“It will be great to rake in lots of clothes. I’m really excited about the chance to help out women who—” had been cheated on by two-timing bastards “—need an extra hand.”
“Yes, well for that reason, too.” Trish rang up the cost of the services. “But I meant this will also be good for the rest of us. A nationally broadcast show with your adorable store featured? It’s going to put Heartache on the map for tourists. Your sister must be turning cartwheels.”
Something about the way she said it made Erin stop.
“I don’t think it’s a show withthatmuch reach.”Interstate Antiquerwas geared toward a niche audience.
“Are you kidding me?” Trish ran Erin’s credit card and printed the receipt. “I’ve watched it, and I don’t know anything about antiques. People tune in for the slice of small-town life to get a feel for a place. It’ll definitely bring tourism to town. Your father would have loved this, Erin.”
Erin’s father had passed away eighteen months ago. Hehad been the mayor of Heartache for over a decade, helping to bring the town out of a recession. The Finley name was practically synonymous with Heartache. While Erin was proud of her town, she didn’t want any part of expanding tourism and bringing lots of outsiders in. She was a behind-the-scenes woman, for one thing.
And for another? She liked things here the way they were—Heartache was a place that still felt a little isolated from the rest of the world. It didn’t even have an airport. That time she’d planned to bring Patrick to town with her they’d had tickets to fly into Nashville.
“We’ll see,” Erin said finally, when she realized Trish had been waiting for some kind of response. She took her receipt and jammed it into her purse, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake by saying yes to Remy.
“Hey, isn’t that your producer friend now?” Trish pointed out the window where they could see the front of Last Chance Vintage. Where Remy Weldon stood, back against the glass storefront, cell phone pressed to his ear.
The fluttery feeling that started in Erin’s chest would have been exciting if she was sixteen. Right now, it felt ominous. She took a deep breath.
“Guess I’d better open the store.” Erin scrawled a quick signature on the receipt.
“You said it.” Trish’s eyes remained fixed on Remy. “Go get him, tiger.”
Erin shook her head. “Seriously. Not interested, Trish, but thank you for the great hair.”
Her friend winked at her.
Main Street held only a handful of local businesses. Her shop. The sandwich place. The Strand. There was a gas station farther down, and a pizza parlor. Then at the corner, she could just see Lucky’s Grocer and the villagesquare. She liked it this way and she didn’t want to see four new fast-food chains pop up if tourism increased.
“Looking for me?” Erin called as she crossed the street.
Remy tilted his head sideways as he tucked his phone into his pocket. “I don’t know. Is that you?”
“Of course. I don’t look that different.” Her heart beat too fast and she didn’t want to talk about her appearance. “Figured I’d better spruce up the locks if I’m going on television. Don’t want to embarrass my mom.”
Remy leaned a shoulder into the doorjamb, far too close to where she needed to insert the key in the dead bolt. But then, he seemed distracted by her hair.
“What was wrong with your color?” His eyes wandered over her in a way that seemed more like a professional assessment than a personal inventory.
That is, until his gaze reached breast level. It would have been laughable at how fast his chin shot up except that he seemed…pained. Feeling that she’d witnessed some private part of him, she turned her attention to the lock.
Remy stepped back to give her room, taking all his lean good looks and masculinity a few inches away.
“Black wasn’t my natural color.” She let herself in and he followed slowly, closing the door as the bell jingled. She flipped on the lights. “See that photo of Heather and me?” She pointed to a shot her mother had taken of them on the front porch when they were about nine and ten years old, sharing a bowl of raspberries and wearing matching blue dresses. “That shade of red is my color. Heather still looks exactly the same, by the way.”
“That’s a great picture.”
“My mom has always been good with a camera.” It was one way Erin had been able to relate to her mother since Diana saw the world differently through the lens, where herperceptions weren’t quite as frenetic. Erin fired up the computer and turned on some music. “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought for sure I’d seen the last of you yesterday after you sprinted out the door.”
“About that—” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sleek dark trousers. His white silk T-shirt probably meant it was a casual day for him, but since he wore it with a gray jacket, he still looked extraordinarily well put together. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and—” He shook his head as if he wasn’t sure where to go with that next.
“It’s no big deal,” she said, leaping into the conversational void to save him, or possibly herself. She didn’t need to hear anything overly personal about Remy. “I can imagine it must be difficult traveling away from home so often.”
Her eyes went surreptitiously to his left hand, bare of a wedding ring. Was it her imagination, or could she see a hint of a tan line there?
“That’s no excuse for bad business.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “I figured I’d deliver this personally so I could apologize. This is the contract and some information about how we film and what to expect.”
“Nice.” She reached for the papers, grateful for the counter between them. “I will look it over tonight.”
