Make Quilts Not War

chapter 7



Harriet woke up early the next morning. She’d actually slept well the night before, probably because her dog had slept over at Connie’s. Scooter usually got up at least once each night to go outside, and he woke crying in the night several times a week. She could only imagine what sort of treatment had left him with nightmares.

“Hey, Fred,” she said when she’d come downstairs and scooped some of the rubbery glop Aiden had prescribed into her cat’s ceramic bowl at the end of the kitchen bar. “I know this isn’t your favorite, but you have to admit your dandruff has improved.”

It hurt to think of Aiden, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Today was a new day, and she’d need all her concentration to be on quilts and the upcoming festival.

She went into the quilt studio and unlocked the door to the outside. No one, including the paper delivery man, used the formal front door to her stately Victorian home. The paper man generally slowed and pitched her paper out without coming close to a full stop, leaving it anywhere from the flower boxes on either side of the small porch to the bushes on the opposite side of her driveway. She opened the door this morning and was surprised to find it lying neatly on the steps beside a white box with a gold bow. She bent to pick it up as a car pulled into her driveway.

“I see I’m not the first one to think of leaving a present on your doorstep,” the driver called through the open window of his car.

Tom Bainbridge parked and got out, a flower vase in one hand. Three red roses surrounded a single origami flower that matched a bouquet he had made for her when he was stuck in Foggy Point by the storm.

“Tom?” Harriet met him at the bottom step. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he countered and handed her the vase.

“What are these for? Have you been talking to the Loose Threads?”

“No, I haven’t. You want to invite me in for coffee and tell me what they would have told me if I had talked to them?”

“Would you like to come in for coffee?” Harriet asked with a mock bow. “But, no, I don’t want to talk about the Threads.” She turned and went back up the steps.

“Don’t forget this,” Tom said and picked the white box up off the porch where she’d set it when she’d taken his flowers. He followed her into the house.

Harriet tried to appear casual as she flicked the small card on top of the box open to see if Aiden had sent a peace offering, but her expression gave her away as she read the name inside. Not Aiden.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Tom asked. “Whatever’s on that card clearly wasn’t what you were expecting.”

For one fleeting moment, she’d allowed herself to believe Aiden had acknowledged what he’d done the night before—but he hadn’t. James had sent her a box of his handmade chocolate truffles. In case you need some chocolate to drown your sorrows in, the note read.

“You’re wrong,” she lied. “This box is full of handmade chocolates personally crafted by the owner of the place where I went to dinner last night. He sent them in appreciation of my patronage.”

“Do I have another rival for your affections? Someone who knows how to make truffles? That will be a hard act to compete with.”

“James is just a friend. He’s actually a friend of a friend.”

“Who clearly wants to be more if that’s what he gives you after you eat at his place.”

“Could we just drop it?” Harriet asked as she led the way back into the kitchen and filled the coffeemaker carafe with water.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Tom sat down at the bar and watched as she emptied the water into the tank of the coffee machine.

“What brings you to our fair town?” Harriet asked, trying for a light tone and falling just short.

“The sixties festival committee asked me to bring some stuff from Mom’s school,” he said, referring to the folk art school his mother had operated in Angel Harbor. “One of the ladies had taken pottery classes there and knew Mom had a collection of pots from when she first opened the place. They offered me a table in the vendor area to advertise the school in exchange for bringing them, so I agreed.”

“So, you’ll be around for the whole festival?” she asked.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He sounded hurt.

“No!” She reached across the bar and put her hand on his arm. “I like having you around. Don’t mind me, I’m just in a bad mood.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Tom took her other hand, drawing her toward him. When his face was inches from hers, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. “Let me make it better.”

“You already have.” Harriet smiled and pulled her hand from his. She poured coffee into two mugs and gave him one. “Do you have a costume?” she asked, changing the subject.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Mom was a bit of a hoarder when it came to clothes—she had plenty of storage space at the school, so I guess she figured ‘Why not?’ Lucky for me, she saved choice items from my dad’s wardrobe, too. I’ve got several pairs of bell bottoms, a white patent leather boot-and-belt combo, and a sweet baby-blue leisure suit.”

“I see you’ve been growing your hair out, too.”

“It’s driving me crazy. Enjoy my luscious locks while you can,” he said and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m getting it buzzed as soon as this is all over.”

“Buzzed? Really?”

“Well, maybe not that short, but the locks are leaving.” He took a sip of coffee. “You sure make a mean cup of coffee, for someone who drinks so much tea.”

“Thank you, I think,” Harriet said and then proceeded to fill him in on all the plans her community had made for the festival.

“Can we meet for lunch or dinner while I’m here?” he asked when they’d exhausted the topic.

Harriet paused.

“Forget I asked. I told you I wouldn’t pressure you about our relationship, and I won’t.”

“It’s not you,” she said.

“Aiden’s making this way too easy. Maybe you’ll decide you can tell me about whatever it is that’s got you so upset. And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing. I can see something’s happened, and it doesn’t take a psychic to figure out Aiden was involved.”

“I’m not talking about Aiden with you, but we can do lunch. I have to figure out what all my work shifts are going to be at the show. I’ll have to let you know.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve got to go deliver my pots.” He stood up, and she joined him. “Enjoy the flowers.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I’m being rude. It was very kind of you to bring them to me.”

“You’re very welcome.” He leaned in and gave her another quick kiss before turning and going out the door.

“Well, Fred,” she said when the door had closed behind Tom. “He’s good for your mama’s bruised ego.”