“So...” Britney leaned to the side to look around Isabel. “What are you doing here? Didn’t this used to be Gordie’s Bakery? I don’t think it lasted long.”
Gordie. Georgie. Jimmy. Did any man who Britney came across have a full name?
She doubted it would even matter if she told Britney about her plans. The money was hers, after all. It was snuggly stashed away in her very own bank account, and nothing Britney or her father said would change anything.
“I’m looking into leasing a storefront,” she replied.
“What for?” Britney’s eyes widened again, but Isabel caught the slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. Britney wasn’t as childish as she put on.
“I’m opening my own business. A chocolate shop.”
“Oh...” Britney squinted. “Where do you buy the chocolate?”
“I make it.”
“Oh!” She pulled her hand through her hair and pursed her lips—Isabel was willing to bet that she’d just caught sight of her own reflection somewhere. “Well, Georgie says—” She blushed and shrugged apologetically. “Your dad says that you’re better off talking this stuff over with Jimmy. He’s good with these things, and we girls don’t even know where to start, you know?”
Isabel cocked her head to one side, regarding her young stepmother. There had been a time when Isabel had used the same tactics. Pretty girls got their way, but pretty and intelligent girls were too intimidating and put men off. She’d learned quickly how to “dumb it down” in order to make people do what she needed, but seeing this same manipulation in Britney was mildly annoying.
“I have a degree in business,” she replied coolly. “I’m pretty sure I know where to begin.”
“Just saying.” Britney shrugged. She pulled a necklace out from under her blouse and ran it idly through her fingers. Isabel’s gaze locked onto the pendant—a princess-cut yellow diamond, surrounded by white diamonds nestled in white gold. Isabel knew this necklace well—it had been her mother’s.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded.
“This?” Britney shrugged. “Your dad gave it to me. Isn’t it pretty? I love it.”
Isabel shot Britney a tight smile. “I see.”
It looked like a lot of things were changing around here, and Isabel didn’t have to like it.
“Well, anyway, I’m meeting up with Carmella, so I’d better go.” The younger woman beamed at Isabel once more. “Baby’s hungry!”
With a flutter of her fingers, Britney pranced away in her two-inch heels, leaving Isabel on the curb with a white-hot feeling searing through her middle. She didn’t use the word hate lightly, but right now, she truly hated Britney Baxter.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she fired off a text to James Hunter: I need your advice on a lease contract. Can we meet?
She dropped the phone back into her purse. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that feelings might get hurt, but business wasn’t about feelings. It was about money, and it was about building something bigger than yourself.
And right now, she’d stick to business. Feelings were a little too volatile to be trusted.
Britney met a woman on the opposite side of the street who paused, shaded her eyes and peered in Isabel’s direction. Isabel knew her well—Carmella, a high school friend. She’d been running into old acquaintances a lot the last few days, and their first reactions had never been very warm. There had been some sympathy over her scars that barely concealed their satisfaction at seeing her brought down a peg or two. Some didn’t bother saying anything—just stared. And a couple of old classmates had crossed the street to avoid her, which made their feelings about her pretty clear. So far, she hadn’t come across people from the wealthier circles she’d used to move in, and they were the ones who intimidated her the most right now.
“Isabel Baxter, is that you?” Carmella hooted across the street. “Get over here, girl!”
Isabel pasted a smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Carmella Biggins?” she called back, and headed across the road.
Sometimes, there was no way around it, and all a woman could do was face it head-on. Like a firing squad.
* * *
JAMES PULLED UP to the curb next to Family Cheese and turned off the engine. Jenny sat on a wooden bench, squinting in the morning sun. Her shoulders were hunched, her plump legs dangling, not quite reaching the ground. A slanted triangle of shade from the building behind her just missed her shoulders, and her blond hair shone like gold in the sunlight. Her eyes, small in her round face, followed the truck as he parked, but she didn’t move.
Every time this happened, Jenny was crushed.
Pushing open his door, James got out and headed over to where she sat. Another car drove past, tooting a horn in hello. James raised his hand in a distracted wave, not even bothering to check to see who it was. He stopped in front of his sister and looked down at her. She looked girlish from a distance, but up close she looked like the adult she was.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”
“Nope.” She heaved a sigh. “No one wants me, Jimmy.” She had a slight lisp, and it still reminded him of when she was a little girl. His heart welled with love.
“I do,” he said.
“You don’t count.” She looked away.
“Ouch,” he said, sinking down to the seat next to her. “I like to think I count a little bit.”
“Sorry,” she retorted.
“So what happened?” he asked. Jenny didn’t answer right away, tears misting her eyes, then she turned toward him, her lips quivering with anger.
“He called me retarded.”
James blinked. “Bob did?”
“No, not Bob.” She shook her head, eyes flashing in exasperation. She put her fingers up to make air quotes. “The customer.” She still wasn’t clear about how to use air quotes, and she tended to use them when she was upset.
“And Bob didn’t stand up for you?” Images of lawsuits danced through his head, but he sucked in a breath to try to calm his anger. “So tell me what happened. Exactly.”
“This little boy was pointing at me and laughing,” Jenny said. “So the boy’s dad said, ‘Don’t do that. It’s not nice. It’s not her fault she’s retarded.’ So I threw cheese at him.”
An image of his sister launching Gouda at a customer’s head struck him as funny, and James stifled a laugh. “You had to know that wasn’t a good idea,” he said.
She shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic.
James attempted to control the smile that tickled the corners of his lips, but he had a burning question. “How was your aim?”
“I have great aim. I hit him in the face. With a nice, old, gooey brie.”
James laughed out loud and shook his head. “Jenny, you’re a nut.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a nut with good aim!” she shot back, but a smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “It was expensive, too.”
“I don’t think we have a leg to stand on to argue this one, Jenny,” he said apologetically. “You can’t throw cheese at people.”
“I know.”
“We’ll find you a different job.” The words came easily enough because he wanted them to be true, but Jenny already had a reputation around this town. She stood up for herself, but she had her own method that didn’t always suit customer service. And what other jobs were there for her?