“Omnimancer!”
He bit back a groan and looked up.
It was Mr. Reed, the one person in town—other than Beatrix—to whom he didn’t want to say no. The man was hanging out the front door of his diner across the street, gesturingcome here.
Peter sighed and crossed over.
“Have lunch,” Mr. Reed said, reaching out to brush the snow off his coat. “On me. You must be starving.”
Oh. He felt guilty for thinking Mr. Reed wanted something from him—Mr. Reed, who of all people deserved his assistance. And the man was right, hewasstarving. He glanced at his watch—nearly one o’clock.
“Come on, Pete,” Mr. Reed said with his gap-tooth smile, bringing back powerful memories of sandwiches and kindness.
Peter followed him in, warm air enveloping him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“The usual?”
He nodded. And in two minutes, he had a hot roast beef sandwich, gravy running from the meat in rivulets.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the taste of it. For all that he felt thirteen again, empty stomach filling up only because of the Reeds, the diner held no unhappy memories. His too-tight muscles relaxed.
“Good?”
He opened his eyes and smiled at Mr. Reed. “Magnificent. And it’s a lucky thing you got me in when you did. I’d no idea how close to keeling over I’d been.”
The man grinned. “Your Miss Harper called to tell me what the mayor had you doing.”
Peter’s breath caught. So she’d pulled his strings into Reed’s, too.
“She takes good care of you,” Mr. Reed said, patting his arm in a meaningful way.
Oh, she took care of him, all right.
Yet twined with the frustration and worry was pleasure, insistent and undeniable. That she’d cared enough to think of how exhausted and hungry he would be at this point in the day. That she knew what a comfort Reed’s would be to him.
“So,” Mr. Reed added in a half-joking undertone, “when’s the wedding?”
Peter’s face must have shown some sliver of the truth—that he desperately wanted to marry her, despite it all, and would never be able to—because Mr. Reed’s smile faded. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He wanted to unload the whole sorry tale on him. But telling anyone was out of the question.
“Pete?” Mr. Reed said.
The door banged open. “Is the omnimancer here?”
Whatnow?
“Yes,” Mr. Reed said, straightening up. “Are you all right, Dan?”
Peter turned in his booth to see Daniel Clark, eyes wide with alarm, hands clutching his hat. “My wife—please, Omnimancer …”
Peter jumped to his feet, leaving the last of his sandwich on the table. Mrs. Clark was eight months pregnant.Whether Beatrix sent Mr. Clark or not, the problem he’d come about was real.
“Let’s go,” Peter said, hustling the man out the door.
CHAPTER 4
His first trip to the Clarks’ apartment, nearly four months ago now, had been a shock. Not because it was a tiny, dank and utterly insufficient home for a family, but because years ago it had beenhistiny, dank and utterly insufficient home, the only one Nan could afford to rent with a widow’s pension that—she once joked—was clearly intended for the many widows who enjoyed foraging for their food.
