She swallowed a sip of coffee and smiled. “Romance isn’t always moonlight and roses, you know, especially if you fall in love with the wrong man.”
The faraway look in Casey’s eyes melted into sympathy. Her voice was gentle. “I know that happened to you, Emma, because my mother told me everything. And I can’t express how sorry I am. But I hope—and I certainly pray—that my Johnny is nothing like your Rory.”
Guinevere meowed and grazed against her legs, and Emma picked her up, choosing her words carefully as she absently stroked the white bundle of fur now balled in her lap. Sadness tainted her smile. “I’m afraid the man I fell in love with was nothing like my Rory either, Casey . . . at least not in the beginning. Not all of us are as lucky as Mrs. Peep in finding our Archie.”
“Unfortunately, Emma’s right. Out of five girls in my family, my sister Margaret and I were the only two who weren’t married to lying cheats and sots.”
“Goodness, you’re both starting to sound like Mama! She’s always fretting some Lothario will break my heart. But I’m eighteen now, and I can sense when a man has feelings for me, truly. Like Johnny. He genuinely cares for me, Emma, I’m certain.”
Emma’s lips curled into a soft smile. “You are, are you?” she said, a teasing brogue slipping into her tone.
The sparkle returned to Casey’s eyes as she folded arms on the table with a smile. “Well, almost certain. All I know is when I’m with Johnny, I feel beautiful . . . special.”
“That’s because you are beautiful and special,” Emma said. “Not because of Johnny.”
Mrs. Peep tipped the rest of her cup and set it in the saucer before pushing it away. She rose to carry her cup to the sink. “Dinner was lovely, Emma, as always. Thank you so much.”
“You’re not staying for dominoes?” Emma blinked up at her, coffee cup in hand.
“I don’t think so, dear, not tonight.”
A frown pinched Emma’s brow as she rose. “Do you feel all right, Mrs. Peep?”
“Of course.” She gave Emma’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Just tired and thinking of Archie, that’s all. I believe I’ll boil some milk and head on to bed with a good book . . .” Melancholy settled in the crook of her smile. “Or maybe a few of the love letters he wrote me before we were married.” Her gaze shifted to Casey. “Good night, dear, and good luck with your young man.”
Casey jumped up to give her a hug. “Thanks, Mrs. Peep. Good night.”
Ushering her landlady down the hall, Emma paused a moment to poke through the drawer of her Victorian desk before slipping ten dollars into Mrs. Peep’s pocket.
“Oh, no, Emma, not again—I won’t take it.” Her landlady thrust it back.
Emma captured her in a tight hug. “Yes, Mrs. Peep, please? It’s not much, and it’s only fair for all you do for me.”
“But it’s a difficult time right now, and you can’t afford it any more than anyone else.”
“I can, Mrs. Peep, truly.” She ducked to smile into her eyes. “Now, honestly, what else do I have to spend my money on? You know I work six days a week, which leaves no time to spend anything. Besides, I’m not the one who has two empty apartments to rent, remember?” She clasped the old woman’s hand, her eyes pleading. “Let me do this . . . please?”
Water welled in Mrs. Peep’s eyes. “You already pay too much, then feed me dinner too.”
“Yes, just like you insist on sneaking into my apartment and doing my laundry, so hush. You would do the same for me, and you know it. Now, you get yourself into bed, all right?” Emma opened the door. “I’ll check on you tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
Mrs. Peep nodded, tears seeping into the tiny ridges that fanned from the side of her eyes. Her frail lips trembled as she squeezed Emma’s hand. “Good night, Emma. You are truly something special—the kind of woman who brings a smile to God’s face.”
Heat braised Emma’s cheeks. “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Peep,” she said with a forced chuckle and then quietly shut the door. Hand still on the knob, she slumped back with head bowed. A woman who brings a smile to God’s face? She sighed. Maybe now . . . but definitely not before . . . Exhaling quietly, she made her way to the kitchen where Casey washed dishes at the sink.
Arms folded, Emma tried to look stern. “How many times have I told you that you’re my guest, Casey—I don’t invite you to work.”
Casey shot a grin over her shoulder, a blonde curl obscuring one eye. “Just say ‘thank you,’ Emma, because we both know Mama would tan my hide if I didn’t.”
Emma sighed. “Thank you, Casey, I appreciate it, and your mother would be proud.”
The young girl paused, her smile pensive as she dried her hands. “So, why do you do it?”
“Do what?” Emma gathered the soiled tablecloth and placed it on the counter before retrieving the domino set from the bottom drawer of her cupboard.
Casey studied her, gaze narrowed in thought. “Give extra money to Mrs. Peep.”
Emma rose and turned, the wooden box clutched to her chest. “What do you mean?”
Tossing the towel over a rack, Casey ambled to her seat and settled in, arms folded on the table and lips twisted in a wry smile. “Come on, Emma, I know you give money to Mrs. Peep, just like you give money to me and heaven knows how many others. And as if that isn’t enough, you insist on fixing us dinners and lending me clothes. You keep Mama posted on my progress and you watch me like a hawk—” One side of her mouth crooked up. “A ‘mother’ hawk, to be exact, hovering over me, taking care of me. I’ve seen you bake brownies for people at work, kids in the neighborhood, and just yesterday, Margaret Latham told me you’ve been tutoring her in math.” She cocked her head. “So, tell me, because I really want to know—why do you do it?”
Emma blinked, Casey’s question catching her off-guard. She laid the box on the table and thought about all the dinners they’d shared, all the conversations about movies or fashion or love. Sure, Emma had given advice here and there, even referring to prayer or her deep faith occasionally on their strolls to church. Her pulse quickened. But for Casey to ask such a question outright meant the door was open for more. More of Emma’s heart.
And more of God’s?
She swallowed her hesitation and sat down, scooting close to the table to upend the box. Dominoes spilled across the lemon-polished wood with a clatter while Emma peered up, her heart spilling with love. “Because I have to, Casey, I can’t help it.” She cocked her head and gave her a mischievous smile. “You know how you feel when you’re with Johnny, as if you’re going to bubble over for the love he brings into your life?”
Casey nodded, a blush blooming on her face as she released a lovesick sigh.
“Well, it’s the same with me,” Emma said in a matter-of-fact tone, fingers flitting across the sea of tiles to turn each of them face down.
Ridges formed in Casey’s brow. “I don’t understand. Rory hurt you and now you’re alone.” She squinted, as if trying to comprehend. “Do you mean love for friends?”
“Yes, affection for you, Mrs. Peep, and others, certainly, but that’s not the love I mean.”
“What, then?” Casey asked, the innocence in her face plucking at Emma’s heart.
Emma paused, fingers lingering on a tile. She glanced up with a tentative smile. “The kind of love that has the passion of a lover and the faithfulness of a friend, Casey—God’s love.”
Casey’s eyelids lowered as she shifted in her seat. “But we can’t see or feel God, Emma, so how can you feel his love? I need more than prayers to a God I can’t touch, see, or hear—I want to hear words of love, see kind actions, feel hugs and kisses . . .”
“We all do, because yes, we’re human beings. But we were made in God’s image.” Drawing in a deep breath, Emma leaned back in her chair, her eyes tender. “Which means, Casey, like Father, like daughter. You want to be loved? So does he. You want to be touched? So does he. You want to feel the rush of a kiss or the warmth of a hug?” Tears pricked Emma’
s eyes. “So does he, Casey. Which is why I rushed to him when Rory hurt me and my family betrayed me. And you know what? I found a God whose arms were open wide and whose heart leapt with joy when I called his name. As protective as a mother and as jealous as a lover, this was a God who wanted me for his very own. Me—Emma Malloy! To touch, to bless, to fill with his pleasure.” She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on Casey’s. “Until I overflow, spilling his love on all those around me—treasured possessions of a passionate God.”
Casey stared, wide-eyed. “But I don’t feel that way about God, Emma, and I don’t know how to change that.”
“No, but he does.” Emma squeezed her hand. “Pray, Casey, for him to be the center and source of your life, for a passion for him that’s so strong, you feel him, touch him, hear him, just like he wants you to. And when you do, the love he pours in your heart will wash over everything in your life, making it the very best it can be.” Emma smiled. “Especially romantic love with someone who weakens your knees.”
The glow returned to Casey’s eyes. “Oh, Emma, I hope so, because I really do think Johnny may be the one.” She hugged her arms to her waist with a whimsical smile as if she were hugging Johnny himself, and then in a soft huff of another sigh, a bit of trepidation clouded the stars in her eyes. She chewed on her lip. “I just wish there was a way I could know for sure.”
With a sweep of her palm, Emma shuffled the dominoes and peered up. “There is.”
“How?” Casey asked with a kink of her brows.
Emma commenced selecting her dominoes, the smile on her lips at odds with the concern in her heart. She leaned forward, her voice tender and low. “Emotions are a powerful force, Casey. They can cloud our judgment and lead us into things that can hurt us, especially when we think we’re in love. But . . . not if you do it God’s way. It’s the only way to remain unscathed in a relationship.” Emma straightened and drew in a deep breath, determined to protect Casey like she wished someone had protected her. Absently brushing the scars on her face, she released a weary sigh. “Trust me, Casey—my life would be very different if I’d heeded what I’m telling you.” Emma reached to graze Casey’s hand. “Which means a good-night kiss at the door is fine, but anything more will only muddy the waters.” She drew in a deep breath and withdrew her hand, her gaze fused to Casey’s. “And never, and I repeat—never—allow Johnny into your apartment alone. It’s too dangerous.”
A hint of rose crept into the girl’s cheeks as she quickly selected her tiles. “But I don’t understand, Emma—how will that help to make sure that he’s the man for me?”
Emma picked her own tiles slowly, carefully, as if their import were as critical as what she was about to say. “Because the right man will love and respect you more for your strength of commitment, while the wrong man will only push to have his own way, all the while professing a love to sweep you away.”
Her thoughts trailed back to Rory as her voice faded to a whisper. She stared blankly at her tiles, sick with regret that it had been Rory’s “love,” rather than God’s, that had shaped her future. She shivered, suddenly aware of Casey’s probing stare. Drawing in a cleansing breath, she lifted her chin, never surer of the truth of her words. “Trust me, Casey, if I had followed God’s will and remained pure, I wouldn’t be bound to Rory today. Because when it comes to true love, there’s no better safety net than God’s precepts to protect you from hurt and heartbreak. When the wrong men come face-to-face with a woman who follows God’s laws, they will leave. But the right one?” She smiled, her words infused with the same sense of peace and certainty she felt in God’s presence every day of her life. “Now he, my friend, will stay.”
8
With a nostalgic caress of Alli’s adding machine, Sean punched in register totals with rapid-fire precision, unleashing a forgotten rush of adrenaline with every jerk of the lever. Saints almighty, how he loved numbers and totals and healthy bottom lines, a shocking realization that made him miss Kelly’s for the first time in months. He held his breath as he entered the final sales for the quarter, heart pounding while he pulled the lever one last time . . .
“The saints be praised!” he shouted, borrowing Emma’s pet phrase as he ripped the tape from Alli’s machine and bounded to his feet. He kissed the ink-splotched total and glanced up at the doorway of Emma’s office, where the woman herself stood wide-eyed, mouth gaping. “We did it!” he said with a broad grin, rendering her speechless when he plucked her up in his arms and whirled her in a spin. He plopped her back down and grinned. “Sales are up 6 percent.”
Emma swayed on her feet, the color in her cheeks fading to pale. “Six percent?” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
“See for yourself, Mrs. Malloy,” Sean said with a wink. “Numbers do not lie.”
She took the tape and slowly lowered into Alli’s chair, dazed. “But how can this be?”
He shot a quick glance at the clock to make sure it was past closing, then stripped off his suit coat and loosened his tie with a gleam of white teeth. “Our plan, remember? Reducing overhead with shorter store hours, scaling down inventory, early-bird specials, two-for-one sales, store credit, and a shopper’s rewards system that Filene’s can only dream about.” He rolled up the sleeves of his pinstripe shirt and shot her an easy smile. “And last but not least, the only Coca-Cola vending machine to be found in a department store in the entire city.”
“B-but you’ve only been here a short time,” she whispered.
He grinned, hands hooked low on his hips. “I know. Makes me kind of dangerous to Filene’s, don’t ya think?” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a dime and flipped it in the air. “This calls for a celebration, Mrs. Malloy. Coca-Cola on me.”
Emma jumped up, her shock apparently wearing off as she squealed and threw her arms around him so hard, it prompted both a chuckle in his throat and an erratic beat in his heart. He grinned, euphoric not only over the numbers, but at Emma’s apparent comfort level now that their friendship was restored. He held her at arm’s length. “Whoa—a simple thank you would suffice, although I admit, this is much better.”
His words sent a pretty blush to her cheeks despite the sparkle that danced in her eyes. “We have to celebrate, and I just happen to have two fudge brownies to go with that Coca-Cola.”
Masking his grin with a playful scowl, Sean patted his stomach as he moved toward the door. “You’re no good for me, Emma Malloy, tempting me daily with cookies and cakes. I need to be lean and fit if I’m going to stay ahead of Luke and Brady on the court, you know.”
Hands resting on her hips, she assessed him through squinted eyes. “Oh, go on with you now, you look fit as a fiddle from where I’m standing,” she said, a definite Irish lilt to her scold.
“From you running me ragged, no doubt,” he called and whistled as he made his way to the prized soda machine on the first floor.
When he returned, Emma had draped the small conference table in Bert and Alli’s cozy work area with a lacy tablecloth. A candle flickered in a dented silver candlestick dead center between two white china plates sporting brownies dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Crystal goblets gleamed in the light of the candle, as if in anticipation of the fizz and bubble of cold Coca-Cola.
He whistled, filling the goblets with soda. “Very pretty. If I’d known I’d get this kind of treatment, I’d have shot for 10 percent.” He hoisted a goblet in the air. “To the success of Dennehy’s . . . and the woman at its helm.”
“Oh, no—this is about you, not me,” Emma said, clinking her glass to his. “Sales were down by 25 percent before you came, and I couldn’t staunch the flow. There’s no question that you’re a force to be reckoned with, Sean O’Connor—smart, creative, devoted, and not afraid of hard work. Completely at home whether unloading furniture on the dock, tallying inventory with Bert, or charming a disgruntled customer, and all with a smile.” Her eyes softened, conveying a love and respect that thickened the walls of his throat. “The truth is, Sean, you are o
ne of the most humble and generous men I know, and I count it a privilege to call you my friend.” Her lips curved into a soft smile. “I honestly don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“Brownies might work,” he said, grinning to diffuse the heat inching up the back of his neck. He pulled a chair out for Emma, then settled in to tackle dessert.
She chuckled, and the sound warmed him as he studied her over the rim of his glass. “What?” he asked with a faint smile.
Chewing slowly, she tilted her head, humor aglow in her eyes while she washed the cake down with a sip of her pop. “Although truth be told, it may well be Mrs. Bennett to whom we owe our thanks. I do believe her word of mouth could rival the promotional skills of your sister when it comes to uncovering a well-kept secret.”
“Who, Charity?” He polished the brownie off and pushed the empty plate away. Stretching back in his chair, he propped arms behind his head and legs on a ledge beneath the table. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Charity’s the whole reason for the surge in the first place, given her talent for scuttlebutt. After all, she did attend that Herald dinner with all the society bigwigs.”
With a final bite of brownie, Emma nudged her plate aside and leaned in, elbows on the table and a smug smile on her face. “What d’ya wanna bet Kelly’s profits didn’t go up?”
Her smirk was so against the grain, he laughed out loud. “Emma Malloy—I do believe that’s a gloat in your eyes, and all I can say is it’s about time.” He cuffed the back of his neck and all at once his humor veered into a blank stare as thoughts of his old store shadowed his mood. “I swear I’d give anything to know how ol’ Lester did with the books this month.”
A dainty cough sounded from the hallway. “I believe it was the worst month in the history of the store,” Rose Kelly said shyly, a small purse clutched in her hands while she chewed on her lip at the door. Her pastel floral dress cinched her waist and followed the curve of her hips before falling into gentle pleats midcalf. Dainty cap sleeves and a V-neck tie made her appear younger than she was, despite a stylish short-brimmed hat slanted over chestnut curls.