Authors: Kim Amos
It’s not like Valerie was a bad person, for crying out loud. She didn’t stick a gun to Cole’s head and
make
him kiss her. It’s true that her actions had stung at the time, but that was ages ago now. Whatever was in their past, the two of them had gotten along fine these last few years. They’d chaired countless bake sales together, organized book drives for the library, and chipped in for church fund-raisers. They both loved this town; there was no doubt about that.
Betty took a deep breath. “Careful you don’t get gum on your shoe, Val,” she said, glancing down at the sidewalk. “And I’ll think about some different things to add to the window display here. Maybe a robot or a prince or something.”
“Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate that. We just don’t want to give the appearance of egging on these hoodlums who think Halloween is a time to get wild and destructive and evil.”
“Of course not.”
Valerie smiled—for real this time. “Say, as long as I have you here, can you order in some more of those raspberry-scented markers I like? I’m going through them like water.”
“Sure thing,” she said, even though it wasn’t her usual stock. But Valerie paid full retail price for the markers and Betty came out a little ahead. Besides, Valerie was a real estate agent who crafted lovely, hand-lettered signs for just about everything—from open houses to short sales—and her taste in writing implements was specific. If Betty didn’t order the markers, Valerie would have to go all the way to Eagan to get them—and that was nearly an hour away.
“I’ll get the order in today. UPS should have them here quickly.”
Valerie thanked her again and turned to go, when suddenly there was a flap of black across the street.
It was Randall Sondheim, pastor of the Lutheran church. He was wearing his typical dark coat and getting his typical donut and coffee every Wednesday morning from the Rolling Pin. The edges of everything shimmered just a little, the way they always when she saw him these days. That is, until he apparently caught sight of the sign and decided to head over. She felt her face heat, wishing he’d turn and walk the other way. She didn’t want any man of the cloth—but especially
this
man of the cloth—thinking she’d ordered a sign welcoming Lucifer to town. Before Betty knew it, she was staring face-to-face with his unusual gray eyes and high, chiseled cheekbones.
Her heart pounded, the way it had started to a few weeks ago, when the pastor began coming into her store to look at fabrics to recover his office chair. It was probably nerves making her heart slam into her ribs like this, she reasoned, since the pastor was always so focused and intense. Even now, his gaze burned into her as if to ask what in the world was going on with the sign above her store.
Her face flushed crimson. “Hello, Pastor. I can explain about this. I was just looking for a ladder to take it down, in fact. It was supposed to say—”
“I was just telling Betty,” Valerie interrupted, “that the church board was discussing how out of hand Halloween has gotten, and what a bad influence her display window could be. It could stir up more trouble.”
Betty turned to the other woman. “Now wait a minute, that’s not what—”
“And based on my directives,” Valerie continued, as if she wasn’t there, “Betty has agreed to remove this sign and put more family-friendly stock in her window.”
Betty clenched her fists, suddenly picturing Valerie’s conversations with Cole Anderson all over again.
“It’s a victory for the moral fiber of the town,” Valerie said, gazing at the pastor through her long eyelashes. “Don’t you think?”
The only thing Betty could think of was how she wished she could stick that hunk of sidewalk gum right in Valerie’s face.
The pastor took a sip of his coffee. He looked from Valerie to Betty.
“What was the sign supposed to say?” he asked.
“Satin,” Betty said. “It was supposed to say,
Satin is here
.”
She didn’t know what she expected him to do, then. She wondered if maybe the pastor’s eyes would darken at the typo, or if his brows would pull together in disapproval, or if he’d take Valerie’s arm and lead her away from Betty’s sinful storefront.
Certainly she didn’t expect
laughter
.
But that’s exactly what happened.
The pastor cracked up loud enough to get geese honking on the nearby river. He threw his head back with amusement, his whole face crunched with the force of it, his eyes sparkling like Moccasin Lake in the summer.
His laughter was booming—a cannon of power she didn’t expect. It thrilled her and made her nerves spark. She thought she could listen to that sound forever and not grow tired of it.
The pastor grabbed hold of Betty’s arm for support. She glanced at the way his strong fingers rounded over the top of her arm, and wondered at the solidness of his grip. Her insides fluttered wildly. He’d certainly never touched her in the basement of the Lutheran church when they chatted after his Sunday sermons. Before now, he’d never touched her at all, in fact. Not that she minded. She shouldn’t be getting so worked up, but she couldn’t help it. It was deliciously thrilling.
I should get out more
, she thought to herself.
“You’re…you’re s-serious,” the pastor wheezed, “about the typo?”
“Yep,” she said. And promptly got the giggles, too.
It was all over then: The pair of them could hardly stand for clutching their stomachs and losing their breath with laughter. Betty was literally crying tears of hilarity. She wiped them away only to see Valerie standing cold and stone-faced, staring at them both.
“Are you two finished?” Valerie asked.
That set them off all over again. It was minutes later when Betty finally felt like she could focus on anything except how crazy and ridiculous the whole situation was.
Satan is here.
Good grief.
“I think the tone of this town’s Halloween festivities could use some dialogue,” Valerie said pointedly when they’d quieted down. “Pastor, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make an appointment to speak with you about this privately.”
Her emphasis on the word
privately
needled Betty.
The pastor wiped his eyes. Morning light slanted across his sharp cheekbones and ignited hints of amber in his dark hair. It made Betty slightly breathless to realize the man was so handsome. How had she never paid attention before?
“Of course,” the pastor said, his voice slightly strained, possibly from making an effort not to guffaw all over again. “Come by anytime. In the interim, Betty, can I help you get this banner down?”
Betty shrugged. “Maybe. Or we could replace it with a new one.
Say
HELL
o
to savings?
”
Laughter rumbled in Randall’s chest. “
Note our new address, 666 Main Street?
”
“
Prices are FALLEN?
”
They cracked up all over again. As they struggled to catch their breath, Valerie clicked away on her shiny heels, wishing them a terse “Good day.”
Finally, when they’d spent themselves on laughter, Randall straightened and took a deep breath. Behind him, Main Street’s awnings flapped in the breeze. “When I first came over, I was on my way to get a coffee and a cruller from the Rolling Pin. How about I double the order, and I can help you with that banner?”
The heart hammering was back.
He wanted to stick around.
“That would be fine. I can go get a ladder from the hardware store if want to grab breakfast.”
“Be back in a moment, then,” Randall said and started off across the street.
She watched his long strides eat up the pavement and marveled at the effervescence she felt. After the morning she’d had, she should be slamming doors and tossing bolts of fabric around like ragdolls. Instead, she was standing on Main Street, grinning like an idiot and looking forward to the project ahead.
With Randall Sondheim.
Betty smiled bigger. She should be furious. Incensed.
Instead, she was downright happy.
Not that she was going to get overworked about it. She took a breath, reminding herself that the pastor’s help didn’t mean anything. It was probably just him being kind, the same way he was always pushing Mrs. Ivard’s wheelchair into the church before the sermon started, or the way he was always going last in the potluck line to make sure his congregation was served first.
She was probably just a form of charity for him. Nothing more.
Even so, her mood matched the sparkling fall sun and she thought suddenly that she could face down a whole storeful of bad signs if Randall Sondheim was going to stick around and ply her with coffee and donuts while he helped her take them down.
R
andall Sondheim stood at the counter of the Rolling Pin staring at the menu board but not reading the words. His mind was stuck on Betty Lindholm, and the fact that he was going to spend the rest of the morning with her. Just the two of them. Working to take down that banner together.
His gut kicked in an unfamiliar way. It took him a moment to realize it was excitement. Followed closely by nervous wariness.
“Heya, Pastor.” Jessie Reed was behind the counter, giving him her usual red-lipped smile. Her hair was pulled into a twist and she had on a dress that reminded him of his favorite old movies: the ones with Humphrey Bogart or Rita Hayworth; cigarette smoke and tumblers filled with hooch. Jessie came faithfully to church every Sunday, and one day after service he’d asked Jessie why she preferred vintage clothing. She’d replied that she might only be twenty-one, but she had a soul meant for another time. He thought he’d understood precisely what she’d meant by that.
She put her bony elbows on the counter. “You’re a little late today. You want your usual?”
Randall always came in on Wednesday mornings. And he always ordered the same thing: black coffee and a sour cream cruller. “Not today,” he said, staring at the menu board again and realizing he had no earthly idea what kind of donuts Betty might like. “I’m ordering for two.”
Jessie raised a finely penciled brow. “You don’t say. Who’s the lucky gal?”
Randall jerked his head in the direction of the fabric store. “Betty Lindholm is having some trouble with a sign above her door.” He hoped he sounded sufficiently businesslike. He didn’t want Jessie to know he’d been looking for a way to spend time with Betty Lindholm for quite a while now, trying to get closer to the way she smiled with her small, perfect teeth or the way she ran her business with sharp savvy. Not to mention that Betty was one of the few people who didn’t handle him with kid gloves—who didn’t think “pastor” and immediately put on a mask of good behavior.
But beyond his lame attempts at picking out new fabric for his office chair and shoveling her snow during a recent storm, however, he hadn’t gotten very far.
Until today.
It had left him feeling like he’d been punched right in the stomach. In the best way possible, of course.
But just underneath that was a river of caution coursing through him, reminding him not to lose control. Terrible things happened when he let his emotions get the best of him.
“I saw that sign,” Jessie said, smiling. “I thought either it was a mistake, or Betty Lindholm had left the Lutheran church for a cult.” She giggled. “It sure seemed to get under Valerie Lofgren’s skin. She couldn’t wait to go over there and give Betty what for.”
Randall exhaled. For some reason, things always seemed to get under Valerie Lofgren’s skin. The printing on the Sunday bulletins. The choral arrangements for Easter service. Even the art in the children’s nursery. “That 1970s picture of Jesus makes him look like a hippie, don’t you think?” she’d asked him after bursting into his office, her heels like judges’ gavels on the wood floor.
Valerie was a good fund-raiser, though, and she had secured money for several church projects including a cluster of Habitat for Humanity homes up near Minneapolis and repairs to water wells in Central America. Her organizational skills on the board were critical.
He just wished her approach was less hammer and more glue.
“Betty usually gets a blueberry fritter,” Jessie said, “if you wanted me to throw one in with your sour cream cruller.”
Randall smiled. “Thank you. And two coffees as well.”
“I’ll put cream in Betty’s. That’s how she takes hers.”
“I’ll make a note,” Randall replied, then instantly regretted it. He sounded like he might do this again for Betty, or that he was trying to learn her preferences. It was a good thought—a wonderful thought, even—but he didn’t trust himself to believe it could be true.
He couldn’t
let
it be true, more specifically.
The hot excitement he’d felt earlier was seeping away, replaced with cold concern.
He liked Betty Lindholm; there was no doubt about it. He had admired her for some time now, even talking to her friend Willa at one point in the back room of Knots and Bolts about how best to pursue her. Deep down, there was a part of him that looked at her and pictured a happy future full of kids and love and hope. Outwardly, he’d resolved to declare his feelings, then lost his nerve. Over and over again—a loop of resolution and dissolution.
Because he didn’t know what would happen if he let himself actually feel something for her. He knew from experience how recklessness could end in disaster.
He watched the coffee steaming from the Styrofoam cups and worried that his own heart was still smoldering from its fiery past. If that were the case, he’d just have to be careful. Be cautious.
He simply wouldn’t let himself get carried away with Betty. Nothing about this had to be…overwhelming. For heaven’s sake, it was just fixing a banner after all.
A flash of pink caught his eye and he realized there was an unfamiliar face behind the counter, and her hair was dyed the color of flamingo wings.
“New employee?” he asked Jessie as he paid her for the coffee and donuts.
She smiled. “My little sister, Olive, if you can believe it. I got her a job here a few hours each week. She just graduated from high school last spring, and she’s not so sure about college. I told her if she’s going to live with me while she figures it out, then she needs to work.”