Authors: Sydney Logan
After exchanging phone numbers, Shellie headed for the checkout while I grabbed what I needed and dodged other friendly faces. It was useless. Pastor Martin caught me in the deli and
invited me to church. Lee Ann Patterson, a former classmate, asked if we could meet for dinner one night this week, and Imogene Jordan found me near the bread aisle. She brought tears to my eyes by telling me I was beautiful—just like my mother.
By the time I made it to the cashier, I was an emotional mess.
“You’re Grace’s granddaughter. Sarah, I believe.”
“That’s right. How are you, Mrs. Thomas?”
“Oh, you remember me,” she said with a smile. My grandmother and Catherine Thomas used to sit together at church every Sunday morning. The woman had to be eighty years old by now.
“Are you all settled in?”
“Getting there. I still have some unpacking to do.”
She began to scan my items, and I briefly panicked when I realized I didn’t have enough cash. I’d so rarely carried it in Memphis.
“Are you all right?”
“I only have a debit card,” I whispered, completely embarrassed and thankful no one was in line behind me.
“Oh, that’s fine, dear. We accept credit or debit,” Catherine explained, pointing to the little machine attached to her register. “We just have the one phone line, though.”
I jumped when she yelled at the manager to get off the phone so she could swipe a card. Just then, a teenage boy appeared out of nowhere and bagged my groceries.
“Grace would be so happy you’ve come home.” Mrs. Thomas handed me the receipt to sign. “She always hoped you would, you know.”
Emotion bubbled inside of me as I scribbled my name. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Oh yes, Grace always said a young girl needs to spread her wings, but a young woman needs roots, as well. That’s why she left the house to you in her will. She knew you’d be back someday. She was such a sweet, sweet lady.”
I thanked her and followed the young man and my groceries to my car.
“Are you the new teacher?”
Smiling, I pressed the remote to open the trunk. “I’m one of them, yes. Are you in high school?”
“Yeah, I’m Matt. I’ll be a senior this year.” He was grinning proudly, like all seniors tend to do. Carefully, he placed my groceries in the car. “So, what will you teach?”
“English literature.”
“To seniors?”
“Yes.”
He closed my trunk and smiled. “That’s cool. You’re a lot prettier than Mrs. Perry. Maybe I’ll take English lit after all.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. It’s required.”
He frowned. That was something else about seniors. They hated to be reminded about graduation requirements.
“Enjoy the rest of your summer vacation,” I said with a grin. Matt waved, but he was still sulking as I climbed into my car and drove away.
*
*
*
After dropping off the groceries at home, I drove across town to Mr. Johnson’s Hardware Store. I was gazing in confusion at all the various paint samples when I heard a friendly voice.
“Sarah Bray, you’re as pretty as a picture.”
His hair was now completely gray, but his smile was still sweet.
“Hi, Mr. Johnson,” I said, grinning at the man. Thanks for taking care of the lawn. I hope you didn’t mow it yourself.”
He laughed. “I’m too old to mow, Sarah, but I was happy to find someone who could do it. Going to paint that old house of Grace’s?”
“Well, I’m going to buy the paint. I’m hoping to hire someone to paint it for me. You wouldn’t happen to know—”
“I know just the person!” Mr. Johnson smiled broadly. “I’ll be right back.”
Well, that was easy.
Of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mr. Johnson knew everyone in Sycamore Falls.
I turned my attention back to the wall and thumbed through the shaded cards. There were literally forty shades of blue, and I groaned in frustration.
“I know. They all look the same to me, too.”
The accent was warm and soft and undeniably Northern. When I turned around, I was staring into a pair of beautiful crystal-blue eyes.
“Wow,” I whispered. I scanned the paint swatches, wondering if such a shade of blue would look good on the exterior of my house.
“Mr. Johnson said you might need help selecting paint.”
“It’s impossible,” I muttered. “I just wanted to buy some blue paint. Why is this so complicated?”
The handsome man stepped closer to my side. “It isn’t, really. Just pick what you like.”
I like crystal-blue.
Luckily, I didn’t say those words aloud.
“I need to paint my grandmother’s old house—well, my house now.”
“Mr. Johnson says you’ve just moved back to Sycamore Falls.”
I sighed. The prodigal daughter returning home from the big, bad city was sure to make the local tongues wag.
“Why are you making that face?”
“What are they saying about me?” Nervously, I glanced at the men over my shoulder. Mr. Johnson and two other customers were huddled around the cash register and watching us intently with gigantic smirks on their faces.
He shrugged. “Not much. Just that your name is Sarah Bray and you’re a teacher. Your parents died when you were sixteen and your grandmother raised you until you went away to college. You taught for a while in Memphis, and now you’re living in your grandmother’s old house. You’ll be teaching at the high school when classes start in two weeks.”
I laughed.
“Not much, huh? That’s pretty much my life story.”
He smiled. “Not really. I don’t know
why
you left Memphis. I’m Lucas Miller, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I managed to tear my eyes away from his long enough to focus on the samples. “So, Lucas Miller, which shade of blue do you recommend for the exterior of a house?”
Lucas motioned to the adjacent aisle, and I groaned when I saw yet another vibrant wall of colors.
“For starters, you need to be looking at
exterior
paint.” He was failing miserably at hiding his smirk.
“There’s a difference?”
This time he laughed loudly. “Have you ever painted a house?”
“No.”
“Do you plan on painting this house yourself?”
“I was actually hoping to hire someone to do it, which is probably a good thing considering I can’t even pick out the paint.”
“You could hire me.”
“You’re a painter?”
“No, but I have some experience in construction, and I have a few weeks off. I’m just working here to earn some extra money over the summer.”
Lucas looked to be about my age, and I wondered what he actually did for a living. He knew my entire life story. Would it be inappropriate for me to ask?
Probably so.
“You could paint it in two weeks?”
“I think so, if the weather cooperates.”
“I couldn’t pay you much.”
“You could pay me with dinner.”
Of course, Mr. Handyman would be a flirt. “You’d paint my entire house in exchange for dinner?”
“Well, Mr. Johnson says you must be a great cook because your grandmother taught you everything you know.”
“Mr. Johnson knows entirely too much about my life.”
“I think he probably knows everything about everyone,” he said with a laugh. “So, am I hired?”
I eyed him skeptically. “Don’t you even want to see the house first?”
“No need.”
“Why not?”
Lucas grinned. “Who do you think mowed your lawn?”
“I really appreciate you doing that,” I said with a laugh.
His face grew thoughtful. “The house needs a lot of work, Sarah.”
“I know. I don’t suppose you do landscaping, too?”
“I do a bit of everything,” Lucas said, “although, landscaping might cost you
two
dinners.”
Mr. Johnson and his buddies cackled at the register.
I wasn’t interested in dating—even if he did have a chiseled chin and pretty blue eyes—but dinners in exchange for labor seemed like a sweet arrangement to me.
“It’s a deal. When can you start?”
“Tomorrow,” he replied, grinning brightly and shaking my hand.
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Lessons Learned
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Sydney Logan holds a Master’s degree in Elementary Education and makes her home in the hills of East Tennessee. With the 2012 release of her first novel,
Lessons Learned
, she made the transition from bookworm to author. She has a very unhealthy obsession with music, and her iPod is filled with everything from Johnny Cash to Eminem. When she isn't reading or writing, she enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her front porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
Please visit her official website at