Who Needs Cupid? Read online

  “Have you given any more thought to that dateathon idea I mentioned?” Elle asked.

  Becca and Lucky had called every day since with ideas about how to make the concept work. They assured Elle the Wifi would bring in a younger, hipper clientele and the dateathon would generate good PR among older patrons. Age didn’t matter. Cupid didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was getting live bodies through the door to start spending money at her cash register.

  Max scooted backward and sat up, brushing off the tattoo of lint left behind from the ancient army blanket she’d spread down to protect his charcoal-gray Dockers and a rust-colored corduroy shirt. It was early—not quite seven. He’d volunteered to come in before school to hunt for the line.

  “I started playing around with the structure using MySpace.com as a prototype. People will pay a small sign-up fee and fill out a bio. The background design Becca came up with will look great. The trick will be in striking just the right balance between giving enough information to attract another person but protecting your privacy.”

  Elle nodded. “That’s for sure. We don’t want a swarm of kooks and creeps showing up at the party.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “This won’t interfere with your real job, will it?”

  Max taught science at Fenelon Falls High, where they’d both graduated thirty-two years before. Back then, he’d been considered a geek. Math whiz, geometry tutor, chess master. The exact opposite to Elle’s C-average, cheerleader, chairperson of the cool clique. But they’d been friends. Of sorts. Until she’d blown it and callously trashed his heart. That, in hindsight, had been her first and most durable bad taste of Valentine’s Day.

  “Once I find the main line, the Wifi hookup will be a snap,” he said, holding out a hand for help standing up. “You must have had plans to get a building permit. Show me the schematics. I should have thought of that first.”

  He brushed back a lock of his medium-brown hair, still ample and barely touched with gray. He still wore it in the same style he had when they were classmates.

  Elle took his hand in hers and pulled. He popped right up, but didn’t let go. In fact, he squeezed her hand ever so slightly. Just enough to make her heart do a funny sideways jump that reminded her how long it had been since she’d had sex.

  The thought made her blush. Sex and Max did not belong in the same sentence. Max was a friend. One of the few townsfolk who patronized her place regularly. But he was also the boy she’d “done wrong,” and her life was too unsettled at the moment to risk hurting him again—even if he was interested. Which, she was beginning to think, he might be.

  He let go of her hand and bent over to retrieve the blanket, which he folded far more neatly than she would have. “Here,” he said, passing it to her. “Keep it handy. This looks like the logical place to put a sweep, even if I couldn’t find it on the first try.”

  Conscientious. Another of Max’s defining traits. Not a word anyone in town would have associated with Elle.

  “Maybe I should call an electrician. I don’t want to waste your time.” She’d heard through the Fenelon Falls grapevine that Max was once again a contender for Teacher of the Year—third year in a row—thanks to his Chess Team’s success at state-level tournaments. Not that Max ever bragged about it.

  Modesty. Something inherent in some people; others had to learn it the hard way.

  “You know me, Ellenore. Can’t pass up a challenge.”

  Ellenore. The old-lady name she’d always hated and had left behind the day she’d taken off for college.

  “I do know you, Arnold. That’s why I asked for your help.”

  The twinkle in his eye matched the impish smile on his lips. At fifty-one, Elle was no stranger to flirtation, both sending and receiving, but seeing what appeared to be a flirtatious glint in Max’s eye made no sense.

  Back in high school, Elle had been a tease. She’d used her beauty like currency. And Max hadn’t wanted anything to do with her after she’d short-changed him over the Valentine’s Day dance. By the time graduation had rolled around, the two hadn’t been speaking.

  “At least let me pay for your time. If this dateathon is a bust, you won’t make a dime. What’s the going rate for electricians? Do I need to make an appointment with my sister to dip into my retirement fund?”

  His low masculine chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. He stood beside her, rolling down the sleeves of his fine corduroy shirt. She wondered if the shirt was one his wife bought before she passed away or if Max shopped for himself. Elle’s mother had always dressed Elle’s father.

  “I’ll treat you fair, Elle. Maybe we can work out a trade—free scones for life or something,” he said cheerfully.

  Fair. Max had always been honorable. But still. Her ex-husband had taught her not to put much stock in vague promises.

  Before she could finalize the deal, a head popped into the back room where they were standing amid floor-to-ceiling boxes of graduated serving cups and lids. “Elle, there you are. Hi, Max. You haven’t seen my gold necklace, have you?”

  Max and Elle exchanged a look. The breathless declaration from Elle’s friend and fellow Main Street business owner Lucille “Lucky” Morgan made her sound atypically frazzled. Lucky never lost her cool, even on subzero January mornings. That meant the necklace had more value than just the price of the gold.

  “Um…nope. Sorry. Nothing turned up when I mopped.”

  “Was it valuable?” Max asked with typical guy obtuseness.

  “No woman likes to lose jewelry—valuable or not,” Elle said, giving him a slight push with her elbow.

  He returned the nudge with a “What?” look.

  “Well, um, sorta. Maybe not monetarily, but it has sentimental value,” Lucky said. A blush made her already wind-chilled cheeks deepen in hue. Lucky didn’t give away a lot—not when it was personal.

  Before Elle could inquire about how to help, Lucky looked at her and said, “Did Jane call you about the Chamber of Commerce casino fund-raiser she wants to do in late spring? Of course, she didn’t. I can tell by the blank look on your face. Maybe she will, though, right?” Lucky had a habit of asking then answering questions without giving the person she was talking to a chance to respond. Elle teased her about it all the time. This time she didn’t bother.

  Five years older than Elle, Jane was Elle’s exact opposite. Jane’s lack of support where the Cup was concerned hurt. Usually Elle could laugh it off, but deliberately excluding her own sister from an activity designed to benefit local businesses? That burned.

  “Well, let me know what you hear,” Elle said. “I’d be happy to put out the word on my weekly radio plug. I called them yesterday to let them know about the dateathon.”

  If Jane had ever made any effort to frequent the Cup, she’d know Elle served more than mochas, lattes, cappuccinos and espressos. Soups and sandwiches were her real moneymakers, thanks to the steady business she got from travelers on their way home from Chicago. They loved both the comfort food and the cozy, accommodating retreat Elle had created.

  In their parents’ will, Elle got the house and Jane the old Conoco building. At first, Jane had been adamant about selling the place but Elle had lobbied to keep it. Eventually they’d worked out a deal where Elle would pay Jane rent each month. An agreement Jane signed not out of love or familial loyalty, but because she didn’t want to show a windfall profit that year. Jane was a CPA. Jane’s husband was a CPA. And their only child—the most gifted artist Elle had ever met—was also a CPA.

  Elle motioned for Lucky to lead the way to her office—a tiny room big enough for a phone and a desk, from which Elle snatched a marking pen. Once they reached the main room, she picked up a paper plate and neatly printed the words: Missing—Gold Necklace. Reward.

  Without being asked, Max grabbed the tape dispenser she kept on the counter and attached the sign to the cash register.

  “Thanks,” Lucky said. “I’ll give them a couple of Becca’s cards,
if she ever gets around to delivering them. Okay. I’d better get back down the street. I might have customers.”

  Her laugh told them that was a joke. Elle knew Lucky did far more business through online sales than she did with walk-ins. Sadly Lucky Duck Collectibles was on par with Cup O’Love when it came to scoring big with the citizenry of Fenelon Falls.

  Jane had warned her. “This is the Midwest, not California, Ellenore. People take money seriously. They’re not going to pay you two dollars for a cup of coffee when they can get it for ninety-five cents at the Bake-Rite or Hy-Vee.” Elle had wanted her sister to be wrong. She’d wanted a lot of things. None of which had materialized.

  “Oh, shoot, I have to run, too,” Max said. “Catch you later. If you find those plans, set them aside. I won’t be here for supper. I have a da…um…commitment. But I could pick them up on the way home.”

  Da…date? Was Max seeing someone?

  To quell her curiosity—and the uncomfortable twinge in her chest—Elle focused on his choice of words. Supper. Elle was still trying to unlearn the West Coast way of dining where lunch was the middle meal and dinner involved putting on nice clothes and drinking wine.

  Elle stifled a sigh. Moving home had been her decision, for many reasons that sounded smart, mature and selfless—at the time. Now, she was here. In Illinois. And despite what the locals thought, she made the best cup of coffee in town. Too bad she might go broke proving it.

  She watched Max get into his dark blue Ford Explorer and turn across traffic onto Main. She hated the fact that she envied him. While she’d traipsed around the country, from job to job, always certain the next opportunity would make her wealthy, Max had managed to create a rich, fulfilling life without ever leaving…well, except for college. But he’d returned home, got married, bought a house, had two sons and worked at a job he apparently both loved and excelled at.

  Elle, on the other hand, got pregnant before completing college, married and divorced within a year, became a single mom to daughter, Nora, who seemed intent on repeating her mother’s mistakes. Although they spoke often on the phone, Elle hadn’t seen her daughter in ten months because Nora was working on a cruise ship based out of San Diego. Nora claimed to love her carefree life, but Elle knew those love ’em and leave ’em romances would get old in a hurry.

  But unlike her sister, who felt the need to run her daughter’s life, Elle maintained a pretty much hands-off approach to parenting. Besides, she was certainly no authority on love, despite her vast experience when it came to dating Mr. Wrong. So, what business did she have instigating a dateathon? None. Was that going to stop her from doing everything in her power to try to save her business? Absolutely not.

  WHEN MAX LEFT SCHOOL that afternoon, it was already dark. Short days and long nights—the only thing he really hated about winter. Now. He hadn’t seemed to mind the season when his wife was alive.

  He drove straight to his son’s house in the new little subdivision on the west edge of town. Fenelon Falls was growing. There was even talk of building a new high school. He hoped it wouldn’t happen before he retired. His wife had always said that change was good, but Max didn’t agree. Except in a few specific cases.

  Like where Ellenore Adams was concerned. She’d changed her name when she married, but had immediately changed it back when she got divorced. “I even changed my baby’s name because the dumb jerk didn’t want anything to do with either of us,” she’d told him not long after she’d opened the coffee shop.

  Elle was change personified. In high school, she’d wear a wig on any given day or dye her long blond hair on a whim. She’d dated but never went steady—until their senior year when she fell for star quarterback, Lyle Patterson or something like that.

  Over his years of teaching, Max had seen the same scenario played out time and again. Heartthrob girl falls for heartthrob boy. Occasionally, a third heart appeared in the picture. More often than not, this was the one that got broken. Max could personally attest to that, but he also knew that young hearts healed fast.

  As he pulled up to the curb in front of the house, he realized he was whistling. Just from thinking about Elle. The irony of him whistling like a young swain from some silly musical wasn’t lost on him. They were fast approaching the anniversary of his big emotional letdown. Not that either he or Elle ever mentioned that low point in their youthful friendship.

  “Fool,” he murmured under his breath as he got out of the SUV. “You’re too old for this romance crap.”

  But he knew that wasn’t true. He’d been a widower for nearly three years. Once the worst of his pain had abated, he’d started dating a few nice women from town, but they were all too much like Sarah, whom he’d loved with all his heart and wouldn’t dream of trying to replace.

  Elle was different. She’d been his first love, and whether she knew it or not, she’d changed his life. The attention she’d shown him in high school had altered how he’d thought of himself. In a good way. Instead of a freakoid nerd, as his students might say, he’d been halfway cool—for a nanosecond. Just long enough for Arnold to become Max. Not that Elle had any idea about the role she’d played in his improved self-esteem back then.

  When she’d called to ask him about installing the Wifi connection, he’d decided to use the opportunity to change how she looked at him. Obviously the subtle approach he’d employed for the past nine months wasn’t working. She treated him just as she did any other customer—friendly and grateful for the business.

  He’d planned to ask her out on Valentine’s Day, but this dateathon thing had thrown him for a loop. She was still the coolest girl in town—beautiful, adventurous and worldly. He was still the exact opposite—shy, serious and boring. If ten guys were interested in her, he was pretty sure he knew where he’d rank. Unless he screened the wannabe daters first.

  He was her Web master. She’d directed him to keep out kooks and creeps. Had she offered any specific criterion on what constituted a kook or a creep? “No,” he said aloud, his step lightening—until he hit a patch of ice on the walk.

  Sobering, he paid attention to getting to the door safely. Wednesdays were his favorite day of the week. His standing date with the sweetest girl in town—his granddaughter.

  He rapped twice then opened the door, calling out, “Hellooo. Grandpa’s here. Where’s my girl?”

  The high-pitched squeal of his two-year-old granddaughter was all the answer he needed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE EVENING RUSH, such as it was, had just ended when Elle looked up to see Becca walk through the door. Calf-length wool coat, hat down over her ears. At times, Becca acted much older than her years—especially after a day at the accounting office. It pained Elle to see her niece so bogged down in a rut of her mother’s making, but she tried to keep her opinions to herself.

  When Elle had offered Rebecca the space above the coffee shop to work on her art and her youth program, they’d kept the terms of their agreement to themselves. The last thing Elle needed was to listen to Jane accuse her of having some kind of Svengali influence over Becca.

  “Hello, sweet niece, are you here for a cup of soup? Spicy chicken tortilla with all the toppings. People have been raving about it.” All six of them. All from out of town.

  “Sure. Sounds great, but could I get it to go? I need to hunker down if I’m going to get the rest of your Valentine’s Day order done.”

  Rebecca was an amazing artist and she had an uncanny way of putting words to art to create unique greeting cards. Lucky had sold out of the cards last year.

  “Sure. Not a problem. I’ll put the toppings in a zip bag and you can add them to the soup when you’re ready.” As she scooped the thick, fragrant concoction into a foam bowl, Elle asked about Becca’s day.

  “Tax season is upon us. Need I say more?” Becca muttered. “But I got a new student for my art program. Penny Blakely. Her dad works for the probation department. No mom. Not sure what the story is there, exactly.”

  �
�Ooh, I’ve seen him around town,” Elle said, pressing the plastic top over the container. “Quite the cutie—and the little girl is a doll, too.”

  Becca chuckled. She’d removed her coat and hat and hung them in the employee area behind the counter then returned for her tray of goodies.

  “Cocoa?” Elle asked, studying her niece. Something was different. Cheeks a little too flushed, even for a winter day. And she seemed sorta edgy.

  “No, thanks. I have bottles of water upstairs. This will be plenty.”

  Before Elle could ask what was bothering her, the door opened again and Max walked in. Although he’d said something about dropping by later, Elle hadn’t really expected him this early. Not after a date. Must have been pretty short and uneventful, she thought. Not that it was any of her business.

  She’d been called brash in the past but she’d learned there were some things you didn’t want to know, so it was better not to ask.

  “Hey, Max, how was your date?” Elle asked, unable to stop herself.

  Becca gave her a surprised look. Had her tone given something away? Like the fact she’d been fretting about Max’s date all day?

  “Wonderful. Amber and I have a great relationship. I give her anything she wants and let her get away with murder, and she loves me with all her heart.”

  Elle’s heart plopped into the steaming cauldron of spicy soup until he added, “But when her pants need changing, I give her back to her mother.”

  “Her pants?” Elle croaked.

  “She’s two and not a bit interested in potty training, which is driving my son and daughter-in-law nuts.”

  His granddaughter.

  Becca grinned as if reading Elle’s relief.

  “My son and his wife take a Pilates class or something on Wednesday evenings. I don’t like to think of myself as a babysitter, so I call my time with Amber a date.”

  Elle’s heart, which had returned to her chest cavity, was making a terrible racket. She didn’t understand why. So he was unlike any man she’d ever dated—and there was a very long list of them. Still, he was off-limits, and she needed to remember that.