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“Your lips are moving, son, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah. There’s no war. The only conflict I see is the one with me over my sign. This is the most boring war I’ve ever been in. I thought being on your side would be interesting. But now that Kirsty has cake, I think I would be better off on her side.”
“You can’t change sides,” Lake told her as he shrugged into his jacket. “As you keep telling me, you own the building and you have some sort of dubious role in the business. So suck it up. I’m doing recon on this one.”
Betty’s shoulders slumped before she fell back into her chair. She pulled another pie out of her handbag.
“At least bring me back a cake,” she said as she rooted around in her bag. A second later she popped her teeth back into her mouth and took a bite of her pie.
CHAPTER TWO
Kirsty had a plan. It wasn’t brilliant, but it was workable. As far as she could see, she had a small window of opportunity before Betty’s shop reopened. In that time, she had to make as many sales as possible. Which meant the meagre amount of money she had in her account was now marked for advertising. It wasn’t enough to make an impact. Heck, it was barely enough to buy an advert in The Invertary Standard. She’d spent most of the night awake and worrying about how to make her money stretch and attract the attention she needed. In the end, Kirsty resorted to a tried-and-true method for drumming up business—give away cake. It was an unwritten town law that the women of Invertary would do pretty much anything for cake.
“What’s this, then?” asked Agnes Patterson.
Her five-year-old twin boys had stopped talking long enough to stuff their mouths with a cake each.
“Advertising,” Kirsty said with the brightest smile she could muster at eight in the morning. It had seemed like such a good idea to get out early and catch people on their way to work and school, but after three hours’ sleep it was already wearing a little thin.
“If you come back to the shop with the leaflet,” she said, “you’ll get a twenty percent discount on the new season’s range.”
Kirsty handed her one of the leaflets she’d printed during the night and pointed to her newly revamped window display—complete with skimpy Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
“It’s pretty, Kirsty, but really—when would I wear it? It’s not like I get to wear anything nice these days. I put on that green silk dress I have for church a couple of weeks ago and by the end of the service it was covered in mucky handprints, and Michael had drawn on the hem in blue marker.”
Little Michael didn’t appear to be bothered by that fact. Agnes, on the other hand, looked like “bothered” was her permanent state. Her hair was tied back into a messy bun, there was no makeup on her face and she’d been wearing the same uniform of black T-shirt and blue jeans for the past five years. Everything about her screamed practical. She might as well have had “no sex ever again” printed on the T-shirt.
“You deserve to treat yourself,” Kirsty said lamely.
“Maybe I’ll get a nice box of chocolates for when the boys are in bed,” Agnes said as she flicked a glance at the window. “Underwear that pretty would be wasted on me.”
“That’s because it isn’t for you,” Lake said as he came up behind Agnes.
Kirsty glared at him, infusing the look with as much animosity as she could muster while holding a platter of iced pink cupcakes.
“I’m sorry,” Agnes stuttered. “Are you talking to me?”
Her eyes went wide as soon as she saw Lake. Then her cheeks flushed. Kirsty waited for the woman to swoon. For some bizarre reason she felt like giving Agnes a quick kick in the back of her knee.
“I’m Lake Benson,” he said as he stuck out a hand. “I own the lingerie shop over the road.”
Agnes practically passed out as she held Lake’s hand. It took all of Kirsty’s self-control not to shout “get a grip” at the woman.
“Betty’s shop?” Agnes said.
“We’re renovating. Changing the name. There will be a launch soon.”
He raised an eyebrow in Kirsty’s direction. She assumed it was to remind her of the challenge. She narrowed her eyes at him. If there weren’t potential customers around she’d have given him an earful of just what she thought of his stupid shop and his stupid war.
“As for the underwear, you don’t buy it for you. You buy it for your husband.”
Kirsty had heard enough.
“Rubbish,” she told him. “Women buy lingerie for themselves.” She turned to Agnes. “You wear it to make yourself feel sexy, to make you feel beautiful. That’s why you buy it.”
Lake stepped towards Kirsty. That calm demeanour of his never shifted, but his eyes sparkled at her, letting her know how much she amused him.
“But.” He lowered his voice. It was deep and intimate. “Don’t you feel sexier, feel more beautiful, knowing that someone is going to see you in it?” He took another step towards her. “Knowing that someone will touch you in it?” He inclined his head towards her. “Knowing that someone will want to see you out of it?”
Kirsty swallowed hard. Agnes cleared her throat loudly. Kirsty felt her cheeks flush against her will.
