Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon

She patted him on the cheek. “A mother knows what a mother knows, Tony.”

He frowned, not liking the conclusion she’d reached. Even in high school, he’d never dated two girls at the same time. His buddy Will had made that mistake when they were in the eleventh grade and wound up with a black eye, courtesy of the first girl. The second girl had convinced all her friends to give him the silent treatment.

But Tony couldn’t deny there had been a moment in the street when he’d wanted to kiss Kaylee. He blotted out the memory.

“I’m only being friendly, Sofia. Kaylee’s new in town. She and her son don’t know anybody. I thought she could use some help, maybe somebody to talk to.”

Tony certainly had questions that he’d love to get answered. Why had she arrived in McIntosh with neither a job nor a place to stay? What did Joe’s father think of her relocating his son? What made her tick?

“Whatever you say,” Sofia said, but in a way that told him she didn’t believe his motives were as innocent as he’d portrayed them.

“So do you know of another place that might be for rent or not?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I do know the editor of the newspaper. The real estate classifieds don’t come out until Sunday, but I bet he’ll give me an advance copy.”

Tony bent down to kiss her soft cheek. She smelled like perfume and his childhood.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy to have you as a mother.”

Even if she had put doubts in his mind about exactly why he wanted to hang out with Kaylee.

SOFIA DONATELLI sat behind the steering wheel of her Volvo in a parking spot on Main Street with a view of Sandusky’s, too distracted to enjoy the new-car smell.

She wouldn’t have noticed Gertrude Skendrovich passing by on the sidewalk tightly clutching a bag from Baked Delights in one of her pudgy hands if Gertie hadn’t waved enthusiastically.

Sofia waved back, sorry that the sleek blue Volvo made her so easy to spot. She couldn’t regret splurging on the car. It performed splendidly in crash tests, a consideration of great importance for someone who’d lost her father in a car crash before she’d ever known him.

Gertie’s smile widened, as though delighted Sofia had acknowledged her.

Sofia was neither naive nor foolish. She hadn’t changed so much as the world around her had. There was no escaping that her life B.L., before the lottery, was different than it was A.L.

B.L., the curmudgeonly Gertie wouldn’t have raised her head let alone her hand. A.L., she was probably trying to ingratiate herself with Sofia so she could ask for money.

Word had already gotten out that Sofia was an easy mark. Maybe that’s why none of the letters the television station had forwarded from the Connies had sounded legitimate.

Tony had followed up on one of the more promising leads this afternoon, although he didn’t know she was aware of that. But why not let her stepson screen the phonies? If he’d interceded before she’d met the sweet little bleached-blond impostor, she might not have cried herself to sleep last night.

She wiped away a tear, one of many she’d shed for the daughter she didn’t know. She’d changed her mind about surrendering the infant while in the delivery room, but her mother said it was too late, that the adoption had already gone through.

Sofia blinked determinedly to dry her eyes. She’d think about her search for Constanzia later. Right now, she needed to find out why Art Sandusky had been avoiding her.

Wiping her damp palms on the legs of her lightweight black slacks, she determinedly climbed out of the Volvo and marched into Sandusky’s. The cashier, a young woman with her blond hair in a ponytail, was new, saving Sofia from having to stop and make small talk.

The store was a grocery store/butcher shop that specialized in fine cuts of meat, which could be had at a counter that stretched the length of the back of the store.

The four aisles leading to it were narrow and packed with limited selections of bread, wine, cheese and just about every other ingredient that went into serving a nice dinner.

Sofia picked an empty aisle, which seemed the quickest path to Art Sandusky, but knew she’d made a mistake when a short, plump woman rounded the corner.

“Sofia! It’s so wonderful to run into you.”

“Hello,” Sofia said, trying to place her. The population of McIntosh had grown in recent years to about four thousand, not so many that Sofia didn’t frequently run into people she knew but not so few that she was acquainted with everyone. Since she’d won the lottery, however, it seemed that everyone knew her.

This woman was around the same age as she was. Something about her small blue eyes looked vaguely familiar.

“You remember me, don’t you?” The woman fussed with her frosted blond hair. Her roots needed a touch-up. “Betty Schreiber from high school. We sat next to each other in Geometry.”

The years peeled away, and Sofia recalled that Betty had been a popular majorette who’d dated a star football player and barely noticed Sofia was alive.

“I’ve been meaning to call you since I moved back to McIntosh,” Betty said.

“When did you move back?” Sofia asked, mostly to buy time so she could figure out how to make her escape.

“Maybe five years ago,” Betty said. “You know how time flies.”

“Yes, I do. Listen, I’m sort of in a hurry.”

“Then I should come straight to the point.” Betty chewed her bottom lip, shifted her weight from foot to foot. “This is sort of awkward, but considering we were classmates, I was hoping you’d help me out.”

Sofia’s internal alarm sounded. “Help you out with what?”

“The transmission on my car up and died last week. With my husband out of work— did I tell you I was married?—we don’t have the money to fix it. It’s been a real hardship.”

Sofia remained silent, surprised that she wasn’t shocked. But then strangers had asked her for money since she’d won the lottery. Why be amazed that a long-lost classmate was hitting her up?

“It’s not like I’m asking you for a new car. It’s only a thousand dollars. If you could find it in your heart to do this for me, I’d be so grateful.”

Sofia would be grateful if Betty got out of her way. She reached in her pocketbook for her checkbook. She could almost see Betty salivate. “What service station do you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me the name of the service station, and I’ll write out the check.”

Betty’s face whitened but she recovered nicely. “Surely that’s not necessary. Can’t you just make out the check to me?”

“I’m sorry, but my stepson would kill me if I did that.” Sofia affected a sheepish smile and shrugged. “He’s worried that people might try to take advantage of me. I’m sure you understand.”

“Well, uh, yes, I do.” Betty seemed at a loss as to what to say next. She brought a hand to her head. “Would you believe I don’t know the name of the service station my husband uses? I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

Sofia nodded, careful not to encourage her. She put her checkbook back in her purse. Betty stammered a goodbye and couldn’t seem to leave the store fast enough. Sofia hoped it was because she was ashamed of herself but imagined Betty would dream up some other way to ask her for money.

No matter. The woman was gone for now. Sophia walked determinedly to the back of the store, careful to not make it look like she was hurrying. She resisted the urge to take her compact from her purse and check her makeup. Tony said she looked good. She knew she looked good.

“Just do this,” she whispered aloud when she was almost at the counter.

She faltered when she noticed a middle-aged man placing an order. She glanced at him long enough to ascertain she didn’t know him, but the butcher behind the glass counter caught her attention.

In a white butcher’s apron with his large, strong hands encased in flimsy plastic gloves, Art Sandusky wasn’t trying to be noticed. He was a simple man: kind, hardworking, principled.

She’d known him since he’d moved to McIntosh and opened Sandusky’s fifteen years ago. The gossip was that his ex-wife had left him for another man, something Sofia had found to be inconceivable even before she’d realized she was attracted to him.

It had happened gradually. At some point during the last year, she’d begun to remember her late husband with warmth instead of grief. She’d looked around when her teary eyes had cleared and noticed Art looking back.

He wasn’t a fast worker. She’d dropped half a dozen hints before he’d asked her to the movies nearly a month ago. He’d bought her popcorn, held her hand and made her feel like a teenager. His good-night kiss had made her feel like a woman.

And then…nothing. If she didn’t count the casual nod when they happened to run into each other. Yes, she’d been preoccupied after winning the lottery. But not too busy for Art.

He glanced up at her and for an instant she thought she saw appreciation gleam in his hazel eyes. But then he nodded in that impersonal way she found so maddening and finished wrapping steaks for his customer with quiet efficiency.

Most things about Art were understated. Of average height and weight, he spoke softly, smiled gently and wore muted colors. Only when she looked closer had she noticed his hazel eyes were as soft as a doe’s, his brown hair luxuriously thick and his face etched with the kind of character only accomplished by years of good living.

“What can I get for you today, Sofia?” he asked when the other customer had gone, as though they’d never shared a sizzling kiss at her front door.

An explanation, she thought.

Tell him.

Her stomach rolled and pitched, a reaction she vaguely remembered from high school when faced with the cutest boy in school. She swallowed—and chickened out.

“Tony’s home. I thought I’d grill some steaks to welcome him.”

She never grilled steaks. She specialized in pasta dishes and could do wonders with chicken. She hazily remembered that they had a grill but wasn’t sure where it was.

“I have some top sirloin on sale.” He gestured to the cuts of marbled steak underneath the glass counter while she mentally called herself a coward. “Or if you want something fancier, you could go with New York strip. Or maybe the—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” she blurted out.

He blinked, frowned. “Excuse me?”

Her heart raced and her stomach churned. What was it about this man that made her feel so gauche and unsure of herself? She’d been married and widowed. She’d worked in restaurants, where she was used to handling men with ease and humor. With Art, she had trouble forming a sentence.

“At the store last week, you turned down another aisle when you saw me coming. And at the post office the week before that, you couldn’t leave fast enough when I got there.”

His soft eyes slid away, then back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She swallowed again but the action did nothing to get rid of the lump in her throat. “I had a nice time when we went out. I thought you did, too.”

“I did,” he confirmed in that same maddeningly calm voice.

She ignored the butterflies that fluttered unhappily in her gut. “Then why haven’t you called me?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve been busy.”

The universal cop-out line of men everywhere. All the breath left her lungs. She’d been so sure an explanation existed for his sudden chill and now one occurred to her. He didn’t want to date her again.

“I’ve been busy, too.” The corners of her mouth felt weighted by lead, but she forced herself to smile.

A customer—somebody else she didn’t recognize; thank goodness—got into line behind her. Art glanced over her shoulder, then met her eyes, but barely.

“How about those steaks?” Art said. “Can I pick you out two nice top sirloins?”

Sofia willed her lips not to tremble. “You know what, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll make Tony a nice lasagna instead.”

His eyebrows drew together, and his expression appeared pained. She waited, hoping he’d say something to stop her from leaving.

“I’ll see you around then, Sofia,” he said.

She nodded, turned and walked blindly down a mercifully empty aisle for the exit. If there’d been a bed in sight, she’d have thrown herself down on it and cried.

“Mrs. Donatelli.” A petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair appeared from an adjacent aisle, flagging her down before she reached the exit. Sofia recognized her as a teacher at the local high school. “I’m Mary Winters. I taught English to Tony years ago.”

Not trusting her voice not to wobble, Sofia said nothing.

“I’m heading up a charity drive to fight illiteracy, and I was wondering if you could—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now,” Sofia said and banged through the door to the street.

Everybody wanted something from her, it seemed, except the one man to whom she’d gladly give her heart.

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