Carolina Moon

them out and set her mind on the thrill of fast, secret sex instead.
    That’s what she wanted, and luckily, so did he. She’d oblige them both later. She’d borrow Cade’s convertible, then they’d take that drive toward the coast. They’d park somewhere and neck like teenagers.
    She’d parked her own car several storefronts up from Wade’s office. No point in giving tongues an excuse to wag, though God knew they wagged anyway over everything and nothing. She was about to slide in when she spotted Tory walk out of her shop door, then just stand back on the sidewalk and stare.
    There’s an odd duck who never did grow out of her funny feathers, Faith thought, but curiosity had her crossing the street.
    “This one of your trances?”
    Tory jerked, then deliberately relaxed the shoulders that had tensed. “I was just seeing how the window looks. The sign painter finished not long ago.”
    “Hmm.” Faith planted a hand on her hip and took a long look herself. The black scrolled letters looked fresh and classy. “Southern Comfort. Is that what you’re selling?”
    “Yes.” Because her pleasure in the moment had been dulled, Tory walked back to the door.
    “You sure aren’t very friendly to a potential customer.”
    Tory glanced back, eyes mild. Faith looked gorgeous, she thought. Sharp, smug, and satisfied. And she wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’m not open yet.”
    Annoyed, Faith grabbed the door before it could shut in her face, and squeezed inside. “You don’t look near ready to me,” she commented, scanning the nearly empty shelves.
    “Closer than it looks. I have work to do, Faith.”
    “Oh, don’t mind me. You go on and do whatever.” Faith wagged a hand and, as much out of stubbornness as interest, began to wander.
    The place was clean as a whistle, she had to admit. The glass sparkled on the displays Dwight’s men had built, the wood was polished to a gleam. Even the storage boxes were neatly stacked, and a large plastic bag held the Styrofoam bits used for packing. There was a laptop computer and a clipboard on the counter.
    “You got enough stuff to fill all this space?”
    “I will have.” Resigned to the intrusion, Tory continued to unpack stock. If she knew Faith Lavelle, her companion would shortly be bored and wander out again. “If you’re interested, I plan to open next Saturday. Selected stock will be ten percent off, that day only.”
    Faith shrugged a shoulder. “I’m usually busy over the weekends.” She roamed by a waist-high counter with a glass top. Inside, on a drape of white satin, were examples of handcrafted jewelry—silver and beads and colored stones, artistically scattered, designed to catch the eye and the imagination.
    Forgetting herself, she started to lift the top, found it locked, and swore under her breath. She shot a cautious look toward Tory, glad the other woman hadn’t noticed.
    “You got some pretty enough baubles here.” She wanted the silver dangle earrings with the little lapis balls, and wanted them immediately. “I didn’t think you went in for baubles. Hardly ever wear any yourself.”
    “I have three artists right now for baubles,” Tory added dryly. “I particularly like the brooch in the center section. The wire’s sterling, and the stones are garnet, citrine, and carnelian.”
    “I see it. They’re all scattered on the wire like stars, like one of those sparklers the kids light on the Fourth of July.”
    “Yes, very like that.”
    “It’s nice enough, I suppose, but I’m not much for pins and brooches.” She bit her lip, but avarice won over pride. “I like these earrings here.”
    “Come back Saturday.”
    “I might be busy.” And she wanted them now. “Why don’t you sell them to me, make yourself an early sale. That’s what you’re in business for, isn’t it? To make sales.”
    Tory set a pottery oil lamp on the shelf. She was careful to wipe the smile off her face before she turned. “I’m not open for business yet, but…” She started toward the display. “For old times’ sake.”
    “We never had any old times.”
    “I suppose you’re right.” She unhooked the keys that dangled from her belt loop. “Which one caught your eye?”
    “That one. Those.” She tapped the glass. “The silver and lapis.”
    “Yes, they’re lovely. They suit you.” Tory took them off the satin, held them to the light before passing them to Faith. “You can use one of the mirrors if you want to try them on. The