Mildred nodded. “I know how important that is to you. It’s something this town has needed for a long time.”
For the past year and a half, Sophie had been working to raise money to open a community wellness center to provide much needed services for the town’s large senior citizen population. Sophie had proposed the idea, after watching her grandmother’s health decline over the last few years. If there was some kind of a community place where Grandma Watson could go with her friends, to take exercise classes, cooking classes, or simply to fill her days with fun, she would. Grandma got out from time to time, but ever since her hip replacement a few months ago, she’d become more frustrated by the lack of nearby venues for a day or night out. The closest place like that to Edgerton Shores was nearly forty-five minutes away—a trip that could double during tourist season. The town needed its own place, and needed it soon. Sophie and the rest of the committee members had held a bake sale, a fish fry and even sold T-shirts, but it hadn’t been nearly enough. She glanced again at Mildred’s notes. “This could be just the kind of thing that would add to the project’s coffers.”
“We could put out the word to nearby towns,” Lulu said. “There are single gals all over Tampa Bay looking for Mr. Right.”
“Great idea. And if we have enough participation in this love lottery thing,” Sophie said, running some quick numbers in her head, “we’ll be one step closer to building that community and wellness center. Maybe even have enough money to start renovating that building Art Conway gifted to the town last year.”
“Art is quite the man.” Mildred sighed. “He knows how much this town needs a place that meets everyone’s needs.” She flexed her right arm. “As for me, I could use a power-lifting class.”
Sophie chuckled. “You and me both, Miss Meyers. Okay. I say we go for it.”
Mildred clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!” Then she thrust her bright floral tote bag into Sophie’s hands. “I think you’ll do a terrific job with this.”
“What? Me? But I—”
“Volunteered to head the publicity for the Spring Fling this year, remember?” Mildred gave Sophie an apologetic smile. When Sophie had volunteered to promote the annual town celebration, she hadn’t expected it to involve much more than sending a few press releases to the local media. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated having to promote a date day. “And if you ask me, nothing deserves publicity like a Love Lottery.” She turned to go, her mission of passing the buck completed. Then she paused, and cast another smile over her shoulder. “And don’t forget, as head of the Love Lottery, you need to participate, too.”
“Oh, no, that’s the last thing I need. To make my love life public again.” The whispers about the runaway bride had finally died down. There hadn’t been a call from a reporter in over six months. She had no desire to get the gossips buzzing again. It wasn’t good for business and it definitely wasn’t good for her. “Besides, I have my hands full already with the shop and now—” Sophie held up the folder “—this.”
“Your hands are never too full for love, dear.” Mildred toodled a little wave, and walked away, leaving Sophie holding the bag. Literally.
Harlan gave Sophie Watson thirty minutes, then he plopped his hat back on his head and strode downtown, Mortise and Tenon trailing along at his feet, a pair of happy panting puppies ready to go anywhere.
Harlan found Sophie standing beside his chairs, picking up an iced something or other from the tiny table she’d set between the two wooden seats. “I’m here to give you back your sweater, Miss Watson, and—” he plopped himself in an empty chair and kicked back “—to reclaim my chairs.”
“You can’t just sit there.” Sophie snatched her sweater out of his hands and shrugged into it.
“Reckon I can. These are stolen property. My stolen property. I’m staking my claim before anyone gets any crazy ideas—” he turned to her and arched a brow “—and tries something like branding them.”
“I don’t own a branding iron, Mr. Jones, so the identity of your chairs is safe. Though I would be glad to hang a sign promoting your woodworking.” That crafty smile flitted across her face. “As an expression of my gratitude for your temporary relocation of the chairs to my front door.”
“No need for a sign. I’m not in the woodworking business.” Not now, not ever. “And this ‘temporary relocation’ ain’t nothing more than a furniture hijacking. So I reckon I’ll sit here until you’re ready to give back what’s mine.”
She scowled. “Those seats are mine for now, and while they are, they’re for paying customers. Only.” The dogs settled at Harlan’s feet, with Mortise resting his snout on Harlan’s boot. “And there are no dogs allowed in the shop.”
“We aren’t in the shop, we’re outside, on the public sidewalk. And as for customers …” He looked up and down the sidewalk, then peered around Sophie and into the shop. It was just after two, and the usually busy coffee shop was nearly deserted. “Seeing as there aren’t many of those right now, I think I can sit here in peace. Should a … what’d you call them?” He smirked, teasing her.
She pursed her lips. “Paying customer.”
He tipped a finger her way. “Should one of those happen by, I will gladly vacate my seat for the time they need it. Until then, I’m here.” He lowered the brim of his hat and tipped his head back, as if he were about to take a nap.
“You are the most infuriating man in Edgerton Shores,” Sophie said, and for a second, he was sure she’d dump that iced something or other right onto his head.
A part of him found her feistiness … intriguing. Hell, attractive.
“I refuse to let you sit there unless you are a paying customer,” she said.
“And I refuse to let you keep my chairs. They’re mine, and I’m damned well going to sit in them. Here or on my own porch, your choice.”
“You’re really going to sit there, no matter what I do?”
“You could come over here, kiss me for thirty minutes straight and I’d still stay.” He’d kept the hat over his eyes, so he couldn’t see her, but he could hear her fuming beside him. He wondered if she’d go that far, and for a second, hoped she did.
“It would be a cold day in hell before I’d do that.”
“Good thing we’re in Florida. No chance of any ice forming around here.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed her clench and unclench her fist. He bit back a chuckle. If he’d known it was this much fun to drive
Sophie Watson crazy, he’d have camped out at her shop long ago.
The woman deserved every bit of aggravation he gave
