Slow Ride

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“I’m on it.” Katya, the store manager, tossed the spoon into the trash, then handed Rory a white towel.

She wiped her hands before taking the phone. “Yes, Maureen?”

“Rory, my darling Clementine. I simply had to call to say thank you one more time for your generosity. I just returned from the Baxter House location and the work they’ve accomplished in the time since our fundraiser is incredible.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but you really must stop thanking me, Mo. I was happy to help in my small way.” Not only had Rory donated the bread and bakeries for the event at Clementine’s, but she’d been so inspired by Maureen that she’d mailed off a large check this past week.

“You should stop by the site. It’s quite something. Apparently we were mentioned in the blog of some obscure online magazine, and now the volunteers are crawling out of the woodwork. Everyone from Barry Bonds to the mayor has lent a hand, and you know what a coup it is to get Barry.”

“Wonderful. I guess the blog wasn’t that obscure after all.” Although she was secretly pleased to hear that Lauren’s Inside Out blog had such a faithful following, Rory was only half listening. Despite the exhaust fan, the air in the kitchen was ripe with the stink from the burping sink. She pointed and flapped the towel, motioning for Katya to prop open the back door.

“My current task is to see that the construction proceeds without delay,” said Maureen.

“Good luck.” From what Rory had experienced with the ongoing renovation of her newest store, construction never proceeded without delay.

“I’ve been rounding up daily lunchtime donations from local restaurants,” Maureen went on. “We can’t have our volunteers going hungry.”

Aha. “I’d be happy to help,” Rory said before Maureen had to ask. “My Castro store is closest to your site. I’ll give the manager a call to see what we can set up.”

“Thanks scads, Rory. If I get fixings from one of the area delicatessens and bread from you, Baxter House will have the happiest workers on record. Especially if you throw in some of those luscious fruit tarts of yours. The spares will do.”

There were no spares. “Absolutely. Count me in. I’ll be in touch—”

“Wait!”

Rory stifled a sigh. Naturally she couldn’t get away that easily.

“Yes? Is there something else I can help you with, Maureen?” She held the phone between her shoulder and ear while she scrubbed her hands with the disinfectant wipes Katya had passed along.

“I’m also following up on a few leftover details from the party.” The timbre of Maureen’s voice lost its usual brisk confidence, signaling that she was about to approach a personal area where the outcome was less assured. “I noticed that you haven’t arranged a date for your Painter’s Cove weekend. Is there a problem with the trip?”

“No, of course not.” Rory slowly dried her hands, trying to think up an excuse. “It’s a fabulous prize.”

Silence on Maureen’s end, except for a rapid tapping sound.

Rory imagined her friend’s arched brows and puckered lips, her tapping fingernails. Maureen would delve as deep as necessary, which meant that if Rory gave her no satisfaction she’d call Tucker next. The woman had boundary issues.

“Is the problem your key partner?”

“Um…”

“Because I ran into Tucker Schulz at the construction site and aside from looking like quite the dish—” Maureen broke off to make a low humming noise of appreciation. “Oh, sorry. Well-hung tool belts distract me. As I was saying—”

Rory interrupted, not wanting Maureen to say whatever she might say, which with Maureen would likely be something terribly pushy, such as that she’d taken charge and arranged Rory’s weekend for her. “There’s no problem, Mo. Really. I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Yes, that’s what Tucker claimed.”

Oh, yeah? Rory clamped her lower lip between her teeth. She’d made one attempt to reach Tucker and had left a message on his machine.

He hadn’t returned the call.

So rude. Since then Rory’s stubbornness had kicked in and she was determined to wait for him to make the next move. That he’d be willing to dump an expensive prize to avoid her was not humiliating, not at all.

She’d admit to galling.

“Is there a time limit to use the weekend?” she asked, ready to keep Tucker in a holding pattern for months if she had to. Maybe by then her attraction to him would have fizzled out.

Maureen paused. “I believe you have a year.”

“An entire year! Then why is everyone on my case about scheduling this trip immediately?”

“Everyone?” Rory could hear the smile in Maureen’s voice. “I may be an important personage, but I hardly qualify as everyone.”

“Uh-huh. Everyone, as in my interfering sisters. Was it Mikki or Lauren who set you up to call me on this?”

Maureen laughed, but she didn’t answer.

“Mikki, I’ll bet.” Lauren was less pushy, whereas Mikki had been riding Rory’s back like a howler monkey, going on about what a great guy Tucker was and how his connection to Nolan didn’t have to put the brakes on his and Rory’s relationship.

Sure, Rory thought. It didn’t have to. But she’d had enough experience with these things to know that it inevitably did. She might tell herself that she was willing to overlook the potential problems in favor of a shot at great sex, even the short-term version, but reality was another matter. Men got weird about mixing their social and private lives.