rebel rouser. What next? Picketing the Bixley? Expand or else?”
Again with the sarcasm. Kylie refused to take offense. If she stayed upbeat, maybe she could lighten her friend’s dark mood. “I could zoom my bike down Main Street topless,” she teased while glancing at the signs hanging above the aisles. “That would cause a stir.”
“Speeding. Indecent exposure.” Faye sighed and shook her head. “You’re determined to land in jail, aren’t you?”
Kylie snorted and moved toward aisle seven. “Jack wouldn’t arrest me. It would piss off Spenser.”
“Spenser’s half a world away.”
“Don’t remind me.” Kylie gestured to her flower-covered Doc Martens. “What do you think?”
“So that’s how you’re going to shake up Eden. Impractical footwear.”
“For a start.”
“Nice ensemble,” Faye said, gesturing to the rest of Kylie’s attire. “Sort of retro Madonna. Except…you rode your bike in a skirt?”
“Yep.”
“No tights or leggings?”
“I’m a little backed up on laundry.”
“Tell me you’re wearing shorts.”
“I’m wearing shorts.” Kylie stopped in the aisle stocked with paint supplies. “So about renovating McGraw’s…”
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”
“Believe it.” Kylie surveyed the shelves. Brushes, pads and rollers. Drop cloths. Sandpaper. Solvents and thinners. “I have no idea what to buy.”
“Don’t look at me,” Faye said. “The only thing I know how to paint is fingernails.”
“Ha.”
“I’m serious. I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’ll need to paint the store. That’s what you have in mind, right? You’re going to make good on your threat? Pink walls, yellow trim? Spenser’s going to kill you.”
Kylie waggled her brows. “Spenser’s half a world away.”
“Can I help?”
“Hi, Travis.”
“Kylie.”
Travis Martin was a long-time employee of Hank’s Hardware. Tall. Fit. His huge puppy-dog eyes and fleshy lips softened his hard-angled face. His red hair clashed with his olive skin. His nose had a weird bump and dent. She’d asked him about that once. An old baseball injury, he’d told her. He also had a scar dissecting his left eyebrow. He wasn’t handsome, but he was attractive, even with the unflattering hair color. She didn’t know his ancestry. Irish-Italian? Spanish-German? She didn’t even know where he’d lived specifically before moving to Eden, although she’d heard through the grapevine Montana. Or was it Wyoming? She never could place the accent.
She did, however, know his shoe size.
Mostly he purchased his footwear at a nearby department store— shudder —but he occasionally shopped at McGraw’s. She wasn’t sure she’d call him a satisfied customer. Although she always sold him what he asked for, he always seemed apathetic. Then again, he was a man, and men didn’t generally fuss over shoes. Especially the practical, silent type.
She indicated his latest purchase. Insulated work boots—waterproof and rugged. Suitable for manual labor. “How are those holding up?”
“Good.”
“Because if you don’t like them—”
“Like ’em fine.”
“I have a new shipment of boots coming in.”
He noted her Doc Martens. “With flowers?” He quirked an excuse for a smile. “No, thanks.”
“We want to buy some paint,” Faye interrupted. “Maybe. If it’s not too expensive. Or too pink.”
Kylie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to redecorate McGraw’s Shoe Store. Inside and out.”
“Out?” Faye echoed.
“A total makeover. In addition to changing the color scheme, I want new shelves and lighting. I have pictures.” She dug in the pocket of her denim jacket and produced photos she’d printed from the Internet, plus pages she’d ripped from a shoe supply catalog. “I ordered some of this stuff online last night.”
Faye groaned. “In a drunken stupor? That’s not good.”
Kylie ignored her. “These shoe displays, these mirrors. And
Again with the sarcasm. Kylie refused to take offense. If she stayed upbeat, maybe she could lighten her friend’s dark mood. “I could zoom my bike down Main Street topless,” she teased while glancing at the signs hanging above the aisles. “That would cause a stir.”
“Speeding. Indecent exposure.” Faye sighed and shook her head. “You’re determined to land in jail, aren’t you?”
Kylie snorted and moved toward aisle seven. “Jack wouldn’t arrest me. It would piss off Spenser.”
“Spenser’s half a world away.”
“Don’t remind me.” Kylie gestured to her flower-covered Doc Martens. “What do you think?”
“So that’s how you’re going to shake up Eden. Impractical footwear.”
“For a start.”
“Nice ensemble,” Faye said, gesturing to the rest of Kylie’s attire. “Sort of retro Madonna. Except…you rode your bike in a skirt?”
“Yep.”
“No tights or leggings?”
“I’m a little backed up on laundry.”
“Tell me you’re wearing shorts.”
“I’m wearing shorts.” Kylie stopped in the aisle stocked with paint supplies. “So about renovating McGraw’s…”
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”
“Believe it.” Kylie surveyed the shelves. Brushes, pads and rollers. Drop cloths. Sandpaper. Solvents and thinners. “I have no idea what to buy.”
“Don’t look at me,” Faye said. “The only thing I know how to paint is fingernails.”
“Ha.”
“I’m serious. I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’ll need to paint the store. That’s what you have in mind, right? You’re going to make good on your threat? Pink walls, yellow trim? Spenser’s going to kill you.”
Kylie waggled her brows. “Spenser’s half a world away.”
“Can I help?”
“Hi, Travis.”
“Kylie.”
Travis Martin was a long-time employee of Hank’s Hardware. Tall. Fit. His huge puppy-dog eyes and fleshy lips softened his hard-angled face. His red hair clashed with his olive skin. His nose had a weird bump and dent. She’d asked him about that once. An old baseball injury, he’d told her. He also had a scar dissecting his left eyebrow. He wasn’t handsome, but he was attractive, even with the unflattering hair color. She didn’t know his ancestry. Irish-Italian? Spanish-German? She didn’t even know where he’d lived specifically before moving to Eden, although she’d heard through the grapevine Montana. Or was it Wyoming? She never could place the accent.
She did, however, know his shoe size.
Mostly he purchased his footwear at a nearby department store— shudder —but he occasionally shopped at McGraw’s. She wasn’t sure she’d call him a satisfied customer. Although she always sold him what he asked for, he always seemed apathetic. Then again, he was a man, and men didn’t generally fuss over shoes. Especially the practical, silent type.
She indicated his latest purchase. Insulated work boots—waterproof and rugged. Suitable for manual labor. “How are those holding up?”
“Good.”
“Because if you don’t like them—”
“Like ’em fine.”
“I have a new shipment of boots coming in.”
He noted her Doc Martens. “With flowers?” He quirked an excuse for a smile. “No, thanks.”
“We want to buy some paint,” Faye interrupted. “Maybe. If it’s not too expensive. Or too pink.”
Kylie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to redecorate McGraw’s Shoe Store. Inside and out.”
“Out?” Faye echoed.
“A total makeover. In addition to changing the color scheme, I want new shelves and lighting. I have pictures.” She dug in the pocket of her denim jacket and produced photos she’d printed from the Internet, plus pages she’d ripped from a shoe supply catalog. “I ordered some of this stuff online last night.”
Faye groaned. “In a drunken stupor? That’s not good.”
Kylie ignored her. “These shoe displays, these mirrors. And
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