Martha, holding my purse in her lap, dug through it, nosily looked at it, and mumbled, “Bad-boy hot guy,” then handed me the phone and started to exit the car, finishing, “I’m gonna go make the call now.”

Then she was gone.

I took Brock’s call.

“Hey.”

“Well?”

He knew I was viewing the location.

“It’s fabulous,” I answered his mostly unasked question.

“And?”

I grinned at my dash.

“My guess is, even though she was exiting my car with great haste while the phone was ringing with this call from you, still, Martha’s right now on the phone in the office with the landlord saying we’ll take it.”

Silence, then, “Good, baby.”

“I’m scared out of my mind, Brock,” I admitted.

“Be stupid not to be, Tess,” he replied, and I pulled in a breath. “It’s a risk but it’s a risk worth taking. And it’s a lot of work but it’s work worth doing. It’ll pay off, it’ll pay off soon, and then it’s all about the nighties.”

I started laughing softly and then I stopped laughing softly and said quietly, “Yeah.”

“We’ll go out tonight, celebrate.”

Well. There you go. This decision was seeming like the right one already.

“Sounds good.”

“Not Lincoln’s Road House meatloaf sandwiches celebrating. You in sexy heels and a short skirt celebrating,” he clarified and I blinked at the dash because I’d never had sexy heels and short skirt fun with Brock. I’d had beer and pool table and plethora of neon signs on the walls fun with Brock plenty of times but never heels and short skirts.

Then I asked, “Really?”

To which he answered, “Absolutely.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“I’ll make a reservation and call you with the time.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“Later, sweetness.”

“Later, honey.”

We disconnected and I tucked my phone into my purse, thinking about which heels I was going to wear with which short skirt, doing an about-face on my earlier thoughts, and congratulating myself on taking good advice from Brock because, since Martha started on Monday, already my time had been freed up. No schedules to do. No inventory to keep. No phone calls to pick up. And she helped out in front of the bakery too so I didn’t have to rush up there when things got busy.

This meant I could leave early and concentrate on getting dolled up.

I was grinning to myself because I knew exactly what I was going to wear: a dress and high-heeled strappy sandals I’d owned for over a year and had never worn. Martha talked me into buying them and I’d let her, for reasons unknown, because they were extremely sexy and thus something (at the time) I had no use for.

Now I had a use for them.