Page 10 of One Reason to Stay


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The jingle of bells over the front door saved the day. My stoic appearance almost faltered. Dorothy might not have picked up on it, but Amanda would. If she found out about Simon, I’d spend the rest of the day answering questions I didn’t have answers for.

“Welcome to Bistro on Maine,” he said. “Dorothy will take your order. I need to get back to the kitchen.”

Did I stare at his ass as he walked away? If I didn’t, Amanda might ask why I avoided the handsome man. If I did, she’d make comments about the new hottie in town. I took my chances. An innocent glance at the back of his black pants. Not even his Crocs dampened the sexiness.When I got home, I’d be imagining that sexy bear climbing on top of me.

Amanda chuckled when she caught me. “Jason, don’t get any ideas…”

TASTES LIKE CUPCAKES

“Gladys, if you keep this up, you’ll have more comics than me.”

My nose twitched as I lifted the white lid on the second box of comics. She stood on the other side of the table, her eyes twice the normal size thanks to her coke-bottle glasses. I threw an arm up as I sneezed.

“Do you think they’ll sell?”

The box held almost two hundred comics, each one with a cardboard back and tightly sealed in plastic. They were dusty, but every issue had been treated with love. As I thumbed through the selection, I let out a low whistle.Twice-Told Talesmight give me a run for my money at this rate.

“Some of these might be worth real money.”

Gladys let out a victory cheer. “You know Ricky’s dad? He moved into an assisted-living facility. I just happenedto stop by the yard sale and spotted these. He said they belonged to his brother. What’s his name? Darrel? Darren?”

Gladys knew the name of every person in town and their lineage. There was no ‘just happened to’ with Gladys. If there was a yard sale within an hour's drive, it pinged her radar. The entirety of her store were treasures—mostlytreasures—she found and restored. Nearly all the furniture in her inventory had been made from lumber that used to pass through our mills.

“Bring whatever you want to the convention, but I think these will be a big hit. If you want, I can help you price them. There might be some you want to send off to auction.”

She swatted at the idea. “Money is great, but I can’t wait to see happy customers.” Gladys loved her store. She didn’t need the money. She was a modern treasure hunter and loved the thrill of the find. When her time came, I’m sure she’d be cremated in an urn from the China hutch in the back.

“Oh!” An excited Gladys made me giggle. “I have something else that might interest you.”

She waved for me to follow. I passed an antique table with ornate chairs before crossing into the section of her store filled with old steamer trunks. In the middle of old lamps with stained glass shades, she had a quilt laid out. Gladys also served as the vice president of the local quilting group.

“My grandson is excited about the convention. He’sgrowing like a weed. His dad gave me his old t-shirts. I thought this would be perfect for the raffle.”

Gladys had stitched together the shirts, each one with a different logo for a prominent superhero. In the middle, she had created a shield with a giant P. It took me a moment to realize it was Prime’s logo. Wrong, shield, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. It’d be perfect for the raffle.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” The imperfections made her efforts noteworthy. They might not win superhero trivia night, but the town had quickly embraced the idea of a comic convention. Times like these, I couldn’t fathom leaving. The city might offer more amenities, but it’d never have the heart of Firefly.

“Alright, I’m heading to the market. You call if you need anything.”

Her head didn’t reach my chin as she gave me a hug. “I remember you in diapers. I’m so happy to see you helping keep Firefly alive.”

We parted ways, and I headed next door to the market for my last stop. In the middle of the day, I expected Bonny to be the only person in the store. The inside smelled like freshly peeled oranges. It wasn’t much bigger than a corner market, but it saved locals the hassle of driving two towns over to the big grocery store.

“Morning, cupcake.”

I wish the nickname was a term of endearment. Bonny didn’t bother looking up as she applied a fresh layer of nail polish. Every time she saidthatword, I was reminded of the chocolate stain on the front of my shorts. A first-gradeaccident had followed me for decades. She smiled when I looked down to check my jeans.

“Thanks, matchstick.”

If she thought I forgot the time Carl accidentally set her hair on fire in study hall, she had another thing coming. I’m not saying it was her fault, but I don’t think she ever used hairspray again. There were no secrets in a small town, and every event was burned into our memories. Pun intended.

“Is Carl ready for the convention?” Yes,thatCarl. “I still can’t believe he’ll have enough sculptures.”

I leaned on the counter while Bonny finished applying her nail polish. “He’s been in the barn all week. That damned chainsaw has been going non-stop.”

Other comic cons had hand-crafted action figures and clay sculptures. Firefly Con? We had a chainsaw artist creating life-sized superheroes from logs. Bonny’s husband came from a family of lumberjacks. Unlike his father, Carl used his skill to craft ornate statues for the residents’ gardens. On my porch, I had two small bears standing on their hind legs.

“I’ll help him torch them when he’s done.”