To Get Me To You: A Small Town Southern Romance (Wishful Romance Book 1) (2 page)

“Because nobody’s invented a teleporter yet. Flying would take just as long, and I’d be one of a hundred other irritable sardines, who want to be home already. At least on the road it’s quiet.”

“You totally live in the wrong city for quiet. Are you home yet?”

“Got a couple more hours. But I’m about to break it up a bit and make a stop in your honor.”

“Off I-90? Oh my God, are you in Morton? You’re going to Have Your Cake, aren’t you?”

Norah laughed at the mix of accusation and longing in her friend’s tone. “Guilty.”

The stretch of road immediately off the interstate had mushroomed in the past three years with the usual contingent of fast food restaurants, gas stations, and a couple of chain hotels. Pleased at the evidence of growth, Norah bypassed them all, following the signs for downtown and sending up a silent prayer that Have Your Cake would be open until six.

“Best road trip discovery
ever.
I love their caramel cake. The perfect marriage of salty and sweet, with four layers of lovely, moist cake…What made you decide to stop?”

“I was missing you.” It was the truth, even if it didn’t touch on all the whys. “How is everybody?”

As she navigated through town, Norah listened to her friend’s account of this year’s holiday hijinks. It was almost like listening to the summary of a Hallmark Channel movie, for all she could relate to to Miranda’s sprawling family, with aunts, uncles, and cousins galore. They were as close to normal as Norah ever got.

“—oh, and the boys had a poker tournament to decide who got the last slice of Grammy’s chocolate pie.”

Amusement and envy warred. Grammy’s chocolate pie was a thing of legend. “Who won?”

“Reed, who was totally the dark horse in that race. Everybody assumed Mitch would win because he always does. He said to tell you hello, by the way.”

“Tell him hi back and ask him when he’s coming to Chicago again for another architectural convention.”

“I still can’t believe you went on a date with my brother.”

“It wasn’t a date. It was a pity tour of the city, since you didn’t warn him you wouldn’t actually be able to leave the hospital to see him.”

“That’s why they call it residency. And anyway that’s not the way
he
tells that story.”

“Then Mitch is a liar liar pants on fire.”

“Why don’t you come down here and tell him that yourself? You keep promising to visit.”

“I know, I know,” Norah groaned. “It’s been way too long. But work’s been
crazy
. I had a hard enough time getting off to go to New York for the holiday. I can’t possibly ask off again so soon. Maybe closer to summer.”

“Summer? You
do
remember what Mississippi is like in the summer?”

“Honey, given the winter we’ve been having, I’d relish the chance to wear some short shorts and a tank top instead of a winter coat that makes me look like the Michelin Man.”

“I’ll remind you of that when you come and do your impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. How did Christmas go on your end? Was Rockefeller Center fabulous? I’m getting my vicarious white Christmas fix through you.”

“It was gorgeous. The Plaza was amazing, and midnight mass at Saint Thomas was simply beautiful. Christmas in Manhattan is definitely a unique experience.” And she’d have traded it all for one zany family dinner with the Campbells.

“Did your dad manage to refrain from harping on you about going back to law school?”

“Actually, he’s dating somebody. Some high-powered exec who looks like Hollywood’s idea of Wall Street. They went to Saint Bart’s, so it was just me and Mom.
She
got called in to emergency surgery, so I spent my holiday blessedly harp-free.”

Miranda didn’t buy her breezy, no-big-deal tone for a moment. “Wait, so you were
alone
for Christmas?”

Sensing the edge of a blistering rant, Norah felt compelled to head Miranda off. “Not all of it. Between surgeries, Mom and I had a blast shopping for Operation Santa Claus, and she got out of surgery in time for a late Christmas dinner.”

“That’s awful.”

Norah bit back a sigh as she turned onto Main Street. Miranda’s outrage on her behalf was well-intentioned, even if it solved exactly nothing. “Well, it was certainly better than if Dad had tried to include Lillian. We’re a weirdly civilized modern family, but I don’t think we’re
that
civilized. Besides, it gave me some quiet time to catch up on this radical thing called reading for pleasure.”

“You should’ve come here. You know you’re always welcome.”

Norah knew they’d fold her into the flock. It was part of the Campbells’ charm. But there were a hundred reasons keeping her from following through on the invite Miranda made every year. “And I appreciate the offer. Now I’m going to let you go because I’m pretty sure I drove past Have Your Cake while I was running my mouth.”

“Buy two pieces and have one in my name.”

“And will those calories vicariously travel to
your
hips?” Norah circled the block for another pass.

“They will in spirit.”

“Give your family my best.”

“Love you.”

“Love you back. Talk soon.”

Norah didn’t have to hunt for parking. But for a handful of cars, downtown Morton was deserted. She got out and climbed over the mounds of dirty snow to the sidewalk and took a good look around. No sign of Have Your Cake. Thinking she parked on the wrong block, she began to walk.

Maybe they’re still on shortened holiday hours.
Not what she’d have recommended to business owners in the wake of the holiday. They should’ve been taking advantage of post-Christmas shoppers with gift certificates and Christmas money.

A shop window across the street had
Going Out of Business
painted across the glass. The sign above the awning indicated it had been a florist. Even with the poor economy and reduced discretionary income, a florist should have been able to make it through the Christmas season. In another window on her side, she saw a For Rent sign. A lone, headless mannequin stood inside, one arm lifted like it was waving goodbye. One empty retail space she could dismiss, but two? That didn’t fit with her expectations.

Three years ago, she’d been brought in as the voice of the marketing team that convinced the town of Morton that Hugo’s ValuCenter would be a partner to the community, a harbinger of new economic growth. She’d seen their multi-phase plan for sustainable community development, had been the one to sell city leaders on the concept. So why was everything closed?

The next couple of spaces were occupied by a law office and an accountant. But the space after that had a discreet For Sale sign and the name of a local real estate company. Cold fingers walked down her spine as Norah looked into every window on the entire three block stretch.

Based on the community development plan, downtown Morton should’ve been a bustling retail corridor, full of local vendors and craftspeople. Exactly what it had been, at the heart, when she and Miranda had discovered the place years ago, but bigger. And yet more than seventy percent of the retail space sat empty. It was such a far cry from the bustling, quirky town she remembered, she half wondered if she’d come to the wrong place.

“What the hell happened here?”

One business still had active clientele at this hour. Crossing the street, Norah stepped inside the Five O’Clock Shadow. The bar was dim and quiet. A few people looked up when she came in, then went back to their drinks. Their low murmurs of conversation barely competed with the classic rock playing over the speakers. She noted a handful of suits and some business casual attire, suggesting that this was probably a hang out for the office workers and city government employees who worked further down the street.

Loosening her scarf, Norah crossed to the bar, where a mustached man was drying glasses.

“What can I getcha?”

She slid onto a stool. “Directions, I hope. I’m from out of town, and it’s been a few years since I came through here. I was hoping you could tell me where Have Your Cake moved to.”

“Didn’t move. Closed along with just about everything else down here.”

She’d been afraid of that. “What happened?”

“Same as happened lots of other places. We got a Hugo’s ValuCenter.”

Norah swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I’d heard that they were in to being partners with the community.”

The bartender snorted. “They’re like any other politicians. Telling people exactly what they want to hear to get in, then going back on their word. Within six months of opening for business, they added an in-house florist, a bakery, a butcher, on top of all the other products they already carried. They undercut local prices, all in the name of
value.
” The word rolled off his tongue like something foul. “Local businesses couldn’t compete. Those of us still standing are the ones who aren’t in direct competition. Everybody else
…poof.”

Numb, Norah thanked the bartender for his time and headed back to her car. Her stomach roiled.

Hugo’s had done exactly what she’d promised the town they wouldn’t do. She’d
seen
the proposal,
seen
the plans to integrate, not overtake the community. Was there a statute of limitations clause she’d missed? Had they performed some kind of bait and switch with the final contracts? Had her partner failed to do proper due diligence on the company? She had, in effect, lied to the townspeople. Used all her skill in persuasion to talk them into something that had decimated the character of the town.

How did this happen? Where did I screw up?

She didn’t know. But as soon as she got to the office in the morning, she was going to find out.

Chapter 2

Standing shoulder to shoulder with her intern, Norah surveyed the mountains of folders spread across the conference table.

Cecily took a bracing breath. “This calls for ordering in. Do we want Chinese, Indian, or Greek?”

“None of the above. You are going home like the good little, not-excessively-overworked intern you’re supposed to be.”

“But I can help.”

Aw, she’s like your mini-me,
Norah’s conscience cooed.
The earnest, good-hearted workaholic. Encourage that so y’all can have no life together.

“It’s not about can, it’s about should. And you
should
have a life after work. Now go ahead and scoot or you’re going to miss your TaeBo class.”

“You did not just tell me to scoot. You’ve been talking to your Mississippi friend again.”

Norah just arched a brow.

“Fine, fine. But I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow. I’ve got some concepts kicking around in my head for the Rembrandt job.”

“I look forward to hearing them. To. Mor. Row.”

“Yes, boss.”

As Cecily walked out, Norah’s personal assistant walked in.

“Don’t even start with me, Christoff.”

“Not even back a day and you’re covered up. We aren’t
that
behind from the holiday.”

As he moved toward her desk, Norah automatically closed the files she’d pulled herself earlier in the day. No reason to alert anyone else to her inquiries until she decided what to do about them.

“I’m just trying to get ahead a bit so I can take New Year’s off.”

He collapsed gracefully into one of the visitor’s chairs and crossed his Ferragamo boots. “Honey, we both know you’re going to bring your fabulous dress and get ready here, before you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and GQ show up fashionably late for whatever It Party is the place to be.”

“Just because it’s what we did last year…”

Christoff shut her up with a Look. He tapped the side of his nose. “I am wise to your ways, milady. You shouldn’t be hitting the ground running this hard until after the first of the year.”

Norah sighed. “I have my reasons. Now go ahead and get out of here. I mean it. Out of the office.”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t like abandoning you while you’re drowning.”

“I am not drowning. Go home and watch your DVR backlog of Project Runway. All this will still be here tomorrow.”

“Only if you
promise
you’re not going to work half the night. I’m calling up here in an hour to make sure you’ve left.”

“Fair enough. I promise.”

He made an
I’m watching you
gesture with his fingers. “I’ll know if you just don’t pick up.”

He probably would. Norah had long since stopped wondering how Christoff knew the things he knew. She plastered on an indulgent smile and made shooing motions until he walked out of her office.

As soon as the door shut, Norah wilted, letting go of the
Everything’s Okay
facade she’d been using all day. Everything was most definitely
not
okay. Rising, she crossed to the window of her office, staring out at the twinkling lights of the Chicago skyline. She’d worked her ass off for Helios Creative to earn that view, done good work. Exceptional work. She was tenacious and she was thorough. The harder the sell, the more determined she became, rallying to the challenge like a heavyweight going into a title fight. Her honeyed eloquence had produced the highest success rate of anyone in the firm, save her boss, and she’d rocketed through the ranks to Vice President of Sales, getting dubbed The Closer. Together, she and Pierce Vargas were an absolute marketing dream team. Everybody said so.