Hometown Valentine. Lissa Manley

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СКАЧАТЬ buzzer sounded above her head.

      As the earthy smell of coffee hit her, she came to an abrupt stop just inside the door and darted her gaze around. The place was dead empty.

      Odd. Washingtonians were famous for their voracious coffee appetites. She’d expected to find the place packed, especially since this store was the only thing that remotely resembled a coffee shop in Moonlight Cove.

      Maybe business was bad. Lily hoped not. She desperately needed the barista job advertised in the help-wanted sign in the window. Though being a coffee jockey wasn’t her dream occupation, it was a paying proposition, and those were few and far between in a town the size of her hometown. She needed money; her future as a fashion designer was at stake.

      Putting her still-dripping umbrella in the metal holder by the door Lily headed toward the unmanned front counter. As she neared it, she heard a shrill sound that seemed to be coming from behind a door to the left of the counter. She cocked her head, her eyebrows drawn together. Was that a...baby crying?

      She listened intently. Yes, yes, it was. The sound was a baby wailing, actually. Her well-developed baby-soothing instincts had her immediately cringing. Her youngest sister, Laura, had shrieked like that from dawn to dusk when she’d been a newborn.

      Lily stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was the place even open? The door had been unlocked, and it was the middle of normal business hours on a Monday, so she assumed so. Should she go look for the manager? Just leave a résumé on the counter? Hunt for the shrieking infant? What? She hadn’t planned on finding the place deserted, and she certainly hadn’t expected to encounter an unseen child in distress.

      Just as she was about to go find the baby and take care of the poor thing, the door behind the counter opened and a man holding said screaming infant over his broad shoulder stepped out.

      Ah. One mystery solved.

      The man, who appeared to be around Lily’s age of thirty, give or take, moved toward her. As the grayish light from the windows hit his face, she realized that everything about him screamed exhaustion. Mussed hair. Dark shadows under his eyes. Sagging shoulders. Clearly this baby had been on a crying jag of epic proportions. Lily knew how grueling that could be.

      As he drew closer, she took a moment to surreptitiously study him, noting that the mussed hair was dark, thick and wavy. Touchable. The obvious shadows under his eyes did nothing to detract from the beauty of their clear, sky-blue color. And though his whole upper body hung heavy with obvious fatigue, he had the physique of an athlete. Or gym rat. Whatever. He was definitely the best-looking haggard guy she’d ever seen.

      “May I help you?” he asked loudly. Tiredly. Judging by the way the baby was kicking its legs, it was one unhappy camper.

      “Um...well, yes.” She adjusted the strap of the pleather briefcase she’d bought at a thrift store in Pacific Beach on her shoulder and tried to tune out the baby’s piercing cries. Or at the very least ignore them as best she could, despite her nurturing instincts hovering on high alert. “I’m looking for the manager.”

      “That would be me. I’m Blake Stonely.” He yawned, putting his free hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

      “Oh, okay,” she said at full volume. “I’m Lily Rogers, and I wanted to apply for the job.”

      “The job?” He jiggled the baby, then started awkwardly rocking from foot to foot. “Oh, man, did I leave the sign out?”

      Disappointment dug in. No job? “Yes, it’s there.” She’d seen it as she’d dashed through the rain from her mom’s car to the front door.

      “I’m so sorry, the job’s been filled, just an hour ago, actually.”

      Lily clenched her jaw. She was a mere hour too late? Great. Just great.

      Blake jostled the baby. “What with Peyton here crying up a storm, I forgot to remove the sign.”

      As if in reaction to her—or his—name, Peyton’s staccato cries grew louder. Harsher. More frantic.

      Lily’s heart just about shattered, which helped take her mind off, at least temporarily, the fact that her one and only job lead had dried up, just like that.

      “This has been going on since 5:00 a.m.,” he muttered, his voice coated in bone-tired exhaustion. “And she only slept three hours last night.”

      Ah. A little girl. “Oh, that’s rough.” Lily wanted to ask where Peyton’s mom was, but she held back. Clearly he was on his own with the baby, at least for the moment.

      Without thinking much, she lifted up her arms. “Mind if I try?” Many years spent helping her mom with her four younger siblings—Laura in particular—might help Peyton to settle down. Besides, the crying was pitiful and really tugged on Lily’s heartstrings.

      He raised his brows. “You want to try getting her to stop crying?”

      “Yes, I would.” She waggled her hands. “Hand her over. Besides, you look like you need a break.” As in, he looked like death warmed over. Twice. Not that she’d say that. He clearly had his hands full.

      “O-okay,” he said, holding the baby out, then turning her to face Lily. “But nothing works.” In seeming response, Peyton kicked her little legs and screamed louder.

      Lily took Peyton from him, noting her red, scrunched-up, tear-stained face. “Hey, little girl.” Lily recalled what had worked with her middle sister, Lydia, and gently laid Peyton back in the crook of her elbow while her other arm slid under Peyton’s bottom. “What seems to be the problem?”

      Peyton paused for a moment, staring up at Lily with clear blue eyes that looked a lot like her daddy’s. Blessed silence engulfed the room.

      Lily was certain the quiet was just temporary.

      Sure enough, after a few beats of silence, Peyton started up again, going stiff and screwing up her face and letting loose with a wail that pierced Lily’s ears.

      Blake held out his hands, a look of pure defeat on his face. “See? I told you.”

      “Give me a moment.” With well-practiced precision she began to smoothly swing Peyton from side to side, maintaining eye contact. Automatically, Lily began to sing a lullaby in a hushed voice as she walked away from the counter—swing, swing, swing—back and forth from side to side in wide arcs, smooth as silk.

      Peyton still cried, squirming, her little body tense. But after Lily’s third circuit around the small space, weaving in and out of the tables, the baby’s cries grew less frantic. Lily kept moving—swing, swing, swing—and by the time she made her way back to Blake, who’d slumped exhaustedly into a chair by the counter, Peyton had quieted and was drifting off to sleep.

      Blake gave Lily an incredulous look, then opened his mouth to talk.

      Lily shook her head and kept singing.

      Rising, he pointed to the door from which he’d emerged earlier. She nodded and followed him into a small room that was obviously his office-slash-makeshift nursery. The space had a large, neat desk and task chair facing out from one corner, one other beat-up plastic chair opposite the desk and a rickety-looking bookcase with a well-organized collection of books and folders in the other corner. The rest of the area СКАЧАТЬ