Zora shook her head. “Doc says I need bed rest and zero stress. Maybe it’s time to give up the shop.”
“Babe, no.” Marquetta sank onto the bed’s edge. “You put so much heart and soul into renovating the place.”
“Then I’ll close it until I’m better.” Zora crossed her arms and winced as her hospital wristband caught on a monitor wire.
“You’re running on a thin margin as it is,” her wife countered. “I’ll take a leave of absence from the library.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who’s gonna keep the doors open, the volunteers?”
Gemma lifted her chin. “I’ll run the shop, Auntie. You can supervise from your bed. We’ll FaceTime.”
Zora gentled her tone. “Darling, you’re one of the most creative, intuitive people I’ve ever met, but you don’t know diddly squat about running a business. You never stay put long enough to learn the boring details.”
He couldn’t bear another minute of this stubborn squabbling. Three of his favorite people in Trappers Cove were in distress. He straightened and moved to Gemma’s side. “I’ll help.”
Marquetta’s voice wobbled. “You kids would do that for us?”
Placing her hand over his heart, Gemma gazed up at him, her tear-bright eyes enormous. Something passed between them in that moment—something big and powerful that filled his chest with warmth and lifted his feet a hair’s breadth off the ground.
“Of course we will,” she told the two older women. “You rest up, Auntie Z. Let Marquetta take care of you.”
Zora and Marquetta exchanged a wary glance. Stubborn old birds.
He leaned down and took Zora’s hand, careful not to disturb her IV port. “Come on, let Gemma manage the customers. She’s great with people. I’ll deal with the rest. Bookkeeping, ordering, whatever you need.”
Gemma snugged up to his side. “You sure?” she whispered.
“Absolutely.” He squeezed her hand, then backed toward the door. “I’ll go get us some coffee. Who’s in?”
Marquetta’s tight expression relaxed into a smile. “Me, please.”
“Me too,” Gemma added.
When he returned with watery coffees and pastries from the vending machine, he found Zora snoring softly while Marquetta and Gemma whispered in the corner. Marquetta murmured something to Gemma and gave her a poke. Gemma covered her mouth and giggled. That merry sound was reward enough for whatever extra work he’d do until Zora recovered.
They stayed a few minutes more until the shift nurse announced the end of visiting hours.
Gemma gave Marquetta another hug before looping her arm through Jesse’s and moving toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” Marquetta called in her best librarian voice.
“I’m taking Gemma home.”
“Not without this, you aren’t.” Marquetta squeezed him in a hug so tight it brought tears to his eyes. Or maybe it was the resemblance to his grandma’s hugs that had him all mushy. It had been a helluva day for his heart.
After dropping an exhausted Gemma at Zora and Marquetta’s house and promising to bring her Jeep the next morning, Jesse steered for home, his head buzzing like a hive. He hardly recognized himself tonight, first nearly opening heaven’s gates with Gemma, then committing to manage a second business for as long as Zora needed. Quick decisions were not his strength. It took him months to ask Shauna out, and even longer—too long, actually—to ask her to move in with him. Now he was hurtling into new connections at warp speed. Scary stuff. Thrilling, too.
He pulled into his parking spot, shut off the truck, and chuckled. “Guess Gemma succeeded in opening my mind.”
Chapter Seven
JesseDelTorobaffledthe hell out of Gemma. Two weeks after their interrupted make-out session, he showed no signs of picking things up where they’d left off. True, he stopped by the shop every day and brought her little treats—sweets from Sweet Dreams bakery, kebabs from Ali Baba’s, a breakfast frittata from Cassie’s Café, not to mention his own homemade tea bread, soup, and flowers from his greenhouse. Each visit, he made pleasant conversation as he helped around the showroom, asking about her past, her family, her schooling, her plans—then he disappeared into Zora’s office to deal with the paperwork. Afterward, he gave her a sweet, lingering kiss, then poof! Gone like a hunky Cinderella fleeing the stroke of midnight.
“I don’t get it,” she told Margot, her go-to friend for over-the-phone amateur therapy. “I’ve done everything I can think of to show I want him, short of tackling him in the tie-dye aisle. Am I a lousy kisser? Do I have bad breath?”
Margot barked a laugh. “Can’t speak to your kissing skills, but your breath is fine, as I recall.”
“It’s like he’s putting me through some kind of trial.”
