Elsie: And what’s yours?
Amie: Just call me when you get home. Too hard to describe via text.
I didn’t message her back. Instead, I remained planted by the window, watching the steady line of people congest that entire side of the square, waiting to gain access to see if it’s what they expected.
Kandi, one of my employees, arrived at four for her shift. “Wow! The line still hasn’t gone down.”
Twisting my lips, gaze fixed to said line, I nodded slowly. “Did you go in?”
“Yeah. I checked it out before my hair appointment.”
“And?”
She tucked her purse under the register and shrugged off her coat. “And I think you should go see for yourself. It’s hard to explain. But it’s definitely not what I expected.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I kept my expression neutral. “What did you expect?”
Kandi sipped her grande coffee in a white to-go cup and lifted a shoulder. “I wasn’t sure. Frame shop. Bath and body store. New restaurant. But I can say with absolute certainty the biggest attraction right now is the owner, Kael. He’s hot. And incredibly nice. Nice like Craig.”
Everyone loved Craig.
But they didn’t live with him for twenty-two years.
Yes, in a romantic sense, I fell out of love. In another sense, my love for him grew deeper because my appreciation for his work ethic and the way he loved our children never faded. It aged into something admirable and unforgettable.
“I’m going over.” I snagged my coat from the hook behind the counter and meandered across the square to get in line. Never had I waited in line outside in Epperly. Even at the grocery store, it was rare for the checkout lines to be more than two customers deep. It took twenty minutes to get to the door.
“What the heck?” I whispered to myself.
Two registers.
At least a hundred customers.
Fire code violation?
I sure thought so.
As I wormed my way through the store, familiar faces glanced at me for two seconds before turning away to avert their attention.
Shame.
They were ashamed for having their arms and shopping baskets filled with things from my competitor’s store instead of mine.
Flavored vinegars and olive oils in stainless steel vats lined two full walls. Eager customers snatched tiny cups of free samples before grabbling bottles of all the flavors. The middle aisles contained everything from special syrups and spices to unique kitchen items, gourmet organic hot chocolates and coffees, and loads of gift sets.
I had never seen any of the brands or items. So no … not what I expected.
Worse.
So much worse.
“Welcome! Can I tell you about any of our items or get you signed up at twenty percent off for any of our cooking classes?”
My gaze drifted to his crisp white apron with words embroidered in green stitching.
I’m Kael—Like Kale.
Just as healthy.
Twice as sexy.
“I have four kids. I can cook.” I narrowed my eyes a smidge. He looked familiar. Celebrity familiar.
As his welcoming grin swelled, I made the connection. Captain America. He bore a resemblance to the superhero.
Chris Evans, with a beard. I happened to like Chris Evans.
A lot.
Too much.
“I believe you can cook, but I don’t believe you have four kids.”
“I do,” I deadpanned. “Four kids. A dog. And a business on the opposite side of the square.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder toward the front windows.
“Oh! You must be Elsie Smith.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many good things about you and your family’s store. I need to make it over, but we’ve been slammed trying to get everything ready to open.”
My teeth dug into my lower lip as I internally bristled at his enthusiasm over stealing my customers going into the holiday season and the anniversary of Craig’s death.
Not cool, Cap. Not cool.
I might have been a little chapped that he looked too hot for Epperly. Too hot for a retail store owner. And too hot for me to think about all the ways he looked too hot.
“Oh yeah? What sort of good things have you heard about me and my store?”
He chuckled as if he didn’t expect me to ask him that—like when people asked how you are, but only to be nice. They didn’t really want to know about your dishwasher on the fritz or the shoulder pain that you recently noticed after no apparent injury.
“Well … I’ve heard your husband was loved by everyone. Sorry for your loss. And I’ve heard your store is a staple for the classics.”
“The classics?” I tilted my head to the side.
“Yeah, the things that make us feel comfort during the holidays. Things we feel guilty splurging on during other times of the year unless it’s a gift from someone.”
Tipping my chin up for an extended pause, I returned to my squinty eyes and dropped my head in a sharp nod.
“Yo, Kael!” one of his aproned employees called him.
“Listen…” he started to turn, but he kept his eyes on me as his hand slid into his pocket and pulled out a small card “…the cooking classes are more like a social hour with wine where I force everyone to make their own food. Come for free next Friday and bring a friend. Seven o’clock. Right when your store closes.” He winked, pretty proud of himself for knowing that. Then he handed me the card (a voucher for a free class) and turned, zig-zagging his way to the checkout. Kael smiled and thanked everyone in his path for visiting his store.
At Smith’s, we thanked them when they walked out the door or made a purchase. Based on the way his customers added five new items to their baskets after he showed his appreciation, accompanied with that Captain America smile, I needed to up my greeting game. Brilliant marketing: make them feel appreciated and they’ll carry a spark of indebtedness to buy something just because you showed a smile and gratitude for them walking through your door—before they’d made up their mind on the purchase.
Well, I wasn’t going to buy anything, but Elsie seems so appreciative that I’m here, I’ll go ahead and buy this candle in a jar. As if I need one more ugly candle in a jar.
The classics. Smith’s sold the classics. I’m pretty sure that was code for outdated shit no one wanted anymore. Kael didn’t open a fitness studio, but he might as well have opened one. Everything in his store gave off a trendy, healthy vibe.
Organic, cold-pressed oils.
Posh flavored vinegars.
Natural this.
Fair-trade that.
My large tins—filled with GMO popcorn covered in high-fructose corn syrup, salt, and artificial flavorings and colorings—felt anything but trendy and healthy.
Kale Kael.
Artificial Elsie.
Just … great.
Chapter Five
It’s hard to love a man who puts your bank account into the negative, buying foot porn on the internet.
* * *
“It’s a specialty food store!” I ran my hands through my hair before pouring a generous glass of wine for myself on Amie’s deck. It overlooked a pond filled with geese and ducks, lending a sense of privacy.