Mad About You

sat with her hands on the wheel for a full minute, her mind racing. Hormones, she decided. Hormones, pure and simple. Ladden was a good-looking, attentive man who exuded a physicality that was hard to ignore. She was a normal, red-blooded woman who hadn't seen much of her boyfriend lately. Hormones.
    But as she pulled away from the curb, Jasmine couldn't resist a glance at his storefront in her rearview mirror. She bit her lip, hard. She had known the man for a long time. Why was she noticing these disturbing things about him this morning?

Chapter Three

    LADDEN HELD HIS BREATH until Jasmine's car disappeared from view. Then he reached for the broom and danced a jig with his spindly partner around the littered floor, humming along with the jaunty song on the radio. He wasn't absolutely, positively certain, but he felt as if they had finally connected. He swept off his hat and held it over his heart as he dipped the broom low in a swoon, then drawled, "Was that a spark of interest I saw in your lovely green eyes, my dear?"
    At the sound of a knock on the window, Ladden bolted upright and jammed his hat back on his head. Mrs. Pickney stood outside with her hand to her brow, smiling and waving. Tingling with embarrassment, he pretended to sweep violently as he made his way to the door.
    "My windows look suspiciously clean," she said as she stepped inside, "so thank you—" She gasped, covering her mouth, rendered speechless by the unsightly mess of his showroom. Ladden abandoned the broom and guided her to a dusty chair.
    "It's okay, Mrs. Pickney, the damage seems to be isolated here and no one was injured."
    "I—I don't understand," she murmured. "I didn't feel a thing—how... why..." She raised moist eyes. "It doesn't seem fair."
    He shrugged and squeezed her frail shoulders. "It was a freak tremor. Don't worry—my insurance is paid up." Scanning the crowded showroom, he added, "Besides, I needed to scale down my inventory, anyway. It was getting too cramped in here."
    She glanced around and finally grinned. "This place was starting to look like a fire hazard."
    "See?" he said. "A blessing in disguise. Now, hadn't you better see to your customers?"
    "I'll close for the day and help you clean up."
    He shook his head. "No need—I can't do much until I contact my insurance agent anyway."
    The color had returned to her cheeks. "You're right, of course." She rose from her chair and walked to the door. "Ladden, why do bad things happen to good people?"
    Feeling a burst of affection for the woman, Ladden said, "Don't waste a minute worrying about me, I'll be fine."
    She angled her white head at him. "I can't imagine why some smart young lady hasn't scooped you up by now."
    He adopted a lovelorn expression and sighed. "I'm waiting for you to realize our age difference doesn't matter, Mrs. Pickney."
    Laughing, she waved him off and walked out.
    After he locked the door, Ladden groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. Despite his forced cheer, the damage the quake had wrought only heaped more pressure on the business decisions he'd have to make soon. Should he interpret this incident as an omen, a sign to move to another location, one large enough to offer him room to expand?
    He retrieved the broom and leaned on it, thinking it would take a miracle to resolve his business dilemma. "I wish Mrs. Pickney would simply retire and give me her space," he announced to the disorderly room. Then he laughed wryly and began sweeping.
    Wishing wouldn't get him anywhere.
    After he swept up most of the glass, he unearthed his phone and made the necessary calls. His insurance agent, Saul Tydwell, a friend of his uncle's who always wore the same bad brown suit, arrived within the hour bearing stale donuts in condolence and a digital camera.
    "If you weren't Ernie's nephew," Saul said, shaking his head between snapshots, "I'd never believe you. You must be sitting on some kind of fault line—and the underwriter is going to love that."
    "Tell me my rates won't go up," Ladden said, knowing the answer even before the little man offered him a sympathetic look.
    "I'll shop around for a better rate, son, but it doesn't look good."
    Ladden dropped his head in his hands and visualized the money in his bank account dwindling like sand in an hourglass. He spent much of the afternoon turning away customers with explanations that became more vague as the day wore on. The building inspector's visit and subsequent ruling that the building was