Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series Read Online Free Page B

it on the table in front of her. A whoosh of air made her look up as the door opened.
    The curly-haired grouch from the other day stood in the doorway. He stopped when their gazes collided. He nodded at her.
    “Hey,” he said as he passed by on his way to the counter.
    She returned his nod. Mrs. Acres had apologized all over herself the other day for not telling Kelly about Tom Pereira. Kelly said it wasn’t a bother, just a few tense moments. A few tense moments. Ah, she dealt with her own demons enough that she didn’t allow them to drift into the forefront of conversations. Playing poor alone-in-the-world Harry Potter never appealed to her, either.
    “So, is it going to live?” Tom Pereira asked when he stopped by her table.
    “Is what going to live?” She looked up at him and blinked.
    “The quilt or whatever you were there to look at the other day.”
    “Ah, the quilt. I hope so. I won’t know for sure, unless I get the bid.”
    “Bid, huh? If you get the job, we’ll have the same boss.”
    “Firstborn Holdings, LLC, and the elusive Mr. Chandler?” He’d not responded to any of her phone calls about the quilt, except for a terse e-mail requesting the bid before any discussion took place.
    He nodded. Then he gestured to the other side of the booth. “Mind if I sit for a minute while I wait on my order?”
    “Um, no. Go right ahead.” Although she’d planned to enjoy her lunch in silence, Tom would only be there a few moments. In better daylight, she realized he was younger than he’d seemed the other day, closer to her age. His eyes looked tired with tiny lines around the edges, but their warm brown tone looked guarded yet curious. He folded his callused hands on top of the table.
    “I’m down here working on another job today. You won’t tell Mr. Chandler, will you?” A light entered his eyes.
    “Of course not. I might not hear from him anyway. Besides, if there’s anything I’ve learned, sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, just to get the bills paid.” She shrugged and wiped her lips with a napkin.
    “That’s so very true. So . . . what in the world does a textile conservator do, exactly?”
    “We repair and restore old fabrics. I’ve worked on everything from vintage clothing to samplers to medieval tapestries. Most of the time, though, I spend time repairing backfired attempts to patch a piece together.” Ah, here she went, yammering about her job. His eyes weren’t quite glazing over, so she figured she’d quit while she was ahead.
    “I see.”
    Of course, he didn’t see. But that was fine by her. “So, how long have you worked for Mr. Chandler and company?”
    “About six months. They needed someone to help with snow removal over the winter, and I needed the job.” His gaze drifted over her shoulder and in the direction of the counter. “My order’s up. Good talking to you.”
    “Same here.” She turned her focus back to her cooling soup as Tom stood and headed for the counter. Handsome. A bit unpolished. Moody. Not her type at all. Yet, her type had left her heart with a gash that had taken far too long to heal.
    Tom passed by her booth on his way from the counter, carrying a cardboard container stacked with sandwiches and covered cups of soup. He didn’t acknowledge her. If she got the job, she might see him again. If not, yet another stranger passing through her life.
    God, if you’re listening . . . She stopped her silent prayer. Ever since she’d come to New Bedford, a restlessness had bitten into her with slow nibbles. It had to be that today was Lottie’s birthday. That, or the fresh reminder that she was between jobs.
    . . . I need something to change, but I don’t know what. The sunlight streaming in the wall of windows warmed her, but she fought the shiver that wanted to come.
    Her phone buzzed . . . William Chandler. Her pulse rate shot up into the stratosphere. “This is Kelly Frost.”
    “Ms. Frost, William Chandler with Firstborn