The Good Ones Page 6

  “Fine, but you have to promise not to laugh,” she said. She laced her fingers in front of her chest as if putting up a shield to ward off any insults.

  “I promise,” he said.

  “All right.” She cleared her throat and blew out a breath, as if she were dusting off the words before saying them aloud. “I’m calling it the Happily Ever After Bookstore.”

  She covered her face with her hands, clearly afraid to see his reaction. Again, Ryder was charmed by her ability to let her vulnerability be witnessed. She peeked at him from between her fingers and he wanted to laugh.

  “It’s too corny, isn’t it?” she asked. “You can tell me the truth. I can take it.”

  Ryder glanced out the door into the hall, to the stacks of books illustrated with women and men on the covers, sometimes alone but frequently together, holding hands or embracing, clothed, and occasionally not so much. He turned back and met her gaze and said, with complete honesty, “Nope, I think that’s perfect.”

  Maisy lowered her hands. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Her shoulders dropped, releasing her tension. “Thank you. You’re the first person I’ve told and if you’d hated it, it would have been tainted and completely unusable.”

  Ryder sighed in relief. He would have felt like a real bastard if he’d ruined the name for her. It was perfectly charming, much like Maisy herself.

  “And now”—she rolled her hand at him—“I’m thirsty. We should take a sweet tea break; don’t you think? Because we still need to discuss the turret.”

  So, she wasn’t letting that go. Okay, then. Ryder followed her to the kitchen. She pulled a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator and poured three glasses. She led the way upstairs to Perry, who was sitting exactly where they’d left her, still reading in the upstairs bedroom.

  Ryder silently toasted Maisy when Perry took the tea, barely glancing up from the book enough to say, “Thank you.”

  “Come on, I want to show you something,” Maisy said.

  Ryder followed her downstairs and outside onto the porch. He took a sip of the tea and felt the cool bite of fresh mint on his tongue. Perfection. The May sun was warm, but the breeze was cool and he could hear the birds chirping in the trees. It was impossible not to feel optimistic while leaning against the porch rail as a pretty woman bounced on her toes beside him, enthusiasm in her eyes.

  “Right here.” Maisy spread her arms wide. The tea sloshed out of her glass and onto the floor, but she paid it no mind.

  Ryder considered her over the rim of his glass. “Right here, what?”

  “Right here is where my Idea! comes in. This is where I want the turret.”

  Chapter Seven

  RYDER stared at her hard, and Maisy got the feeling that he wasn’t as jazzed about her Idea! as she was.

  “You can’t have a turret,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I thought you wanted to restore the house to its original state.”

  Maisy watched as he put his glass down on a closed box of books and then stood, closing the distance between them to stand beside her at the corner of the house. He studied the walls and the ceiling of the porch as if considering her idea even though he’d already said no.

  “I do.” She began her sales pitch. “But I also want a turret, and it wouldn’t ruin the architectural integrity of the house because turrets were very popular on Queen Anne houses. While sorting through Auntie El’s papers, I found the plans for this house in my great-great-whatever Stuart’s library and it was supposed to have a turret, but he scrapped it at the last minute so he could hurry up the construction on the house and marry Margaret. He was getting worried someone else would snatch her up.”

  Ryder studied the house, then Maisy, then the house again. He paced the area. He peered over the railing toward the ground. He then leaned on the railing and glanced up at the side of the house. Maisy pressed her lips together to keep from begging. This was nonnegotiable for her.

  “Why do you want a turret so badly?”

  “Because who doesn’t want a turret?” she countered.

  “Fair point.”

  “They’re romantic and whimsical, and I just feel that a place called the Happily Ever After Bookstore requires a turret,” she said.

  Maisy studied his face to see if her argument swayed him at all. If he refused, she’d have to find a new architect. The thought made her weary.

  “The roof on the corner here does look like it was built to bear a heavier load. Turrets usually start on the second floor, so you’d still have this section of the porch with the add-on room above. The cost will be prohibitive,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I’m going all in on this venture. Sink or swim. Fly or fall. Win or lose.”

  His gaze met hers. She didn’t know what he was looking for. Resolve? Determination? Stubbornness? She had it all going on, and she met his bright-blue eyes with what she hoped was an unyielding stare of her own. Ryder blew out a breath. He raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I’ll rework the bid and include it.”

  “Yay!” Maisy clapped.

  “Oh, jeez, she got you to add in the turret, didn’t she?”

  Maisy spun around to see Jeri Lancaster striding across the porch toward them. Jeri was the epitome of poise, from the thick mass of black braids on her head all the way down to her purple-painted toenails.

  Her skin was dark brown, her figure willowy, and her smile like a beacon of light in a storm. The happily married mother of three teen boys was one of Maisy’s favorite people. Jeri had been Maisy’s babysitter when Maisy was a child and they had remained close ever since, even when Jeri met and married Davis Lancaster, the love of her life. The couple lived in a house around the corner, which thankfully gave Maisy easy access to Jeri’s formidable accounting skills.

  “I’m only putting it in the bid,” Ryder said. “I make no promises until I see the old plans and do some calculations of my own.”

  “Proceeding with caution,” Jeri said. “Wise man.”

  Maisy glanced between the two of them. “You know, I think it’s bad form to gang up on me before you’ve been properly introduced.”

  Jeri put her hand over her heart. “Oh, you’re right. Where are my manners?” She held out her hand to Ryder. “Jeri Lancaster, accountant by trade and former babysitter, also known as the voice of reason to the dreamer here.”

  Ryder laughed. “Ryder Copeland, transplanted Texan, restoration architect, and facilitator or crusher of dreams, depending upon your point of view.”

  Jeri grinned and glanced at Maisy. “A pragmatist. I like him.”

  “You would,” Maisy said. “Are you here to torture me with more paperwork?”

  “Always,” Jeri said. She glanced at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. “I only have about thirty minutes before my next appointment. I can come back later if that would work better for you.”

  Maisy crossed the porch and grabbed an old yellowed roll of papers. She handed them to Ryder. “These are copies of the original house blueprints. Do you want to look them over while I meet with Jeri?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He made a face and said, “Sorry. That was a dad pun. I like to annoy Perry with those. She’d kill me if she was here.”

  Jeri burst out laughing. “You sound like my Davis with our boys. That was a good one.”

  Maisy smiled. She liked that Ryder and Jeri had formed an instant rapport. It boded well for hiring Ryder if the two of them got along.

  “I’ll find you if I have any questions,” Ryder said. “Is it all right if I wander the house on my own as needed?”

  “Absolutely, have at it,” Maisy said. She waved her hands at him in a polite shooing gesture.

  “Thanks,” he said. He turned to Jeri. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You
, too,” she said.

  The two women were silent as he crossed the porch toward the house. When he paused by the front door and tipped his head in their direction, Maisy and Jeri gave him identical tiny finger waves. As soon as the door closed, Jeri’s head swiveled to Maisy.

  “Wherever did you find that man?” she asked. She fanned herself with her hand. “He looks like he walked right off the cover of one of Auntie El’s romances.”

  “I know, right? Is it objectifying him if I observe that he is totally hot?” Maisy asked.

  “Yes,” Jeri said. “But it’s also speaking the truth. So long as we don’t pinch his butt when he walks by, I think we’re okay.”

  “He showed up wearing a cowboy hat,” Maisy said. “I almost fainted.”

  “Oh, man, like one of the cowboy hotties. I have to see that,” Jeri said. “Think he’d put it on for me if I asked nicely?”

  “Which wouldn’t sound creepy and unprofessional at all,” Maisy said.

  “Hmm.” Jeri seemed to consider this. “Maybe you could just take a picture of him for me.”

  “Jeri, what would Davis say?” Maisy moved toward the two padded wicker chairs, wedged among the boxes that she had hauled out of the house that morning. She gestured for Jeri to sit.

  “I don’t see why you’re dragging my husband into this,” Jeri said. “I just want a peek at the cowboy. Did you notice his accent? He has a real Texas twang.”

  “I thought it was more of a drawl,” Maisy said.

  “It’s too bad,” Jeri sighed.

  “What is?”

  “That he’s so good-looking,” Jeri said. “I mean, he seems nice, too, which is a shame.”

  “You have totally lost me,” Maisy said.

  “I don’t think you should hire him.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Jeri opened her bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “That man is so good-looking, and you haven’t had a real date since the breakup. You’d be like a ticking time bomb with him around. It could be the equivalent of a natural disaster.”

  “No, it won’t,” Maisy protested. She reached for her sweet tea and took a long sip, trying to cool down from the thought of Ryder as anything more than the guy in charge of renovating her house. “Besides, he’s married.”

  “Even more reason to keep your distance. You don’t want to spend your days pining for something you can’t have.”

  “With a kid,” Maisy added.

  “Oh, well, that is a game changer. It’s easy to behave yourself when there are kids involved,” Jeri said. Then she perked up. “Hey, this means a picture of him wouldn’t be completely out of the question, then.”

  “Yes, it would. Stop ogling my architect,” Maisy said. “You can’t just take pictures of men because they’re hot. How would we feel if a man did that to random women he found attractive?”

  Jeri was silent.

  “Well?” Maisy prodded.

  “I’m trying to think of a man I know who wouldn’t do that, given half a chance,” Jeri said. Then she laughed and waved a hand. “Relax. I’m just teasing you. Of course I wouldn’t take his picture like he’s just some man candy.”

  “Thank you,” Maisy said. “Now, what papers do you have for me?”

  “All the paperwork. I have the forms for applying for your business license, your employer identification number, your trade name, and I brought your balance sheet, which breaks down the trust money Auntie El left you and separates out your operating capital, yada yada yada,” Jeri said. Then she glanced back at the house. “Just one picture?”

  “Stop,” Maisy said. But she laughed. “Having seen him in the hat, though, all I can say is he is totally book cover worthy.”

  “I knew it,” Jeri said. “I may have to cancel my next appointment, you know, and see if he needs help with his hat.”

  “Because that wouldn’t be obvious,” Maisy said. She took the papers Jeri handed her and scanned them. Accounting was not her gift, so she was ever grateful that her former babysitter had felt a pull to the mathematical arts.

  Jeri watched her as if she was waiting for something. When Maisy sifted through the papers for the second time, Jeri chuckled.

  “You have no idea what you’re looking at, do you?” she asked.

  “Sure I do,” Maisy said. “It’s just lacking a compelling narrative or character arc.”

  “Let me break it down for you. Here’s your story line,” Jeri said. She pointed to the figure at the bottom of the page. “That is your available capital to fix this place up. You’ll want to be familiar with that number when cowboy-architect man gives you his bid, especially with the turret.”

  “Uh-huh,” Maisy said. It was more money than she’d ever seen in her bank account before but she knew that renovating the place was not going to be cheap and the money would disappear pretty quickly. “What about working capital for the bookstore?”

  “That’s at the bottom of the next page,” Jeri said. “Also, I set up meetings with booksellers for you for next week. You’re going to want to be carrying the latest bestsellers if you’re going to keep your customer base happy. As one of your customers, let me just say I will be expecting first dibs on the latest J.R. Ward books as soon as they come in.”

  Maisy flipped the page and looked at the number. She wasn’t sure how long she could operate on that amount. She’d been hoping for a year, but it looked like Jeri had estimated it as more like six months. She glanced up at Jeri. “Can I afford you?”

  “Of course you can,” she said. “I’m giving you the friends and family, hook me up with books and we’ll call it even discount.”

  “You can have any books you want,” Maisy said. “Seriously, help yourself.”

  “Good to know,” Jeri said. “Suddenly, I feel the need to have a cowboy romance at the ready.”

  Maisy rolled her eyes, but, yeah, she totally got it.

  “Perry!” Ryder’s voice sounded from inside the house.

  Maisy and Jeri both turned toward the sound. He hadn’t struck Maisy as a yeller, so she was surprised when he called his daughter’s name again, even more loudly.

  “Perry!”

  Jeri hopped out of her seat. She strode toward the front door, calling over her shoulder, “I know that tone of voice. That’s a worried parent.”

  Maisy stuffed the papers back into Jeri’s bag and hurried after her.

  They arrived in the foyer to see Ryder hurrying down the stairs. His mouth was set in a line, like he was trying to keep the concern on lockdown.

  “What’s wrong?” Maisy asked.

  “It’s Perry,” he said. “She’s not reading in the room where we left her, and I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not answering when I call her name, and she left her phone behind in the chair where she was reading. She’s never without her phone. I’m a little worried that she might have toppled a pile of books and gotten hurt. Did she come outside?”

  “No,” Maisy said. “It was just us.”

  “Probably she just went looking for a bathroom,” Jeri suggested. Her voice was perfectly calm and reasonable. “If we split up, we can cover more ground.”

  “Good idea,” Ryder said. His brow furrowed with worry, and Maisy felt a pang as if this was somehow her fault because it was her house.

  “I’ll look on the third floor,” Jeri said.

  “I’ll check the basement,” Ryder said.

  “I’ll search the first floor,” Maisy said.

  “If you find her, give a shout. Otherwise, we’ll meet back on the second floor where we left her,” Ryder said.

  The three of them separated, and Maisy hurried from room to room on the first floor, looking for a sign of Perry.

  “Perry!” she cried. “Perry, hello! Are you here?”

  There was no answer. With each room, she felt a growing sense
of unease. What if Ryder was right and a pile of books had fallen on her and knocked her out? What if someone had snuck into the house while Perry was reading and abducted her? Okay, that was from watching too many crime shows. She shook her head. Perry was here somewhere. She was sure of it.

  “Perry!” she cried. She could hear the panic in her voice and she forced herself to calm down. “Perry, do you want more tea? How about chocolate? Ice cream? Anything?”

  Still, there was no answer.

  “Any sign of her?” Ryder popped into the last room Maisy was searching, and she let out a yelp. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said. “I can’t imagine where she’s gone. I mean, there is a back door out of the kitchen but it just leads to the yard and the detached garage in the back and I can’t imagine that she went out there. There’s the side door out of the study but it was locked, so she couldn’t have left that way. And if she went through the front, Jeri and I would have seen her leave, right?”

  “This isn’t like her, but lately, well, she’s been different,” Ryder said. He ran a hand through his hair as if trying to stimulate an idea. “I feel like she’s keeping something from me, but I can’t get her to talk to me.”

  Maisy wished she could offer him more than platitudes, but the teen years were notoriously difficult.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find her. Let’s go back up to the room where she was reading,” Maisy said. “Maybe we’ll get a sense of where she went from there.”

  He nodded. With Maisy in the lead they climbed the stairs up to the second level. She was hyperaware of Ryder right behind her and she tried not to think about the view he was getting. She wasn’t well endowed either upstairs or downstairs. As if he even cared if her butt was skinny or not when his daughter was missing. Ugh, she felt like a jerk.

  They arrived in the room but there was no sign of Perry. With no idea what to do, Maisy worked her way around the piles of books. Ryder did the same.

  “Perry!” he called.

  “Perry!” Maisy echoed.

  A faint knocking noise sounded.