Bailey demanded a walk the minute Cal entered his house. He leashed up his best canine friend and trotted out the door with him.

“Bailey old boy,” Cal said. “I met someone.” Bailey sniffed the telephone pole in the tree lawn.

“Remember the woman you knocked down when you were in pursuit of a cat, right before your stage debut?”

Bailey trotted to the next pole.

“She’s kind of awesome. Not hard to look at, the right age, not married, intelligent, kind, funny.” Gene Kelly singing in the rain came to mind. Cal laughed and clicked his heels once.

Surprising he should have such strong feelings about someone who was practically a stranger. He had never believed in love at first sight, but if he had to name the feelings Bryony inspired, he would have to say the phrase might be apt. Funny this should happen to him for the first time in his fifties.

Bailey finished up with another pole and moved on to a bush.

“The problem, Bailey, is geographic.”

Bailey sniffed a spot, inspected it again, and moved on a foot farther to do his business.

Cal pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and slid it over his hand to pick up the pile.

“What a load of crap,” he said. “Why couldn’t she live closer to Cleveland?”

BRYONY’S WELCOME SURPRISE

Tables gleaming, bread racks clean, BeanHereNow stood ready for the next morning. Bryony finished counting the money and zipped it inside the bank bag. Taking the bag to the drop off slot at the bank so late in the evening involved risk, but leaving it in the shop overnight seemed riskier.

An easy solution to her unease about the deposit would have been to have Cal walk with her to the bank, but she had needed the evening together to end. He would have been a complete distraction from the tasks she completed in less than thirty minutes.

He outtalked any man she knew, which she was starting to like very much. He seemed to appeal to all kinds of people, which she also liked. His imperfections, like his annoying way of not giving up, seemed almost perfect.

She shook her head, smiled, and picked up the money bag. He was too good to be true.

With her shawl draping her shoulders, Bryony carried the deposit bag to the front door. Her cell rang and she put down the bag to fumble in her purse for her phone. Eager anticipation of a call from the man with diamonds in his ears turned to annoyance when she saw Mitch’s name flash on her screen.

“Bry!” Mitch said. “What’s up?”

Her brother never called to chat. Bryony sat in a chair and sighed. “What’s wrong?” Something with their father? He seemed fine the last time she saw him.

“I hear you had dinner with Cal Forster,” Mitch said.

“What?” Bryony looked up. Rain pellets hit the window with vigor, and a car passed by the shop. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

Her heart rate increased, pumping up a sense of being caught in the act. She closed her eyes. Would she ever be able to do what she wanted to do without feeling like she required permission?

“I think I told you before,” Mitch said. “You might want to steer clear. Besides not being a good fit for you, he’ll be gone at the end of the school year. Even if Henderson doesn’t return—I shouldn’t be telling you, so don’t tell anyone—funding for the program will likely be cut.”

“Why?” Bryony sat up straighter in the chair and turned to look at the service counter. “Todd’s working out great for us. He’s a good kid, and I think the experience here has helped him.”

“Not my call,” Mitch said. “It’s all about money, money, money, and the school board has the final say.”

“But you have influence,” Bryony said. “Can’t you talk to them, lobby for Cal, I mean for the program?”

“What’s it to you?” Mitch asked. “Don’t tell me you’re serious about him.” He snorted a laugh. “Have you noticed he has pierced ears? He is so not your type.”

Of course Mitch would have noticed the holes in Cal’s ears. Mitch missed the important facets of a person, and noticed the features he could criticize or ridicule.

“Cal’s a nice guy,” Bryony said. “He already told me he’s only here until June. If he asks me out again, I’ll go. And if he doesn’t ask me, I’ll ask him.” As much as she would like that to be true, she knew she overstated her courage. Arguing with Mitch had never been her strong suit.

“Bry, Bry, Bry,” Mitch said. “You’re not hearing me. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what? From finally doing what I want to do, even if you don’t like it?” Her neck grew hot and sweaty.

Surprise exploded through the phone speaker. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you remember when we were young, and I wanted to date Buz Culpepper?”

“You mean the guy who drove the motorcycle and wore chains on his neck?” Mitch issued a guttural sound of disgust, and said with sarcasm, “He was a winner.”

“Buz started a software company. I saw an article about him online. He has a beautiful wife, grandchildren, a vacation home in Colorado, and his employees love him.”

“You’re kidding,” her brother said. “That guy? Unbelievable.”

“People are more than what you can see on the outside, Mitch. I have to go.” Bryony snapped shut her phone, the finality pitched too high, too sharp, over too soon. If only cells came with real receivers, the old-fashioned kind you could slam down for maximum effect.

The ringer sounded.

She flipped open the phone and held it to her ear, ready for open combat, though she shook inside. “What?”

“Yikes,” Cal said. “Do you have my name in your contact list? Because if you do, and if you knew it was me, I’d say by the tone of your voice you’re not feeling too great about having dinner with me.”

“I’m sorry.” Bryony rubbed her forehead. “I thought you were—oh never mind.”

“You okay?” Cal asked.

Remembering her conviction with Mitch, Bryony answered, “I’m glad you called. I enjoyed being with you.”

“Good to know,” Cal said. “Because Bailey insisted on a longer-than-usual walk, and we ended up here.”

“Here?” Bryony raised her head to see Cal peering in through the door. Bailey sat beside him, both of them drenched.

She closed her phone and dropped it into her purse before grabbing her keys and stepping to unlock the door, concern for both of them eclipsing her trepidation.

“Come in, come in!” she said.

“No,” Cal said. “Because the minute we step inside, he’ll shake, and you’ll end up with wet dog hair plastered ten feet in every direction. But if you’re ready to leave, and you could let us use a few towels, we could dry off and allow you to give us a ride home.”