He’d never met a business he couldn’t fix. Sure, some places had more problems than others did. That was just the way of the world. The good news was, for him at least, solving A Stitch in Time’s problems was going to be relatively easy. And brief.That was the good news. The bad news was, when Mattie heard the changes he was suggesting, she wouldn’t like them. But she was a businesswoman. Surely she would be able to distance herself emotionally from the problems with the shop.And yet, as he settled into the chair facing her desk, he hesitated a moment. He realized that he wanted to be able to fix her problems. Not because to her owed it to her—though he did—but because he wanted to be the one who rescued her. He wanted her to once again look at him and see her hero. Maybe if he saved her business, she would.The tiny room, dimly lit by a single overhead fixture, radiated with the warmth of Mattie’s personality. the ancient wood, the kitschy, Depression-era wall clock, and the inviti
“You made her cry.”Brad looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway to the office, flanked on either side by Edith and Abigail. Collectively, they looked ready to lynch him. The image of being hung by a quilted noose flashed through his mind. He laughed grimly at the visual.They didn’t see the humor he did. As one, they stepped into the room, fists propped on hips, narrowed in defensive anger.He held up his hands surrender. “Wait. I didn’t mean to. She’s just upset about the—“ He racked his brain for suitable lie, but couldn’t construct one. “About the books. She’s worried about the shop.”Infinitesimally the three women relaxed.“Well, hang it all,” Edith said. “We know that. But we don’t know what to do to help.”“No, we don’t,” added Lucy. “We offered to take pay cuts, but she wouldn’t listen.”“Oh, dear,” Abigail murmured. “We had hoped things were picking up. After all, a strong woman knows her own mind and her own limits.”Brad nodded as if he understood. He’d spent most of
“Tell me about Mike.”Mattie stilled, about chocolate chips poised above the mixing bowl. Her hand clenched on the package and a few chips tumbled in. Deliberately, she shook half the chips into the bowl before asking, “What do you want to know?”She had the tapping of Brad’s shoes as he crossed the tile floor to stand beside her. In her peripheral vision, she saw him against the counter and cross his arms over his chest. “Tell me about the money.”She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she dumped the rest of the bag in the bowl—the day she was having for double chocolate chips. then she flipped the mixer on and waited for the consolation only raw cookie dough could provide.She turned to face him, “They told you about the loan,” she surmised. He nodded. “They shouldn’t have said anything.”“I pressured them.”She almost laughed at that. “Right. You’re the last person I’d expect to hear a defending them.”“They only wanted to help.”“I know.” She flipped the mixer off, extr
When she woke up to an empty bed the next morning, she wasn’t surprised. Brad rose early every morning— except for the morning she made him apple pie— to do situps and other torturous exercises. Given how much she’d appreciated those stomach muscles last night, she could hardly complain now.She stretched and yarned, smiling as she remembered the previous night. When they’d made love the night before, he’d been not just passionate, but surprisingly tender. And today was his birthday. She’d have to do something special for him.Mattie rolled over, burying her nose in the pillow, where he’d slept. The pillowcase still held his scent. It smelled like him and—she grinned as she recognized the scent—her bath gel.Only when she started to climb out of bed did she see him, sitting in her bedroom's only chair, half-hidden by the early-morning gloom. He sat, elbows on his knees, fingers templed, staring at her.And that's when she knew something was wrong. The relaxed, sexy Brad of last night
"Where the hell is she?" The words were out of his mouth before the door even slammed shut behind him. The bell continued to jingle in the silence that followed his question. For a moment, all three women—Edith, Abigail and Lucy—simply stared at him. Then the two older women spoke at once. "What do you mean, where is she?" Edith demanded hands fisted on her wide hips. Abigail's brightly painted lips pursed in a frown. "Isn't she with you?" Lucy's silence drew his attention. Even when he stared at her, she said nothing. Edith scowled, seemingly unaware of Lucy's silence. "She hasn't missed a day in years. We assumed, since she wasn't here to open the store, that she was with you." "She isn't." "Oh, dear," Abigail murmured. "Our Mattie is missing." Lucy—he noticed—showed no sign of concern. Silently she crept towards the door, apparently hoping to escape unnoticed. "Now Abigail," Edith warned. "Don't leap to conclusion. Just because she isn't here doesn't mean she's missing. I'
Brad Sumners successful entrepreneur, former high school football quarterback, and all-around Greek God. Of all the things Mattie Wilcox could imagine him needing advice about, women were dead last on the list."Let me see if I've got this right." Mattie eyed her best friend and roommate speculatively."Your brother needs advice and, since you're leaving town, I'm elected?"Jessica Sumners tossed two suitcases on her bed."Come on," she cajoled. "You and I have been best friends since the sixth grade. We practically grew up together. He thinks of you as a sister." She scooped the entire contents of one dresser drawer into her arms and then dumped it into one of the open bags.Mattie raised her eyebrows at Jessica's uncharacteristic packing. Seeing Jessica-who was normally so calm and sophisticated-this rattled was a bit amusing, really. But who wouldn't be rattled under the circumstances? Packing for a nine-week trip in less than an hour would make anyone panic. But Jessica? Jessica, w
Mattie pulled the elastic scrunchie out of her hair, then scraped her fingernails over her scalp."Brad means nothing to you now." Hours later, and she was still trying to convince herself.She pulled her clothes off, wadding them into a ball and shooting them across her bedroom into the laundry basket. She crossed the hall to the bathroom, continuing her monologue while she waited for the water to run hot. "I mean it, too. You're not fifteen anymore. You're past that." She braced one hand on the tile wall and thrust the other under the stream of steamy water. Perfect."He'll visit. You'll be sympathetic. That's it." As she stepped into the shower, she noticed the bottle of Fresh Freesia shower gel. Jess was always leaving fancy gels and shampoos in here for her.Mattie started to reach for her own bar of Ivory like she always did but paused. What would it hurt? Surely one fresh freesia shower wouldn't spoil her forever. As she flipped open the cap and inhaled the light floral scent,
There was a naked woman in his sister's living room.Nearly naked, anyway. She wore only a bright yellow towel wrapped sarong-style around her torso and a blue towel twined like a turban on her head. Other than that, she was completely naked. Gloriously naked.She was a tiny little thing-small enough that her cheek could rest right against his heart-but he didn't, not even for a minute, mistake her for anything other than a full-grown woman. Though slender, she had curves in all the right places. That yellow towel hid little and stressed everything else. That bare length of her thighs, the swell of her hips, the arch of her breasts, the delicate jut of her collarbone.He swallowed, trying to ease the sudden dryness in his mouth. She was obviously just out of the shower and he was instantly aware that her skin would still be moist and the droplets of water would pool at the hollow of her throat.His gaze slipped up to her eyes. They widened, mirroring his own surprise. Her lips parted,