Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Noelle

Tuesday

" R oll those hips," Griselda Alexander orders. She could be talking to the entire Hoop it Up fitness class, but she's staring directly at me. Into my soul, it seems.

"I'm trying" I grumble, catching my lip between my teeth as I concentrate on swiveling the weighted hoop around my midsection.

Rumor has it Griselda moved here to open Maple Twist Fitness after a successful career as a dancer both on Broadway and on tours for some big-name musical acts. That's the story, but I have a growing suspicion she actually retired from the military—specifically, as a boot camp instructor. I keep this to myself. In part, because she terrifies me, and, in part, because she's a huge supporter of the library. She personally donated all the funds to cover the remodeled children's wing last year.

"Winters, shake your booty!" she barks, putting to rest the question of whether her instructions are meant for me or everyone.

Sweat blooms on my forehead as several sets of eyes shift from the mirrored wall to me, watching with open interest my efforts to shake my booty. Someone in the back row titters, and I grit my teeth. I'm about to concede defeat, roll my hoop off the floor, and hang it on one of the pegs on the wall when I glimpse Nick through the studio's front window.

He's on the other side of the street, sprinting and casting wild backward glances over his shoulder as if he's being chased. He waits for a break in traffic, then bolts across the street and bursts through the doors into the studio. He screeches to a halt in the doorway, panting hard.

Griselda glares at him. "Class started ten minutes ago, Jolly." Then she points at me. "Move over and make room for him."

"Sorry." He maneuvers through the sea of gyrating bodies, grabs a hoop, and squeezes into the spot I've made next to me.

"I didn't know you take this class," I say out of the side of my mouth as he steps into the hoop.

"I don't," he whispers back. "I prefer the pole dancing class."

I snicker, and he gives me a confused look.

"Oh. You're serious."

"It's a great workout. You should try it."

Yeah, right. I'll be lucky if Griselda doesn't bust me back down to the beginners' Bollywood dance class, given my insufficient undulating skills. I can't imagine making any moves that would pass muster while hanging upside down from a pole. I am curious to see Nick doing it, though. My cheeks heat at the thought and I hurriedly clear my throat.

"So why are you here?"

"Hiding."

Before I can ask who he's hiding from, Griselda frowns and jabs her finger toward our corner. "Move your hips, not your lips."

I smother a giggle, and Nick covers his laugh with a cough.

I grit my teeth and flail my way through the remaining thirty-five minutes of class, acutely aware of Nick standing to my left. When class is over, I'm prepared to flee, but Nick stretches his hands out. "Give me your hoop. I'll return it for you."

"Thanks."

His fingers brush against mine as I hand him the hula hoop, and electricity sparks between us. I tell myself it's static because I have dry skin and not his effect on me. Still, I loiter in the hallway, putting my shoes on in slow motion so I can say a proper goodbye to him and take another crack at trying to convince him to celebrate summer Christmas.

While I'm waiting, Griselda sashays over to me with a wide smile. It's wild how much nicer she is outside of class.

"Hey, I want to let you know I'm having a large package sent to the library."

Why wouldn't she have it delivered here or to her house? I give her a curious look and then shrug. "Okay. Do you need me to bring it over for you?"

"No, no, it's for you. Well, for the library. I was reading an article that said pretend play is so important for young children and they're not getting enough of it now with all the screens. So, I ordered a set of puppets and a puppet theater stage for the children's wing."

"Oh, that's great. Kids love puppets."

"They do, right?"

"They do," I assure her. "It's really thoughtful, and I'm sure it'll get a lot of use. Thanks."

She waves a hand. "Don't mention it."

Just then, Nick returns from the equipment corner, wiping the sweat from his neck with a towel. "Another great class, Grizzy," he tells her.

"Grizzy?" I manage to suppress my laugh.

She turns to me. "You know, he could help with your hip thrusts."

"What?" I choke.

"Nick. He could show you how to get your hips thrusting. He's good at that."

"Thanks," I say weakly, hoping that the floor will open up a hole to swallow me.

No such luck. But for an instant, I think it swallowed Nick because he drops flat on his belly. Griselda and I exchange a bewildered look.

"Nick, are you?—?"

"Shh." As he shushes me, he army crawls on his elbows out of view of the window.

Noise out on the sidewalk catches my attention, and I turn to see Nick's daughters and three other young women laughing and talking as they walk down the street. They stop directly in front of the fitness studio's front door, and Merry gestures toward the sign.

"Are you hiding from your daughters?" I ask Nick's departing back.

He doesn't answer as he rolls into a storage closet that happens to be ajar. He eases the door shut behind him, and Griselda shakes her head. She's as confused as I am.

The door opens, and the women troop inside.

"Griselda," Holly says, "I want you to meet my cousins, Rosemary, Sage, and Thyme Field."

"What, no Parsley?" The fitness instructor cracks, and I can tell by the women's faces that it's not the first or even thousandth time they've heard that joke.

"Parsley's the cat," the blonde says. "I'm Rosemary."

"This is Griselda Alexander," Holly continues. "She's the town's fantastic fitness diva."

Griselda smiles and doesn't bother to be humble. "How nice that your cousins are visiting."

"Yeah, they're here to help with the Christmas in July open house. We had to stop in because Thyme is a yoga and Pilates instructor and personal trainer in New York City."

Griselda eyes the willowy brunette who Holly's pointing to. Judging by her expression, she's giving Thyme a quick professional assessment. "Where did you train?"

"Oh, I was a psychology major in college, and I read this study about how yoga and meditation can help so much with stress. So I took a yoga class, mainly out of curiosity. I loved it, so after a while, I got my instructor's certificate. Just for fun, really. Eventually, I started taking Pilates, and one thing led to another. "

Griselda meets this pat explanation with an arched eyebrow. "Really? You fell into a career as a personal trainer?"

The middle sister, Sage, pipes up. "Well, Thyme's leaving out the part where our parents owed a loan shark a half-million dollars, put up the family business as collateral, and skipped town. So the three of us had to find a way to make a lot of money, fast. Thyme dropped out and started working as a personal fitness instructor for a very famous media mogul. Like, you'd know her name."

Thyme gives her sister a look before chirping, " Anyway, this studio looks like so much fun. My cousins were telling me you offer loads of unusual classes. I'd love to do one while we're in town if I have time."

Holly and Rosemary say in unison, "We won't."

I peg Rosemary as the eldest sister of the cousins.

"We're going to be very busy," Holly explains.

Merry frowns. "I think Thyme knows how much goes into event planning, Holly. I mean, she is a hospitality professional."

Ivy turns to us, "Thyme basically runs the Resort by the Sea, the inn their parents handed over to them. The resort's in New Jersey, so she oversees things from Manhattan."

"That's convenient," I say.

"Oh my goodness," Ivy's eyes go wide. "We didn't introduce you. I'm so sorry. This is Noelle Winters. She's our town librarian. And she was Mom's best friend." At the mention of Carol, everyone's smile dims a bit.

"She's good friends with Dad, too," Merry adds.

While I'm wondering exactly what she means by that , Griselda starts yapping .

"Yes, she and your father were just?—"

Before Griselda can dime Nick out for hiding in the closet, I bring my tennis shoe-clad foot down on her bare one.

"Ouch! Winters!" she barks.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Griselda. I'm such a klutz." I fake a sheepish smile.

"Tell me something new," she grumbles.

I ignore that and turn back to the visitors. "I'm so glad you're here to help your cousins." Then I glance at Holly, Ivy, and Merry. "My offer stands. If you need anything, please let me know."

"We will," Holly promises. "But, between the six of us, we should have it covered."

Ivy jumps in. "Oh, but you should come over to the inn for afternoon tea one day this week, Noelle. Rosemary's husband is a homicide detective in Los Angeles. We know how you love murder mysteries. She could probably tell you some wild stories."

My eyes light up. "Really?"

Sage laughs. "Not just Rosie. We've all been involved in some … crime dramas."

The Field sisters exchange knowing looks.

"Oooh, I'm intrigued."

"That settles it. Come over for tea tomorrow morning," Merry says.

"It's a date."

The women say their goodbyes to Griselda and sweep back outside in a cloud of chatter.

The closet door creaks open and Nick peeks through the opening .

"The coast is clear," I tell him.

He steps out into the hallway and blinks at the light. "Thanks."

"Why are you hiding from your daughters?"

"It's a long story. Why don't I tell you over a beverage? You want to join us, Grizzy?"

"Appreciate the offer. But I can't. My Rump Shaker class starts in twenty minutes."

"Thanks again for the puppets," I tell her.

"Don't mention it. Remember, Noelle, you have to gyrate!"

Nick holds the door open for me, and Griselda's shout follows us out onto the pavement.

"Coffee?" I propose.

He considers, then shakes his head. "No, the girls will probably pop into the Snowflake so their cousins can meet Delphina. Why don't we go to Santa's Cellar?"

Nope. No way am I having drinks with my dead best friend's husband at the romantic wine bar where he proposed to her. Sure, that was well over a quarter century ago, but it still feels wrong.

"Rudy's is closer," I say.

It is closer. But so are the Tipsy Turnip and the North Pole Social Club are closer still. They're right on the town square while Rudy's Roadhouse is on the very edge of town, just barely walkable. But unlike the others, Rudy's is also known for its rowdy crowd and a distinctly unromantic atmosphere. Think sticky floors and an alt-rock playlist rather than votive candles and soft instrumental music.

He quirks an eyebrow but doesn't argue. After a moment, he shrugs. "Sure, okay. Rudy's it is."

We cross the street and head down the hill to the roadhouse.