CHAPTER THREE
Garrett Wilder assessed the hinges on the barn-style door that he’d just finished repairing at Wavecrest Antiques before giving it one final swipe with an oiled rag. Hinges, he’d always thought, were unsung heroes. Without them, a door basically just became a wall, and yet nobody ever gave them the attention they deserved. He’d been pleased when the owners of Wavecrest had opted for sturdier, antique style hinges that matched their business’ nature and the doors they’d chosen, and which provided better support for the heavy doors.
Besides, they sure did look nice when they were all shined up and well-oiled. He moved the door back and forth, brusquely nodding in satisfaction when the heavy wood swung back and forth easily and noiselessly. He hated to see a repair job done poorly, but he loved to see one get fixed.
This was the kind of thing Garrett thought about a lot. He’d spent most of his mental and physical energy cultivating his hardware store, Nuts and Bolts, for over ten years now. He’d also built up a reputation around Magnolia Shore as a kind of general handyman, as the building know-how he’d cultivated by owning the shop had given him a pretty comprehensive education on how to repair just about anything.
Except electrical. That, he left to the professionals.
There was one other reputation he’d earned in his small-town home, although this one sat less easily on his shoulders: the local curmudgeon.
Garrett loved helping out in his community, and he loved living in Magnolia Shore…
But sometimes everyone hinting and winking and nudging that maybe, just maybe, Garrett ought to give love another chance made him daydream about packing up, leaving town, and starting over some place where nobody paid any attention to their neighbors, let alone to their neighbors’ love lives. Cities were famous for that, right?
No matter how often he indulged in the daydream of living someplace where nobody knew his name, he knew he never would, not really.
He loved this darn town, for better or for worse.
“Goodness, Garrett, aren’t you just a lifesaver!”
Betsy Richards, a diminutive woman in her seventies, drew him out of his musings about hardware. He turned to see her, a puff of curls atop her graying head, as she took in his work with hands on her hips.
“It was no trouble, Mrs. Richards,” he assured her.
She gave him a stern glance. “Garrett Wilder, how many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Betsy? You’re grown, son!”
It was true that, at forty-one years of age, it had been a few minutes since Garrett could be considered anything but grown. But he’d known Mrs. Richards when he was a child, and some habits were hard to break.
He gifted the older woman one of his rare smiles. “Maybe I’ll remember someday.”
“But not today?” Her arched eyebrow said she was onto his antics.
“Not today,” he confirmed. He turned back to the door… and back to business. “This should hold,” he told the older woman. “But of course, if you have any issues, you know where to find me. I patched the wood where it splintered from the last, uh, not so good hanging job.”
Betsy snorted.
“You’re a proper diplomat, Garrett. You can tell the truth: my nephew botched it but good when he visited. I know he meant well, but he’s not exactly what you would call ‘handy.’”
Garrett hadn’t wanted to malign anyone else’s family… but yeah. Betsy’s nephew had done aterriblejob.
He held up his hands. “You said it, not me. Anyway, it should be good to go now.”
“I appreciate it. What do I owe you?”
He brushed her off. “You already bought the part. Labor only took me about ten minutes.”
She looked prepared to protest, so Garret waved and beat a hasty retreat. He didn’t want to dither overoh, you don’t need to do thatandit’s my pleasureandoh, if you insist.He preferred to do things and have them done with. Talking about it was just so much hot air.
He hopped into the pickup truck that was practically a requirement, when you owned a hardware store, and drove the few miles back to Nuts and Bolts. He pulled down the sign he’d tacked on the front door:Going to fix something. Back soon.
That was another reason his city life fantasy would remain a flight of fancy, instead of ever becoming reality. He was pretty sure you couldn’t get away with that attitude toward hours of business in a big city. In Magnolia Shore, however, people would either wait or shrug and come back later. Easy.
After more than a decade in business, Garrett could go through the motions of opening the store for the day without much thought. He turned on lights, stocked the register, checkedinventory of any items that tended to go out of stock frequently, such as certain sizes of nails or toolbox standards like hammers and screwdrivers. He relished the quiet of the mornings in the store, although he knew, strictly speaking, a business owner shouldwantcustomers to come into the shop.
The problem with customers, however, was that they werepeople. And people always wanted totalk.
Garrett didn’t want to talk. He wanted to work, get about his business, and go home. That was how he’d operated since his fiancée, Maria, had backed out of their wedding mere weeks before they were set to walk down the aisle. Everyone had called Maria’s actions “cold feet,” but Garrett had seen it instead as an important wake up call.
