Granny J had once told Joya this was a deliberate strategy to catch the eye of passersby looking for attractive souvenirs but who didn’t want to spend lots of money.
If this were Joya’s shop she’d decorate it differently. Who said a quilt shop had to look like a little old lady owned it? It would have nice warm peach walls and the brass bed would be angled in a more inviting manner. She’d get rid of all that clutter. And she’d cover the bed with the most attractive and expensive quilt in the place, which of course would change on a weekly basis. There’d be flowers and scented candles everywhere. Who knew, she might even offer pedicures or foot massages. Relaxed women spent money.
A tapping on the front door got her attention.
“Anyone home?” a man’s voice called.
“Just me.”
Joya had completely forgotten about flipping the Closed sign in the window to Open.
She pushed open the front door and stuck her head out.
“Hi, Chet!”
Chet Rabinowitz, the mayor’s son, and part owner of All About Flowers took a step back, gaping at her. “Where’s Granny J?” He seemed surprised to see Joya.
“In the hospital. Kept overnight until test results come back.”
Chet clutched his heart, “Oh, my God. Tell me it’s nothing serious. Harley,” he shrieked to his partner and lover. “Granny J’s in the hospital. We need to send her the biggest arrangement we have.”
Harley Mancini, Chet’s partner, came running, clutching the sunflowers he’d been arranging in an oversized vase. “Did you say something happened to Granny J?”
Joya explained what had happened and reassured them her granny would be fine. At least she hoped so. She’d called the hospital right before leaving the condo and the nurse had told her Granny J was resting comfortably.
“Will you be running the shop for her then?” Chet quizzed, giving Joya a dubious look as if that couldn’t possibly be happening. Chet had made it clear from the very first time they’d met that he thought she was all fluff and a general waste of time. And truthfully, Joya had made no effort to charm him. She wasn’t that crazy about Chet. She’d pegged him a busybody and much preferred Harley. He was by far the more diplomatic of the two.
Without waiting to be invited in, Chet sashayed by her. He scrunched up his nose and sniffed loudly. “Joya’s Quilts needs help. It even smells old.”
“Chet,” Harley admonished, “Be nice!”
“I am always nice. Nice and honest.”
“It’s way after nine, how come the two Ms. Things aren’t here? Or are they eating? They eat all the time.” Chet poked his head into the guild room and shook his head. “Late again. What a waste of time those two are.”
Joya had almost forgotten about the two women Granny J employed. She made a mental note to look for LaTisha and Deborah’s phone numbers in the Rolodex Granny J still used. She’d give them a call.
A loud banging came from the other side of the partition. Joya frowned but Chet wiggled his head knowingly. “Hallelujah. Construction has begun.”
“Construction?” Joya repeated. “Is one of the stores being renovated?”
“We are being renovated,” he announced, arms wide to encompass the block. “The two buildings on either side of you and those across the street have started. I can’t wait to have my grand reopening.”
If the entire block was getting a facelift, why wasn’t Joya’s Quilts? This was something she’d take up with her grandmother.
Joya addressed Harley, who’d been very quiet. “Where’s this money coming from?”
“The bank,” Chet answered. “There are special low-interest loans being offered to store owners, all because of the hundred-year anniversary of Flamingo Beach. This centennial will bring tourists here in droves. We’re in the Historical District. This is where Flamingo Beach got started and that’s why we’re being showcased.”
Why hadn’t Joya heard about this gentrification before? Because she’d been trying to deal with the fact that her ex was moving on.
“How did you find out about these loans?” Joya asked, “And why hasn’t Granny applied for one?” It was a rhetorical question. She already knew the answer.
“Remember who Chet’s daddy is?” Harley added, smiling and winking at her.
“Did you explain to my grandmother how they work?” Joya persisted, looking from one man to the other.
“Yup. But she didn’t want to deal with the paperwork, though I offered to help.” Chet leaned in and placed his hands on his hips. “You know your grandmother and how stubborn she is. She told me her store looks fine just the way it is. She doesn’t need any showpiece.”
It sounded like something Granny J would say. She was practical to the bone.
“Excuse me.” Another man’s voice came from the road. “If that’s your SUV you’ll need to move it.”
“Hang on, Derek. Be right back,” Chet’s partner called, racing off to move the truck he’d parked illegally while unloading it.
Vehicles were technically not allowed on the narrow cobblestoned streets of Flamingo Row. It was supposed to be a pedestrian haven, allowing shoppers to roam freely and safely in and out of stores.
Something about the man standing on the sidewalk was familiar. He fitted his blue jeans nicely, though they were faded, ripped and soiled in a few spots. He was well over six feet with a narrow waist and a tight high butt. His T-shirt, though relatively clean, adhered like a bandage across his broad chest and wide shoulders. The sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. Aviator-style sunglasses, the kind in vogue, hid his eyes.
He must have noticed her staring because he inclined his head but did not smile.
“Glad you made it home safely from church,” he said. “My great-grandmother, Belle Carter, sends your grandmother her regards.”
It was Derek Morse, a completely different-looking man than the one who’d been to church yesterday in his professional gray suit. He’d been the one who’d helped Gran into her car.
“What are you doing here?” Joya asked, aware her voice sounded a little too high. She’d almost forgotten about Chet, who stood checking them out but for once wasn’t running his mouth. That would come later.
“Working,” Derek answered.
“Working?” Joya repeated.
“I told you we were under construction,” Chet broke in. “Derek is crew boss or something like that. If you convince your granny to fix Joya’s Quilts he’d be the man to see. Him or the contractor, Preston Shore.”
Joya would never have guessed the guy she’d met yesterday, who was now staring at the departing SUV, worked with his hands.
There was an awkward silence,
