When You Call

By Taylor Falcon Love

A shop owner falls in love with his assistant, but the small town doesn't accept their relationship. Do they defy the odds to live happily ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rodney Falcon Publishing
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201914035

Book preview

Dedication

For those we’ve lost.

CHAPTER 1

Good afternoon, Mr. Lambert!

Really, the girl didn't have to say anything at all. The peal of the bell over the door heralded her arrival every day at exactly three thirty-five when her classes were over for the day. Where the other teenagers would be going to the diner or the corner store, Althea Blume made the five minute walk to Mr. Lambert's shop every day of her life.

He knew a desperate soul when he saw one, and they didn't come much more desperate than Althea Blume. Between the mother who sat drowsily in her chair all day and the father who couldn't hold onto a dollar to save his life, she'd never stood a chance. Yet, she had a good head on her shoulders and a smile for everyone, even- especially- for her cranky old boss.

In the back, Althea, he called, glancing up at her with a smile no one else in town would have believed him capable of. She'd more than earned it. At the ripe old age of twelve she'd talked her way into a job with him, and nothing in six years had managed to scare her off. You're late.

She rolled her eyes at him, stowing her backpack beneath the chair she'd claimed as hers. The bell rings at three-thirty. The bell has always rung at three-thirty. It's not my fault you think I can teleport.

Learn, he advised, smirking into the innards of the clock he was trying to repair, Or walk faster.

Be nice or you won't get your treat, she chided, hopping up on the table carefully so as not to disturb any of the various springs and cogs. Satisfied she had his attention again, she held out a Tupperware container. Moroccan chicken salad. I made it in FCS.

In what? he asked, taking the container from her with a nod of thanks. Despite the fact that her paycheck barely stretched to cover groceries for her and her father, Althea occasionally took it into her head to feed him. She wasn't much of a cook, but it was still a damned sight better than he could manage, and Lambert couldn't say he wasn't grateful.

FCS, Althea repeated, then elaborated at his blank look, Family and consumer sciences? You know, home ec?

I'm an old man and can't keep up with these newfangled names, love, he informed her, mostly to see her glower of displeasure when he described himself as old. And I thought we agreed you'd take business.

It's a requirement for graduation, she admitted, before registering what he'd said and smacking his arm, And you're not old. You're forty.

He mimed shock, Is that all? You must have forgotten a few years somewhere.

Her eyes narrowed, I know how old you are. Who do you think baked your damn cake last birthday?

Pastry elves, he deadpanned.

Althea raised an eyebrow. Pastry elves, she said in the overly-patient tone of someone who’d spent the better part of her life humoring him and who certainly wasn’t going to blink now.

Well, it can't have been my long-suffering protégé. She’s far too busy for such silliness, especially because she knows I pay her to work, not to bake. Deliberately, he turned his attention back to the clock, watching out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction to the word ’protégé.’ Her face brightened, her lips curving into a delighted smile at this rare acknowledgement that he saw her as more than the hired help. Really, she should be well aware of that by now. Within a year of her employment, she’d had control of the shop’s displays as well as a say in pricing. By the end of her second year, he’d trusted her to keep the books, and since then he’d been teaching her everything he knew about contract law, which was an impressive amount if he did say so himself. Althea was at the top of her class, and he liked to think it was his influence that had helped get her there. Even so, she was a woman, and women liked words.

Lambert paused, a miniature gear in his hand, and wondered when he’d started thinking of his eighteen year old assistant as a woman.

The moment stretched out, becoming uncomfortable, until Althea finally said with false cheer, Pay me? You barely pay me at all. I'll bake if I like. It was true enough. He'd been very careful with her salary. She made exactly enough that leaving to take another job would mean taking a pay cut. Her paycheck covered rent on the apartment she shared with her father, food for the month, and maybe a movie if she was careful. It did not stretch to paying down her father's debts, buying pretty clothes for going out, or putting away savings to use for college that year. There was exactly enough room in Althea's life for her schooling and her job, and there wasn't room for anything else. He'd made sure of that.

As he watched her hop off the table and gather her supplies (It was Tuesday, which meant it was window day, so she needed the blue microfiber cloth. Each cleaning task had a different color rag associated with it, and he knew them all.), he realized just how carefully he had arranged things to make certain the shop was her only outlet. He'd created a very comfortable, very insular world for the two of them, and for the first time he wondered if he'd done it deliberately.

Surely, he hadn't. Althea was just eighteen, for God's sake. She was a child (technically an adult, but still a complete child). It had just happened to come about that every moment when she wasn't in school or asleep, she was with him. It was pure coincidence. And yet... And yet.

Once the thought entered his mind, he couldn't get it back out again. Morbidly, he watched his every interaction with her over the next days, trying to see himself from an outsider's point of view. Had he always stared like this when she wasn't paying attention to him? Had he always known the exact shade of rose that tinted her cheeks when he said something that made her laugh? It was no crime to look; she was lovely, decorative, and he was a connoisseur of beautiful things. In their little shop of wonders, she was the most wondrous thing of all.

He had to accept it then. Yes, he'd squirreled her away for himself very adroitly, but she'd come along willingly. Althea didn't protest the hours. She didn't ask for more pay. She didn't mention college plans or dreams of moving away, and she'd tell him if her mind was tending in those directions. She'd once spent ten minutes telling him about everything she'd found stashed in her pockets at the end of the day. She'd tell him if she wanted to go away to school.

Althea, then, was content, and he was doing no harm. It was no crime to look, to admire her blue eyes or the curve of her backside when she leaned over to pick up something she'd dropped. It was no crime to wing a silent prayer of thanksgiving heavenward when she wore the green top with the low neckline on days she was going to help him with repairs requiring plenty of bending over. He was just appreciating the view. It was fine to look as long as he didn't touch.

It was, however, a crime when other men looked. When Dr. Tucker had come in looking for fishing lures and spent most of his visit instead looking at Althea's chest, Lambert's hand had tightened hard enough to bruise, wanting nothing more than to smash a vase into the man's face. Instead, he'd made a point of steering him repeatedly away from the display case that actually had what he wanted, maneuvering the man out the door with a flash of his most unpleasant smile. He shut the door behind the doctor with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary, turning to see Althea looking at him in bemusement. That was somewhat unhelpful. Even for you.

He raised an eyebrow, Even for me? I'm hurt, love. Truly.

She folded her arms in front of her, giving him her best challenging look. After a moment, he relented, The doctor is not one of my favorite people.

That earned him a most unladylike snort. You don't have any favorite people. Besides, you liked him well enough last time he was in here and dropped five hundred bucks.

Today he bored me. That was not a complete untruth. He had found the man's staring quite tiresome.

Today he leered at me like I was a hunk of meat, she countered, and his heart sank. He'd been caught out. Shaking her head, she approached him slowly, and he wondered if she'd slap him first or just go ahead and quit.

Honestly, I don't know why you try to hide it. Althea was inches in front of him, looking up