Already Home

Jenna felt herself blush. She sipped her margarita. “It’s been a long time,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Then we’ll get going on that.”

“Business first, sex second.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to reverse those?” Violet teased.

“I have rent to make.”

“Fair enough. But when you want the sock thing, just let me know and I’ll find you someone completely inappropriate.”

Jenna laughed. “I’d like that. It doesn’t sound like me at all and I’m starting to think that might be a good thing.”

Violet pushed her cart through the grocery store. It wasn’t where she usually shopped, but after running a couple of errands in Austin, she’d impulsively pulled into the parking lot of the upscale establishment. Maybe hanging out with Jenna was rubbing off on her.

With that in mind, she ignored the frozen food aisle and walked purposefully toward the produce. The area was huge and well-lit, with rows of fruits and vegetables neatly arranged. She saw more types of lettuce than she’d ever seen in one place. Tomatoes were yellow and nearly purple, as well as red.

She quickly collected salad fixings, grabbed a gourmet salad dressing from the refrigerated shelves, then headed for the fresh pasta section. Tonight she was going to cook herself a real dinner. A real easy dinner, but still, it was progress.

As she maneuvered her cart, she noticed how nicely everyone was dressed. Men in suits. Women in expensive-looking jackets, with tailored skirts and great shoes. She saw a flash of red sole and stared, wondering if someone really was wearing Christian Louboutin shoes in a grocery store.

Trying to see the side of the shoe to decide if she liked the style, she wasn’t looking where she was going and came to a shuddering stop as her cart collided with someone else’s.

She glanced up. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

The cart’s handler—a tall, suit-wearing guy—smiled at her. “I could tell. What was more interesting than—” he looked to his left and picked up a bottle “—imported olives?”

She smiled. “Shoes. A female cliché, if there ever was one.”

“Shoes, huh? Your thing?”

“I’m more a looker than a buyer. Sorry about the cart attack.”

She started to go around him, but he maneuvered himself in front of her and gave her a smile.

“Wait. I have a question about these olives,” he said.

“What makes you think I know anything about them?”

“Women always have knowledge about anything mysterious.”

“You think of olives as mysterious?”

“And you don’t, which proves my point.”

He had sandy brown hair and hazel-brown eyes. His expression was friendly and interested without being too aggressive. His suit looked expensive but not crazy. He was clean-shaven, broad-shouldered and normal-looking. Not at all her type.

She would have excused herself and walked away except she was tired of always getting it wrong. Every guy in her life had been a disaster, probably because when it came to men, her gut didn’t know what it was talking about.

So maybe she should ignore her lack of interest and see what else the nice man had to say. It was unlikely this one would steal her credit card or buy a car in her name, then not make payments.

“Olives can be difficult,” she said, moving her cart to the side so other people could get by. “Now, when the oil is difficult, you know you’re in trouble.”

He laughed. The sound was low and pleasant. Easy. As if he were the kind of guy who laughed a lot.

“I’m Cliff,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Violet.”

“Nice to meet you, Violet.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She paused, not sure what to say next.

Cliff continued to smile at her, as if she were the brightest part of his day. “I work in finance, which sounds more impressive than it is. I’ve been in town about five months and the only people I know are the ones on my floor at work. I’m putting in eighty hours a week because I don’t know what else to do with my time. Have dinner with me?”

Nice, she thought. The guy was nice. And, of course, she wasn’t the least bit interested.

“Thanks, but no.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I know meeting a guy in a grocery store isn’t much better than meeting a guy in a bar. What do you really know about me, right? Giving me your number wouldn’t be safe. So let me give you my card.”

He withdrew a card from his suit jacket pocket. “My work number is there, along with my cell. How about next Tuesday?”

“I don’t get to Austin much. I live in Georgetown,” she said without thinking, not sure what to do about the invitation.

“That works for me. How about the Wildfire Restaurant? It’s next to the Palace Theater. Tell you what. I’ll be there at seven. I hope you’ll join me.”

He held out the card until she took it.

“I’m a good guy,” he told her. “Ask anyone on my floor.”

She stared at the card. The company name was one she recognized and the location was a high-rise in Austin. Apparently Cliff really did have a job, and it was a good one.

She looked up only to see he’d turned away and was already at the end of the aisle. He rounded the corner without looking back.

He probably was a good guy, she thought as she tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans. No man had ever gone out of his way to make her feel safe before. Women like Jenna were probably well-treated all the time. They didn’t know the world could be different. But Violet did. She knew how ugly it could be.

She was tired of losers who made her heart beat faster. Of jerks who hurt her, either physically or emotionally. Jenna made normal seem pretty damned wonderful. Maybe it was time for Violet to experience normal for herself.

Five

The last time Jenna had had this many butterflies in her stomach, she’d been getting married. Hopefully the reopening of her store would prove to have a happier ending. She waited anxiously by the oven as cookies baked. As per their plan, food would be available the second the doors unlocked.

While she waited for the three-hundred-and-fifty degrees to work their magic, she glanced around the store. She and Violet had rearranged a few shelves and reworked most of the displays. Gone was the rigid order she had so loved, and in its place was a welcoming riot of color and equipment. Dish towels spilled out of mixer bowls, mugs nestled next to coffee-makers. A gourmet coffee display was nearby.

The website was up and working, ads were in all the local papers, coupon inserts in two, and somehow Violet had managed to get them interviewed for a local blog.

She checked the cookies, then eyed the class schedule on the wall. The big dry-erase board was filled with offerings from organic food for babies and toddlers during the late-morning to a singles cooking class on Friday night. Her perfect kitchen would be invaded by people who had no idea what they were doing, and she was actually sort of okay with that.