Wanted: The Perfect Mom. T. R. McClure

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      The Bear Meadows Cubs were expected to win the state title this year. Her shop could even be a stopover for fans traveling through town on Saturdays on their way to Penn State football games in the fall. Then maybe her father would come around. Not that she ever expected him to say he was wrong.

      Holly stretched her arms over her head. Her back cracked loudly. “Ah, that feels better.” She shrugged her shoulders, took a few steps to the right and glanced in the window of the beauty salon. Seeing the proprietor with a customer, she stuck her head in the door. “Hi, Megan. Hi, Mrs. Fleck.”

      Mrs. Fleck brought a hand out from under her drape and waved at Holly. Pieces of her hair had been pulled through a foil cap. “I’m getting highlights. What do you think, Holly? Maybe I’m too old for this nonsense. I’ve never dyed my hair.”

      “You’ll look great. You music types are always at the forefront of fashion.”

      Mrs. Fleck blushed and waved away her compliment. “Before I started teaching, I was in a girl band, believe it or not.”

      Holly leaned against the doorjamb. “I always figured you for a wild woman, Mrs. Fleck.”

      Her own long dark hair caught back in a ponytail, Megan wiped some white paste on a lock of hair and flashed a smile. “Hey, I like having you right next door, Holly. Your caffeine helped me through two dye jobs and a three-year-old’s first haircut.”

      “So I heard. These walls are thin.” Holly laughed. “Glad to help. See you later.” With a wave, she left and entered the computer shop.

      Pierre Lefonte stood behind a glass case sorting boxes. “Holly. How are you, mademoiselle? How is your system working? Good, I hope.”

      Holly leaned on the counter. “So far, so good. Thank you, Pierre. You didn’t come over for your free coffee.”

      Pierre flipped a lock of hair out of sparkling brown eyes and grinned at her. “You were busy, no? Perhaps tomorrow. And I would prefer a double espresso. None of your weak American coffee for me.”

      “We’ll convert you one of these days.” Holly straightened and wagged a finger. “I will hold you to it, then. One double espresso. Au revoir.”

      “Au revoir, mon amie.” Pierre went back to sorting as Holly left the shop and continued on the boardwalk.

      She peered through the window of the used clothing store. Seeing no sign of the extravagantly dressed Cheri, she continued to the bakery, where the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air. “I love the smell in this place.” She leaned on the counter and smiled at the short, heavyset woman standing at the open cash register. “The flowers by the door look nice. Did you put the pot together?”

      Periodically licking her thumb as she counted one-dollar bills, Sue peered at Holly over horn-rimmed reading glasses. “Cheri seems to think flowers will draw in more customers. Tell her to put the pot in front of her door. I don’t have time to fuss with flowers.” She banged a roll of quarters on the edge of the cash drawer. “Did you let yourself into the shop yesterday after I closed?”

      Holly straightened. “Of course not. I’d only use the key you gave me in case of emergency.” A flicker of unease caused her to look around. “Why do you ask?”

      Sue stopped counting and rested her hands on the open drawer. Glancing at the filled racks, she shook her head. “I could have sworn I made more peanut butter cookies yesterday.” She resumed counting. “I don’t know. Ever since Brad started this midlife crisis nonsense I haven’t been able to think straight.” She pressed her lips together and her eyes glistened.

      “I’m sorry, Sue.” Holly’s heart went out to her new friend. Everyone in town knew Brad’s midlife crisis involved another woman. “Did you tell anyone about the missing things?”

      “I called the police station. Now I wish I hadn’t. Chief McAndrews will think I’ve gone off my rocker if I say somebody’s been stealing cookies.” She tucked a few strands of dyed blond hair behind her ear. “Forget I said anything, Holly. Did you make any sales?”

      “Did I make any sales? Do owls hoot? We sold out of whoopie pies and no bakes.”

      Sue’s hands stilled and her head jerked up, blue eyes wide. “I thought you had more than enough. I thought you had too many, in fact, and they would go stale. I thought—”

      “You’ve got to think positive, Sue.” Holly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a smile on the baker’s face. She had known Sue first as a volunteer at school functions. Ten years later, no trace of that happy woman remained. “No chance of your baked goods going stale. I’m here to order more.”

      “Dot McClain asked me if I needed any help,” Sue said. “Her husband just got laid off. Working here won’t replace her husband’s pay but some money’s better than nothing.”

      Holly thought about the boy who’d ordered two black coffees. So times were tight at his house. She glanced at the racks filled with bags of fresh bread and boxes of old-fashioned cookies. “How has business been?”

      Sue counted the ones, then returned them to the drawer. “Business is good on the weekends but not so great during the week. I’m thinking of opening just two days a week. I saw in the paper the retirement home is looking for a cleaning lady for second shift.”

      Holly pressed a hand to her chest. “What about me?”

      “I’ll still provide you with baked goods.” Eyes narrowed, she peered over her glasses as she pulled out the fives. “What else do I have to do with my time?”

      Holly racked her brain for a subject to pull Sue from her dark mood. “Do you see Josh often? He’s in the army, right?”

      “I haven’t seen him since I moved out of the house.” She shook her head. “I like keeping busy. Besides, your little coffee shop is saving my bakery...such as it is.”

      Despite Sue’s negative attitude, a warm feeling swept through Holly as she realized that her mom had been right. Her coffee shop was helping create jobs. She just hoped her business continued. Holly glanced up at the cookie jar clock over the counter. “Oh, my goodness, is that the right time?”

      Sue answered without looking up. “Yep.”

      “I’ve got to run.” Holly backed toward the door. “What time can you have the cinnamon buns ready in the morning?”

      “How early do you want them?” Lips tight, the baker slammed the money drawer shut.

      “Is six forty-five too early?” Watching her friend’s face, Holly groped behind her for the door handle.

      “Not for a baker.” Sue patted the front of her apron, flour dust surrounding her in a cloud. With just the trace of a smile, she waved goodbye. “Thanks again, Holly. I appreciate your business. You’re a lifesaver.”

      With an answering smile and a final wave, Holly reached for the door. She had been gone too long already.

CHAPTER THREE

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