Free Just Say Maybe: A Thistle Bend Novel by Tracy March Page B

idea in the dressing room, but turned out to be a dud in real life. When she and Lindsey had been shopping at the Gypsy Wagon recently, they’d agreed that the black jeans, breezy blue tunic, and patchwork-fabric vest Lindsey wore were an auto-buy. She had paired them with short black boots with burnished silver buckles and wore the whole outfit as well as any supermodel.
    “Thanks to my wardrobe consultant and caffeine compadre. What more could I ask for in a friend?” Lindsey led her through the museum’s dimly lit main hall, past shelves of items that had been on display in the gas station/hardware store that had occupied the building years ago, and alongside the model town where the little train sat waiting for someone to drop a quarter in the box and send it chugging around the tracks, whistle hooting. They hung a left in the next large exhibit room, ducked into a hallway, and made their way to Lindsey’s tiny office.
    Holly could’ve asked Lindsey to meet her anywhere—certainly someplace less cramped. But most places in Thistle Bend had eyes on the ceilings and ears on the walls. The museum was the perfect place for a couple of reasons. One: She’d swear that the same man she’d seen in the sepia-toned, late-1800s photograph in the suite at the lodge was also pictured somewhere in the museum. If Lindsey didn’t recognize him, then they could go on a little scavenger hunt and find the guy. Two: No one was at the museum at this hour, and Holly felt safe talking in the confined space of Lindsey’s office—neat and cheery despite its size, with a high, rectangular window that let in lots of natural light. Lindsey took her seat behind her desk, and Holly sat in the folding chair next to it.
    “Still no money in the budget for a proper chair?” Holly joked. “If I come in here one more time and see this, I’m going to donate one.”
    “Why wait until then?”
    “You’ve got me there.”
    Lindsey lifted the lid off her latte, let the steam rise, and blew into the cup before she took a sip. “Mmm. I’d take one of the suede beauties from your office, but it would never fit in here.”
    Holly put the bakery box on the desk between them and opened it. The scent of sweet cinnamon and fresh-baked bread quickly filled the office as she dug in her purse for the napkins and plastic forks. Handing a set to Holly, she said, “Dig in. Forks optional—fingers are fine.”
    Lindsey wasted no time finding the end of the bread and peeling it away from her roll—exactly the way Holly preferred to eat hers, because the center was always the most delicious part. Moist, gooey goodness—with plenty of pecan pieces. Best to save that for last. Holly didn’t bother to lift the lid off her espresso macchiato. She took a steaming sip and swallowed, wincing in its wake.
    “Carden felt so bad about what happened at your grandpa’s farm the other day.” Lindsey said. “He didn’t mean to bring up the lodge. Poor guy had no idea. I mean, who would’ve guessed Bryce was buying that place?”
    “Blindsided me all right. But please give Carden a hug and tell him not to worry about it. My grandpa would’ve found out at some point. I’d rather it have been when I was around.”
    “Carden tried to explain to me what happened with your family and the lodge…and how you lost your grandma—which is awful, and I’m sorry.”
    Holly’s heart hitched. “Thanks.” That’s all she could manage without getting choked up. All the business with the lodge had stirred her emotions, making her miss her grandma even more. She pinched off a bite of her cinnamon roll and chewed it slowly, soothed by the sugary cinnamon.
    “But I’m not sure I understood how everything happened, exactly. A year isn’t nearly enough time to play catch-up on all the history of Thistle Bend.” Lindsey made a sweeping gesture toward the museum’s exhibit halls. “Especially the recent past.” She gave Holly a rueful look. “Can you help me out with