Page 7 of Text Appeal

Noor winks at me in a comradely fashion. “What do you do for a living, Riley?”

“I write for a small business,” I say with a smile. It’s my standard vague non-answer. As much as I love romance books, I don’t always want to go there with people. Especially when we’ve just met. There’s a world full of inherited biases, misogyny, and other assorted bullshit when it comes to the genre. And writing for a small business is basically the truth. Sort of.

Joyce picks up a small plate of cookies. “Try one of these, Riley. My daughter makes them to help with the pain from my arthritis. Maybe it’ll help your leg. I noticed you stretching it on the way over. You also seem a little stressed in general, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I smile. “Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

Guess the universe really wants me to eat a chocolate chip cookie today. The one I bought earlier from the café accidentallygot crushed in my rush to the car. This one is buttery-sweet goodness with an aftertaste of hemp. Nice. Getting stoned isn’t on my list of things to do. But it’s been a heck of a day so far.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” asks Martha.

I swallow another bite before talking. “Just sore muscles from moving my stuff. The elevator is broken and my apartment is on the third floor.”

“You should send Connor over to help her,” says Noor.

Martha frowns. “Do you still need help?”

“Oh, that’s…um…no.” It only takes a moment for the sudden heat in my face to be fanned into a flame. The idea of meeting him shouldn’t rattle me to this degree. He’s just another random stranger I happen to share this universe with. “No, thank you.”

“That’s what she did in the car when I asked her who started the rumor,” comments Martha. “You can see why I’m suspicious.”

“The girl gets flustered easily.” Noor has a charming smile. She really is a bombshell with her curves, flowing silver hair, and red lipstick. “So what?”

“Martha, you’ve been reading too many cozy mysteries. They’ve made you paranoid.” Joyce takes a sip of coffee. “If Riley doesn’t want to tell you what she knows, she doesn’t have to. Stop being pushy.”

“Besides which,” says Noor, “Connor is a grown man who would not thank you for sticking your nose into his business.”

Joyce laughs softly. “Like that’s ever stopped her.”

“I do have my reasons.” I finish off the cookie because it would be a crime to waste such great baking. The world already seems softer and less stressful. Like it’s been dialed down a little. I stretch my neck and settle back into the chair with a happysigh. There’s every chance my to-do list will have to wait while I enjoy this high. “The sky is such a pretty shade of blue today. Don’t you just love clouds?”

Martha frowns some more. Then she perks up and offers me the plate of cookies. “My friends are right. I apologize for my belligerence, Riley. Have another cookie. Your coffee will be here soon.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Well,” says Noor with a smile. “What shall we talk about on this fine summer’s day?”

An hour later.

“…and then Ava was all like, see you soon,” I tell them in my best evil villain voice.

Joyce snorts and carries on knitting. She’s working on a tiny white bootie for an imminent grandchild.

“But as for the gossip, I mean, what if I’m wrong and it was someone else? What if Ava was just sharing with a friend and they were the one who told the town?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Ava’s work.” Martha taps her crochet hook against her chin. “You can set your mind at ease on that score.”

Noor’s mouth is set in a straight, unimpressed line. “That girl.”

“But how does it benefit her?” I ask. “What does it achieve?”

“She’s trying to push you out of the picture,” says Joyce. “Put pressure on you and hope you buckle. A lot of people love the idea of her and Connor staying together in this town, and she knows it.”

Noor stabs the needle through her rude cross-stitch with much zest. It says “live, laugh, fuck off.” The woman is a whole vibe. She has, however, stuck her needle in the wrong spot. There’s much muttered swearing as she carefully works it back through to undo the damage.

“Little does Ava know you’re not some meek mouse to run at the first sign of competition,” says Martha. A preacher in a pulpit never spoke with such conviction. I am surprised the ground doesn’t shake with her vehemence.

“That’s right,” agrees Noor.

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