“Well, you know. Whole milk, low fat, two percent? It’s a jungle in here.”

Then the woman angled her cart so another shopper could get through.

Pretty, brunette, late thirties, Dana observed, trying to place her. “Sorry. I know you, don’t I? I just can’t place it.”

“You helped me and my son a couple of weeks ago in the library.” She reached for a gallon of milk. “He had a report due the next day for American history class.”

“Oh, right, right.” Dana made the effort to tuck her dark thoughts away and answer the smile. “U.S. history report, Mrs. Janesburg, seventh grade.”

“That’s the one. I’m Joanne Reardon.” She offered her hand. “And the life you saved was my son, Matt’s. I stopped back in the library last week to thank you again, but I was told you weren’t there anymore.”

“Yeah.” That brought some of the dark thoughts back into play. “You could say I retired abruptly from library service.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You were terrific with Matt. And you made a big difference. He got an A. Well, an A-minus, but anything with Matt’s name on it that includes an A is cause for wild celebration in our house.”

“That’s great.” And particularly good to hear at the end of a long day. “He must’ve done a good job. Mrs. Janesburg doesn’t pass out the A’s like doughnuts.”

“He did, which he wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t pointed him in the right direction. More, if you hadn’t found the right key to turn in his head. I’m glad I got the chance to tell you.”

“So am I. You picked up my day considerably.”

“I’m sorry about whatever happened with the job. It’s none of my business, but if you ever need a personal reference, you can sure have mine.”

“Thanks. I mean that. Actually, some friends and I are starting our own business. I’m going to be opening a bookstore in a month or so. Probably a little more ‘or so,’ but we’re putting it all together.”

“A bookstore?” Joanne’s hazel eyes sharpened with interest. “In town?”

“Yeah. A combination thing. A bookstore, an arts and crafts gallery, and a beauty salon. We’re fixing up a house over on Oak Leaf.”

“That sounds fabulous. What an idea. All that in one place, and in town. I only live about a mile and a half from there. I can promise to be one of your regular customers.”

“If we keep up the pace, we’ll have it up and running for the holiday season.”

“Terrific. You wouldn’t be hiring, would you?”

“Hiring?” Dana eased back, considered. “Are you looking for a job?”

“I’m thinking about slipping back into the workforce, but I want something close to home, something fun, and something with fairly flexible hours. What you’d call a fantasy job. Especially when you consider I haven’t worked outside the home in over a decade, have only recently become computer literate—actually, it may be a stretch to say that—and my main job experience was as a legal secretary for a mid-level law firm in Philadelphia—where I did not shine—right out of high school.”

She laughed at herself. “I’m not giving myself a very glowing recommendation.”

“You like to read?”

“Give me a book and a couple hours of quiet, and all’s right with the world. I’m also good with people, and I’m not looking for a big salary. My husband has a good job, and we’re secure, but I’d like to pull in a little of my own. And I’d like to do something to earn it that doesn’t have anything to do with laundry, cooking, or browbeating an eleven-year-old into picking up his room.”

“I find those excellent qualifications in a potential employee. Why don’t you come by the building sometime. It’s the house with the blue porch. You can take a look at the place, and we’ll talk some more.”

“This is great. I will. Wow.” She let out a laugh. “I’m so happy I ran into you. It must’ve been fate.”

Fate, Dana mused when they’d parted ways. She hadn’t been giving enough credit to fate. Needing to restock her pantry had brought her here, to the dairy section of her local supermarket.

A small thing, she thought as she continued through the aisles. An everyday sort of thing. But hadn’t it put her here at just the right moment? Bumped her right into a woman who might become another spoke on the wheel of her life?

And more than that. She’d bumped into the woman who’d said exactly what she’d needed to hear.

You found the right key to turn in his head.

Was it just coincidence that Joanne had used that phrase? Dana wasn’t going to blow it off as coincidence. No, her key—the right key—was knowledge.

She would find it, Dana promised herself. She would find it by keeping her mind open.

Chapter Thirteen

IN Dana’s opinion, there were a lot of things you could say about Bradley Charles Vane IV.

He was fun, smart, and great to look at. He could, depending on his mood and the circumstances, present a polished, urbane image that made her think of James Bond ordering a vodka martini in Monte Carlo—and then turn on a dime and become a complete goofball ready to spray seltzer down your pants.

He could discuss French art films with the passion of a man who didn’t require the subtitles, and be just as fervent in a debate over whether Elmer Fudd or Yosemite Sam was a more worthy adversary for Bugs.

Those were just some of the things she loved about Brad.

Another was his house.

Towners called it the Vane House, or the River House, and indeed it had been both for more than four decades.

Brad’s father had built it, a testimony to the lumber that formed the foundation of the Vane empire. Using that lumber, and with a skilled eye for the surroundings, B. C. Vane III had created both the simple and the spectacular.

The golden frame house spread along the riverbank, edging itself with spacious decks and charming terraces. There were a number of rooflines and angles, all of them balanced into a creative harmony that showcased the beauty of wood.

It offered lovely views of the river or the trees or the clever hodgepodge of gardens.

It wasn’t the sort of place you looked at and thought, Money. Rather, you thought, Wow.

She’d spent some time there, tagging along after Flynn when she was a kid and tagging along with Jordan when she was older. It was a place where she’d always felt comfortable. It seemed to her it had been created with comfort as its first priority and style running a close second.