Chapter Text
Laura sighed as she leaned against the back counter and studied the ledger. Peterson’s Hardware was basically doing fine, but she wouldn’t be able to hire extra summer help as planned, which meant she wouldn’t be able to get away and take a vacation, which was beginning to feel needed rather than wanted. She reached up and irritably tugged at her dark hair, tightening her high ponytail. This is what you get for being a small business owner in a small town, she thought. It just comes with the territory.
She liked living in Lockhart, situated on the eastern edge of the Rocky Mountains in the middle-of-nowhere Montana. She couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else. But she looked forward to her annual summer trip to New York City, where she spent a week with friends enjoying whatever play or musical they could get tickets to, walking in the park and wandering the museums, and eating all varieties of food the likes of which Lockhart had never dreamed of.
Now it looked like she was in for a rather dull summer.
The bell above the door jingled and she called out, “Welcome to Peterson’s.”
For a few minutes she continued to examine the numbers, making notes and remaining unsatisfied with what she saw. At the soft sound of a throat clearing, she dropped her pencil and looked up, straightening the front of her dark green apron and smiling at the short blonde who stepped to the counter.
“Hi,” Laura said. “How may I help you?”
“I need to have a copy of this key made.” The woman held up a standard house key and Laura reached for it automatically.
“Sure, it’ll just take a few minutes,” she said. “If you want to look around, I can call you over when it’s ready, Miss…?”
“Jackson. Bradley Jackson.” The woman smiled and added, “Actually, if you don’t mind… could I watch how you do it? I’ve never seen a key made before.”
Laura grinned. “Of course, Miss Jackson, Bradley Jackson.”
Bradley laughed. “Just Bradley is fine.”
“Okay. Bradley.” Laura rolled up her sleeves and moved toward the key cutting machine, and Bradley followed along from the other side of the counter. “I’m Laura Peterson, by the way.”
“Peterson,” Bradley said. “Like on the sign?” She gestured toward the front of the store.
“Yep, that’s me.” Laura double-checked the safety switch on the machine as she started setting everything up. Bradley leaned slightly over the counter, watching closely as Laura loosened the grips for the key and its duplicate. “Are you… really that interested in how this is done?”
Bradley blushed as she pulled away. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy, but… yeah. I’m a writer and I’m always kind of curious about things. You never know, I might someday write a scene where a character cuts a key!” she joked.
Laura smiled. “You can come around to this side if you want, to see it better.”
She pulled out an extra pair of safety goggles as Bradley moved to stand to her right.
“Put these on,” she said. She eyed the loose blonde waves that fell over Bradley’s shoulders. “And uh… be careful not to lean too close.”
Bradley glanced down at herself and then at the machine with its various gears and wheels that would soon start spinning. “Oh! Right. Got it.”
For the next few minutes she watched and listened as Laura explained about the different types of keys, how she fit the original and the key to be cut into their respective vices, lining them up with the shoulder gauge, and how the guide would run along the original key while the blade cut the new one.
“Then,” Laura said, releasing the new key from its grip, “I run it along this buffer to remove any sharp edges.” She did just that and then pronounced it, “Done!”
Bradley looked suitably impressed. “That was… fast,” she said, taking the two keys from Laura, who then made sure the machine was powered down properly.
“Copying keys is pretty simple. Making new keys is a bit different, but fortunately you didn’t need that today–I’m waiting on a replacement part for our code machine.” She gestured vaguely at a more complex looking machine farther down on the counter.
Bradley returned to the customer side of the counter and smiled. “Thank you so much,” she said. “What do I owe you?”
“Two-fifty,” Laura said, moving to the cash register.
“Really? That’s all?”
“Yeah.” Laura shrugged. “But I’ll take those safety glasses back too.” She grinned as she nodded at Bradley, who blushed as she pulled the glasses off and handed them over.
When she dug into her purse, Laura took a moment to study her. Lockhart was small enough that she had to be new, because Laura was certain she’d remember this woman if she’d seen her around. Her shoulder-length hair looked soft and shiny and her eyes were the kind of blue that made Laura think of a perfect spring day. Laura always swore she didn’t have a type but none of her friends would be surprised if she got mixed up with another cute blonde…
“Miss Peterson?”
Laura snapped out of her reverie and took the $10 bill Bradley offered. “Just Laura is fine,” she said. She opened the cash drawer and quickly made change. “Are you new in town?” she asked.
“Just moved in last week, a couple of blocks over, on Maple Street,” Bradley said. “The place needs a little work, so I’ll probably be back once I figure out exactly what needs doing and how much of it I can do myself.” She looked around the store and added, “Do y’all have any gardening supplies?”
Laura smiled at the y’all as it was the only thing so far to give Bradley away as a southerner.
“We have a small selection, yes.” She stepped around the counter and led Bradley down an aisle close to the front of the store. “Potting soil and some seeds, pots, of course, and trowels. Larger shovels too, depending on what you need. In a week or so we’ll have a few palettes of perennials for sale out on the sidewalk.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Bradley said with a lopsided smile. “You’ve been so helpful, really, and thank you for showing me the key thing.”
“You’re welcome,” Laura said. She noticed the dimple that appeared at Bradley’s right cheek and wondered if the woman was fully aware of how disarmingly adorable she was.
For a moment they simply stared at each other.
“So you’re a writer?”
“Can you make a–”
They spoke at the same time and then both laughed. “You first,” Laura said.
“Well, I have a lock that I don’t have a key for. It’s an old desk, one of the drawers. It’s not locked, so I can still use the drawer, but I always thought it would be nice to be able to lock it. Can you make a key… without having one to copy?”
“Yes, as long as I can disassemble the lock. Does it look like it could be removed from the drawer?”
Bradley furrowed her brow as she pictured it. “I’m not sure. The desk is such an old, heavy thing and the drawer is really solidly made. There are screws on the front of the lock but…” she shrugged.
“I could come take a look,” Laura offered. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Oh, I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Bradley said.
“It’s no trouble, as long as you don’t mind having me over.”
Bradley smiled. “I’d love to have you over. Put your number in and I’ll text you my address.” She pulled out her phone and opened a new contact before handing it to Laura, who quickly keyed in her info. When she gave it back, Bradley fired off a text and Laura heard her phone ping from the back counter.
“Got it,” she said with a grin. “Tomorrow morning okay? Is 9:30 too early?”
“That’s perfect,” Bradley said. “I’ll see you then. Thanks, Laura.”
With that, she left the store, and Laura watched through the big front windows until she was out of sight down the sidewalk. Laura noticed that Bradley had basically dodged her question, which she found odd. What kind of writer was this woman? She hoped to find out more the next day…
* * * * *
At the end of the block, Bradley turned left off of Main Street onto Third Avenue, which ran through the neighborhood. She crossed Linden Street and then reached Maple and turned left again. Lockhart was old and quaint, quiet, and she found the layout charming with the numbered avenues running north and south, crossing the streets named after trees.
Everything was orderly, the houses with their neat front lawns, wide sidewalks lined with tall old trees, and alleys ran behind the houses so all the garages were away from the streets, which tended to be peaceful with so little traffic. It was exactly what she needed to escape the life she had in the place she’d always called ‘home’ but never felt particularly fond of. Now that her books were gaining in popularity, she was glad to have a little money to go where she wanted and do what she pleased. Not that Bradley was unused to doing as she pleased, but she hoped to leave behind some of her more self-destructive habits in favor of healthier ones.
Bradley had avoided Miss Peterson’s—Laura’s question, knowing the woman would ask what kind of books she wrote, and while she wasn’t embarrassed, she felt strangely drawn to this woman and hoped to get to know her a little more before taking the chance of being teased for her genre. Laura didn’t look like the type to pick up cheap paperbacks at the supermarket…
As she made her way up the walk to her front door, Bradley sighed. The house was still a bit of a mess from her moving in, and it probably needed more than a ‘little’ work, but she’d wanted some kind of project to keep her busy on the days the writing wasn’t going well, which she’d noticed were becoming more frequent, much to her editor’s dismay.
From the outside, the house was fine. It was painted dark blue with a bright white trim, and the yard and flower beds were in good shape, just in need of a little color. The inside was perfectly livable but there were some cabinets that stuck, places where the formica was peeling up on the kitchen counters, and a leaky shower head in the primary bathroom. The original hardwood floors would be beautiful with the right care and effort. But things were still cluttered with unpacked boxes and haphazardly placed furniture.
The new key slid smoothly into the front door lock and Bradley smiled. She let herself in and set about making the place a little more presentable for her morning visitor.
* * * * *
When Daniel arrived for the closing shift, Laura left him in charge of restocking the front endcaps and went out to run her errands. She lived in the apartment above the store and everything she needed was within about a three block radius, so while she had a beat up old pickup truck, she rarely drove anywhere in town. When she did need to get out on the road, she much preferred going on her motorcycle—a fully restored 1980 T140E Bonneville.
Laura used to feel like her world was too narrow—or rather, she had allowed someone else to make her think that’s how she should feel. But in the last few years, living alone and managing her small business, keeping only a few close friends and rarely straying from her beaten path, she’d come to realize that it was okay to love the quiet simplicity of her life. It was okay to be content with the way things were, especially when things were good and she was happy. She didn’t like chaos and she no longer had patience for anyone who brought that kind of energy into her orbit.
After a quick trip to the post office across the street, Laura went down the block to the grocery store where she made her usual circuit around the aisles for milk and oatmeal, bread and sandwich things, a small package of sirloins and another of chicken breasts, potatoes for baking, a bag of fresh green beans and another of carrots, a carton of strawberries since they were in season. She chose a bottle of red from the limited selection of wines and then joined the only open checkout line.
As she waited, Laura considered the chocolate bars and mints, glanced disdainfully at the tabloids, and let her eyes skim the handful of paperbacks propped in their metal racks. Westerns, thrillers, and romances weren’t really her thing, but she was in a slump when it came to reading and thought something quick and easy might not be a bad idea. One author’s name caught her eye.
B. A. Jackson was written in gold script across a cover that pictured a redhead in a flowing blue dress that barely contained her heaving bosom as she was embraced by a dark-haired man whose shirt was open, revealing typically chiseled abs and pecs. Definitely not Laura’s thing.
Even so, she glanced around and then reached for the book, which was titled When Morning Comes. She flipped to the back and found the author info on the last page, which informed her that B. A. Jackson lived in West Virginia with her cat and that she enjoyed gardening and long walks on the beach. The accompanying black-and-white photo was of a woman who, despite the heavy makeup and elaborately styled hair, was definitely Miss Jackson, Bradley Jackson, whose desk drawer lock Laura would be disassembling in the morning.
“Ma’am?”
The cashier broke Laura out of her daze and she quickly unloaded her basket onto the conveyor belt, adding the book to her items.
* * * * *
Laura managed to get through only a quarter of When Morning Comes before tossing it on her bedside table and turning off the light to sleep. Bradley was a talented writer—the actual storyline, the descriptions of settings and characters, the dialogue, it was all very well done. But after a scene wherein the heroine “freed her lover’s cock from the confines of his pants,” Laura had read quite enough. It was, she supposed, just a matter of taste.
And it also made something very clear to her: Bradley was not the kind of woman who would be interested in Laura. She resolved to see about the desk drawer, to make the new key, and to be perfectly polite and helpful, as she would be with any customer, if and when Bradley patronized the hardware store again. But she would not let herself get lost in those blue eyes and she would not wonder if that wavy blonde hair felt as soft as it looked and she would not allow herself to notice again how Bradley smelled of lavender and mint and something else Laura couldn’t quite identify, something that seemed unique to Bradley…
Good lord, Peterson, get a grip, she mentally chided herself. You’ve known the woman maybe ten minutes, you know nothing about her, and the only reason you noticed anything about her at all is…
Laura was lonely, though she could barely admit that to herself. It was easier to admit that she was horny, which she was that too, and which was also a much easier problem to deal with. She decided to find an evening to drop by Maggie’s and see if the bar’s owner and namesake, who also happened to be an old friend, would be amenable to a quick romp, as they occasionally did for old time’s sake.
By the time she knocked on the door of the quaint blue house on Maple Street, just a few minutes before 9:30 the next morning, Laura felt her mind was much more settled.
* * * * *
Bradley managed to make the front room she’d designated as her office look tidy enough to be presentable but not so tidy that it didn’t look like a real writer lived and worked there. She made sure the desktop was orderly and the drawer in question was cleared of its contents—a few partially-filled notebooks, a supply of her favorite pens, and various charging cables, some of which were probably for devices she no longer even owned. She also put on a fresh pot of coffee to brew and then stepped into the bathroom to check her hair one last time.
Why was she trying to impress this woman? From almost the moment she stepped up to the counter yesterday, she felt drawn to Laura, who struck her as self-assured and even-tempered—not to mention stunningly attractive. Gorgeous in a handsome sort of way that Bradley couldn’t quite make sense of, and so of course she found herself thinking about it much too deeply. There was something about that quiet confidence that Bradley found alluring as she’d listened and watched while Laura copied the key. She wanted to ask Laura about her life, about all things big and small, from where she grew up and what her parents were like to what kind of books she enjoyed reading and how she took her coffee.
She’s not a character for you to study, Bradley told herself. She resolved to visit the hardware store only when she needed something and to banish all thoughts of what it would be like to stare into those dark green eyes and allow herself to be calmed and comforted by that velvety-soft voice and wonder what those strong, capable hands might feel like as they explored her body—
No. For all she knew, Laura could already have someone, she might not even be interested in women, and besides, Bradley hadn’t come to this town to continue the same pattern of behavior she’d lived before. Her feelings about Lockhart seemed to change almost hourly anyway. At times she could see herself settled, she could imagine how lovely and cozy the house would eventually be, and at other times she thought she might fix the place up just enough to sell and then move back home.
Except she wasn’t entirely sure where home was anymore.
There was a knock on the door. She tossed her hair and gave herself one last look in the mirror before going out and down the hall to the foyer.
* * * * *
“Laura, hey!”
Bradley smiled brightly as she opened the door and Laura had to tighten her grip on the small toolbox she carried.
“Hi, Miss— Bradley,” Laura said, returning her smile.
“Come in, please.”
The morning was cool so Laura had worn a light jacket, which Bradley offered to take and then hung on one of the four hooks behind the door before leading her inside.
“You’ll have to pardon my mess,” Bradley said, gesturing at the living room. “I’ve been slow to go through some boxes and I still can’t decide how to arrange the furniture.” She blushed and then walked across the hallway. “The desk is here, in my office.”
Laura glanced at the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined one wall, filled with books, and hoped she’d get a chance to peruse the spines more closely. There was an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp in one corner to the left of the desk, which was large and well-built, as Bradley had said, and faced the big front window looking north.
“Looks like a perfect space for a writer,” Laura said. She started to pull the rolling desk chair away but then asked, “May I?”
“Oh yes, please,” Bradley said. She wheeled the chair to the side and pulled out the top right drawer.
Laura set the toolbox on the floor beside her and knelt to examine the lock.
“This will come out easily,” she said after a few seconds. “I can take the lock back to the store and disassemble it there. If it’s only a three or four pin, it won’t take long to make the key.”
Bradley bit her lip as it sounded like she wouldn’t have company for very long and she didn’t want Laura to leave quite so fast.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, watching Laura pull out a small screwdriver. “I just made a fresh pot.”
“That would be great, thanks.” Laura smiled up at her.
“Cream and sugar?”
“No, just black.”
“Coming right up!”
Laura watched her go, admiring the way her faded blue jeans—no, stop it. Laura shook her head and turned back to the lock, quickly loosening the three screws that held it in place.
When Bradley returned with two cups of coffee, one black and one with cream and sugar, she found Laura carefully pulling the lock from the front of the drawer.
“How do you know how many… pins, did you say?” Laura nodded and Bradley continued, “How do you know how many pins it has?”
She set both mugs down and perched herself on the edge of the desk. Laura stood and placed the lock on the blotter before pulling the desk chair up to sit.
“See these impressions here?”
Bradley leaned over and hummed in the affirmative. “So it’s a four pin?”
“Right,” Laura said. “It won’t take too long. I can come back tomorrow with the new key and reinstall the lock.” She reached for one of the coffee mugs and caught a brief flash of disappointment cross Bradley’s features. “Or if, like yesterday,” she decided to chance a guess, “you’re interested in seeing how to make a key this way, I can show you?”
Bradley’s face lit up. “Really? Is it something you can do here?” She nodded toward the toolbox on the floor. “I don’t want to put you through any trouble.”
Laura chuckled. “Again, it’s no trouble. You should really learn to take me at my word—if I offer to do something for you, it’s because I want to do it.”
“Okay,” Bradley said with a soft smile.
“Do you mind if I work at your desk?”
“Not at all! Do you need more light?” Bradley leaned over to click on the gooseneck lamp to Laura’s right.
“That’s perfect,” Laura said. She lifted the toolbox to the desk and began pulling out the few items she needed. “And a piece of paper if you have one handy, so I don’t make a mess of filing all over the place.”
Once Laura was all set up, Bradley nudged the big chair closer to the side of the desk and sat with one leg tucked beneath her. She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk and watched closely as Laura showed her how the lock came apart, the way the pins fell out, and which files she would use to carve the valleys of the new key.
“The filing takes some patience,” Laura explained as she marked where to file along the key. “I like to check often to make sure the pin falls in at the right depth and it’s not overdone—you can always file more away but you can’t add it back once it’s gone.”
“That makes sense,” Bradley said. She crossed her forearms against the edge of the desk and rested her chin on top of them. For the first cut, she watched quietly, mesmerized by the careful, sure movement of Laura’s hands. After a few minutes, she asked, “How did you learn how to do this?”
“YouTube videos,” Laura said, with such casual offhandedness that Bradley couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking.
She decided to take Laura at her word and moved on to another question. “And how did you come to own a hardware store?”
“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?” Laura glanced up at her and smiled.
“Not if you’re going to ask me what kind of books I write,” Bradley said.
“I already know what kind of books you write.” Laura fit the key in the lock to check the second pin and, satisfied with how it fell, moved to work on the third cut. She looked up again to find Bradley staring at her with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“How do you know what kind of books I write?”
“Well,” Laura began working the first file into the cut, “I stopped by the grocery store after work yesterday. And while I was waiting in the checkout line, looking at the impulse buys, one author’s name caught my attention.”
Bradley sighed and rolled her eyes.
“What?” Laura asked again. She continued to file and Bradley went back to watching her hands. “Do you not want people to know you write romance novels?”
“I’ve had a lot of people sneer at me for that particular genre.”
Laura’s hands stilled and Bradley met her eyes again.
“Do I look like I’m sneering at you?”
Bradley lifted her head and sat up straighter, pulling her arms away from the edge of the desk and dropping her hands to her lap.
“No,” she finally said. She looked away and wrung her hands together. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“Don’t apologize,” Laura said as she resumed filing at the key. “Just don’t assume the worst of me.”
Bradley studied Laura’s hands again and she soon relaxed into the moment, which was a rarity. She tried not to think about why Laura had this effect on her.
“Can I ask my question now?” Laura glanced up and Bradley smiled and nodded. “Why did you leave West Virginia?”
“My cat died.”
If Laura had phrased the question differently, say, ‘Why did you move to Lockhart,’ Bradley might’ve had a different answer. At Laura’s look of sympathy, she rushed on before the woman could say anything else.
“I mean, that’s not the only reason, it was just sort of… the final straw.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Laura reassured her. She checked the third pin and found it needed a little more work.
“I know.” Bradley shrugged. “I guess the more general, serious answer is that… I left because there was nothing there for me. My family is… awful… and I don’t have a partner. My books gained some popularity and so now I’m expected to churn them out one right after the other, but I just… I’m a romance writer who doesn’t even believe in love.”
Laura chuckled. “I can see how that would make things difficult.” Happy with how the third pin fell, she went to work on the final cut. “If you don’t believe in love, then what started you writing romance novels in the first place?”
“Nope, my turn.” Bradley smirked. “How did you come to own a hardware store?”
“It belonged to my grandfather,” Laura said. “My brother was going to take it over, but then he died, so… I took over instead.”
“Oh, Laura, I’m sorry.”
Laura smiled and shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m happy with where I’m at.” She glanced up at Bradley and added, “At least I can do my job without having to believe in love.”
Bradley laughed. “I do my job just fine, thank you very much.”
“I know.” Laura grinned. “I read a little last night—you’re very good, though I have to say, it’s not really my thing…”
“Which one did you read?” Bradley asked. “And what part of it isn’t your thing?”
“When Morning Comes,” Laura said. “And, um, to be blunt, sex with men isn’t my thing.”
Bradley blinked and Laura bit her lip to keep from laughing at the look on her face.
“Does that bother you?” Laura asked.
“Why would it bother me?”
“I dunno,” Laura said with a shrug. She carefully dropped all the pins into place, testing the fit of the key. “Sometimes straight women get a little… squirrely.” The pins all sat flush with the core and she nodded before pulling the key back out.
“What makes you think I’m straight?”
Laura looked up to see Bradley once again staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Are you?”
Bradley laughed and said, “Maybe you also shouldn’t assume the worst of me.”
“Touché.” Laura smiled. She set about smoothing her cuts and removing the sharp edges from the key. “You should let me show you around town,” she said, hoping it came across as a casual invitation but quickly realizing that it didn’t, given their previous exchange.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
Laura glanced at her before dropping her eyes to her work again. “Would you want it to be a date?”
Bradley studied her for a moment. “I want to say yes…”
“But…?”
Bradley laughed. “Well, I just moved to town and…” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. How much could she tell this woman she didn’t really know? Bradley couldn’t explain it but she felt… safe opening up to Laura. At least a little. “You didn’t ask why I don’t believe in love, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”
Laura’s hands stilled and she sat up straighter, meeting Bradley’s eyes again and waiting for her to continue.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I just…” Bradley smiled and shook her head. “Honestly… I haven’t had a relationship last more than a few months my entire life. Because I get bored or I get restless or I find out somebody’s not who they said they were or… I leave.”
Bradley looked at Laura intently but Laura only nodded slowly so she rushed on.
“I’ve written about all these romantic things, and I guess I write them believably enough, because people want more, but… I’ve never been swept off my feet. I’ve never had a magical movie moment kiss, you know, like in the rain or something, as the music swells.” She laughed and Laura smiled, but then Bradley grew serious again. “I’ve never felt a longing for one particular person who I just couldn’t get enough of. I’ve fallen fast and hard but never for someone I knew would catch me.” She took a deep breath and shrugged as she said, “I’ve been hurt. So for most of my life, I’ve just sort of… kept my heart locked away.”
Laura pursed her lips and resumed her work. As she reassembled the small pieces spread before her, she spoke.
“I’ve been swept off my feet,” she began. “I’ve felt that kind of longing and I’ve fallen hard. And I’ve been hurt too. Sometimes it happens.” Laura glanced up and found Bradley once again watching her hands. She rolled her chair back a little ways and fit the lock back into the drawer, tightening the screws in increments to be sure it sat smoothly against the wood.
“But I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” Laura said with teasing lilt. “So maybe we say that I’m also not asking you on a date. I’m just… offering to show you around town.”
When she looked now, she saw Bradley smiling at her.
“I’d like that,” Bradley said.
“Good.” Laura smiled in return.
She pushed the drawer closed and reached for the newly made key. It slid smoothly into the lock and she turned until the bolt clicked. She gave the drawer an experimental tug and found it closed tight.
Bradley chuckled and said, “I’m impressed.”
Laura hummed. “Well… you say you keep your heart locked away,” she said with a grin, “but if there’s one thing you should know about me by now,” she turned her hand once more and pulled the drawer open, “it’s that I’m very good with keys.”