Becky dropped her keys and jostled her coffee. Three files slipped to the floor. “Lord-a-mighty girl, you scared me to death!” she gasped.
Tara knelt to collect the files. “I have a lot of work to do so I came in early.” She laid the files on the counter, then returned to her desk.
Becky situated her coffee and supplies behind the counter. “You gave me a shock. What are you working on? I haven’t seen you for a few days.”
Tara rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head. “I have to redesign every room for the resort.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” Becky grimaced, pausing to gauge Tara’s response.
Tara sighed. “I’m not sure how this will play out, but I figure if I can find a design Justin can stand, we will have better luck.” She shuffled through a pile of photos and magazine pages on her desk.
Becky pulled a chair up to Tara’s desk and took a long sip from her coffee cup. “I figured as much; want to bounce around some ideas? You look frazzled.”
Tara shook her head. Digging through the stack of paperwork for her pen, she sighed again and massaged her left temple.
The older woman sat back watching her. Speculation glittered in her narrowed eyes. “Something’s different.”
Tara found her pen and scribbled dollar amounts in the margin of a photo. “What are you talking about?” she murmured, punching numbers into a calculator with the end of her pen, the comment already forgotten.
Becky stood and sauntered back to the counter, her hips swinging a bit wider than usual. “How is Justin these days?” She tossed the comment nonchalantly over her shoulder but watched from the corner of her eye to observe Tara’s response.
“Fine, I guess. Hey, where is that set of lamps that we got at the Robinson estate sale? The ones with the blue bases. They need new shades but— what are you staring at?”
Becky smiled.
Tara’s train of thought derailed. “What are you doing?”
The older woman sashayed around the counter. “I’m going outside to set up the sidewalk.” Winding through the shop, continuing to hum her earlier tune, she tossed several glances over her shoulder as she walked.
Tara shrugged, shook her head, and turned back to her desk. Her phone rang, causing her to flinch. She turned to reach for her bag that was hanging from the back of her chair, then glanced from the counter to her desk. “Argh, where is my purse? I must have left it by the back door.” She dropped her pen and hurried to the back room.
Her purse lay on the floor near the door, where she’d dropped it to pull her keys from the lock. Grabbing up her bag, she shuffled through it to find her phone. The continued ringing jangled her last nerve. Finally, she pulled the phone from her bag and answered it just in time to hear the dial tone. Walking back to her desk, she checked the caller ID. Justin. Conflicting emotions of pleasure and frustration furthered her jumbled state. Touching his number to call him back, she plopped into the chair at her desk.
“Good morning!” chimed Justin’s voice.
“Hi, what’s up?”
“You sound stressed. You okay?”
“I’m fine. What’s going on?”
He was silent for a moment. “I just called to see how you are.”
Silence.
“And to see if we could find a good time to talk about the resort.”
Tara glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m putting together some ideas. Could you come to the shop around noon?”
Again, he paused. “I suppose so. Want me to bring anything?”
Tara massaged her temple. “Just ideas. We need to nail down some numbers, make sure we are on the same page.”
“Okay…Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you at noon then?”
“I’ll be there, but—”
She cut him off. “Okay, bye.”
Her phone hit the desk with a thump. She propped her elbows on the desk and dropped her head into her hands. “What have I done? This is never going to work.” Leaning back in her chair, she rubbed her eyes in circles with her fingertips, then massaged the back of her neck. Dropping her hands into her lap, she glanced up and flinched in surprise to see Becky standing over her.
“Geez, Becky.”
The older woman regarded her silently, propping one hip against the counter. “You’re a mess.”
Tara searched for her pen. “I’m fine.”
Once again, Becky pulled up her chair. “Honey, your aura is emitting every color of the rainbow today. My guess is that you’ve had a few run-ins with Justin, and you are conflicted. Am I right or am I right?”
Tara found her pen and shuffled papers, looking for a place to start.
“It’s okay to be confused you know.”
The pen slammed onto the desk. “Not for me! I have always been organized. I hate this feeling!”
“You can’t control some things, honey.”
Tara tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, I don’t plan to let my life and career go to crap because some man waltzed into town. I’m not a twitter-pated sixteen-year-old.”
“Life changes. Things happen. Relationships are an adjustment.”
“Relationship? Who said anything about a relationship?”
Becky smoothed her dress. “Don’t get all defensive. I’ve known you since you were a baby, and I see it all over your face. You are worried about the resort and confused about Justin. There’s no need to snap at me.”
Tara sighed, deflated. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Can we just talk about work? I need your help.”
Becky smiled. “Of course, talk to me.”
Tara paused, collecting her thoughts. “You saw my designs for the resort. I was planning a shabby, romantic ‘flea market find’ theme. Everything has changed. I have to change the design over to a cottage, like in the Hamptons. We can use a lot of the same pieces, but we’ll need to change all the textiles, floor covering, and window treatments. Paint schemes will need to adjust from pastels to muted earth tones. The furniture will have to bulk up in general. When I meet with Justin, we can decide whether we want to go with white and earth tones, or navy blue, brown and white, but I’ve got bedrooms and bathrooms, kitchens, formal dining, a breakfast nook, an eatery, and meeting rooms, as well as living areas to design.
Becky dug under the stacks of papers and photos on Tara’s desk to drag out a yellow pad and pencil. She scribbled notes as she spoke. “This will take a lot of smalls too. The finishes will make or break the ‘lived in’ vibe. We’ll need built-ins full of books, lots of old books.”
Tara nodded. “If you could handle the smalls and art work, I’ll get started on the furniture. I want to have some numbers together by the time Justin gets here. Put together high and low figures. I want to see where we can find some leeway in the budget.”
“Will do, boss.” Becky wove her way through the shop, whistling, stopping to touch a picture frame or a knick-knack, chewing on the end of her pencil, and scribbling notes as she went.
Tara returned to her list of rooms and required furniture pieces, scrolled through spreadsheets on her laptop, tapped on the calculator, and then scribbled totals.
* * *
Both women looked up as the doorbell jangled, surprised to see Justin. Becky glanced to the clock on the wall. “Is it noon already?”
“Afternoon, ladies.” Justin raised his hand in greeting. “You look lovely as always, Becky.” He smiled, lifting her hand to kiss the back of her fingers. The older woman blushed, and her jewelry jingled.
Tara rose, stretched, and moved around the counter. “Hi Justin.”
“Tara.” He kissed her cheek and caressed his fingers down her arm, then stepped back to take in her appearance. “Nice dress. You look tired, do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”
Glancing nervously toward Becky, Tara twisted her bracelet but Becky, pretending indifference to the tension between the handsome couple, continued to scribble on her pad. “I’ve
about got a tentative list here for you, dear, give me ten minutes.”
Tara sighed. “Coffee would be good. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Becky hummed and waved.
Justin held open the front door for Tara, placing his hand on her back as she passed. His touch sent fissions of pleasure through her body, which in turn prompted a frown. Everything with Justin was a conflict. She felt like her well-ordered world was out of focus. The pieces didn’t fit as they had before he came to town.
As they strolled down the sidewalk, Justin’s aftershave wafted toward her, creating an even more imbalanced sensation, as if she were wearing one high heel. One step glided, the next thumped. He, however, seemed completely unaffected.
* * *
Justin held open the door to the tiny café he’d visited his first morning in town. Tara inclined her head and entered ahead of him. His parents had taught him to open doors for ladies, but he was eager to take every chance to get closer to Tara – to touch her, smell her hair as she moved. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, remembering their kisses and the feel of her skin against his.
Tara paused by a table under the front window, looking to him for approval. He nodded and pulled out her chair. She murmured a thank you as she hung her purse over the back of the chair and adjusted her dress and hair.
The grace of her movements held him spellbound, his eyes following her delicate fingers as they smoothed the length of her hair.
Marge approached their table, glancing in speculation from Justin to Tara and back. “Mornin’ love,” she hummed to Tara, nodding toward Justin. Raising her note pad, she touched the end of her stubby pencil to her tongue, then poised it over the note pad. “What can I get for you two this afternoon?”
Tara straightened the napkin holder on the table. “I’ll just have coffee please.”
Marge raised an eyebrow to Justin.
“Same here.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Tara pulled two napkins from the holder and wiped furiously at the clean table. “What was I thinking? The whole town will be calling us a couple by dinner time.”
He captured her hand to still the frantic cleaning. “Give me that.” He seized the crumpled napkins and stuffed them in his pocket. “Who cares? We are partners on this project. Word will get around about that too.”
She rubbed distractedly at her temple. “I hadn’t even considered what everybody would think about us.”
Her expression rankled him. “Am I that embarrassing to be seen with? I know I have the wrong shoes, but…”
Her gaze jerked back to him and her eyes rolled to the ceiling, then out the window. “I’m sorry, of course not. I’m just—It’s—”
“You’ve always been a lone wolf?”
Her eyes met his across the table. “I guess so. It just seems like suddenly everything is different. My work has to be altered, I can’t set my own schedule, people are looking at me different.” Her fingers twisted on the table.
He tentatively touched her hands, then pulled apart her fingers and smoothed them on the tabletop. “This isn’t what I’d planned either but you’re a welcome surprise.”
She fidgeted in her chair. Pulling her hands away, she tugged her hair over one shoulder, combing it with her fingers. “I thought about the resort most of the night. I’m worried about coming to an agreement on the design. Our plans couldn’t be more opposite.”
Justin leaned back in his chair and watched Marge return to place cups on saucers on the table and pour steaming coffee into each cup. She placed a tiny pitcher of cream on the table. “Anything else?”
Justin and Tara shook their heads. Marge surveyed them both severely over her reading glasses, then departed. They stirred their coffee, traffic passed the window, and a man entered and sat at the counter.
Justin cleared his throat. “I get the feeling this isn’t just business with you. Why are you all tied in knots?”
She put down her spoon and stared at her lap. “This town expects certain things from me. You wouldn’t understand.”
He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. She didn’t make sense. “Are you some kind of indentured servant or something?” he joked.
Her gaze met his and she didn’t refute the comment. Instead, sadness and failure loomed behind her eyes.
He sat up in his chair, “What the hell?” His voice rose, causing Marge and the other man to turn their way. He shifted in his seat and lowered his voice. “What are you talking about?”
She dropped her forehead into her palm, lamenting the topic of conversation. Sitting up, she flipped her hair back and met his eye. “I owe these people. I save their things, their homes, and in turn, they—they take care of me.”
He stared at her incredulously. “What do you mean?”
She gazed out the window. “When I was little, my dad— I was—” She sighed and picked up her spoon. “Never mind. I just don’t want to let anybody down and up to now, I haven’t. I don’t want things to change. We’ve been fine but this project is going to be different. I don’t know how…” She dropped her spoon and leaned back in her chair, squeezing the bridge of her nose.
Marge strutted up to the table. “Is everything okay here, Tara?” she asked, giving Justin the hairy eyeball.
Tara nodded and waved her away. Marge turned and walked back to the counter, tossing Justin dirty looks over her shoulder.
He sighed. “Tara, look, this is business. As long as Denny and Muffy are pleased with the final project and pay us, I don’t really care what we build.”
She didn’t look up and he felt more the outsider than ever. Not only was he hated, but he was somehow hurting the one person in this damn town that he cared about. He slurped his coffee with irritation burning in his gut and her rejection tearing at his ego.
She interrupted his wallow. “Do you mean to tell me you will toss your prints and pay off your architect, and you will sit back while I design the resort, however I want?”
His gaze snapped to hers. She smirked at him, in question. He set his coffee cup on the saucer with a clank. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what did you say?”
“You are the most exasperating woman I have ever met.” He scrubbed his hands across his face. “I meant we could compromise. We are intelligent professionals. We have an idea what Denny wants. and we both understand that Muffy will have her way. We can build a resort they’ll like.” He slumped in his chair and retrieved his coffee cup. “Anything that happens between the two of us will be beside the point.”
His last comment gave her a jolt. “Excuse me?”
He glanced up, surprised at her vehemence. “What…?”
“What do you mean ‘anything that happens’? What do you think is going to happen?”
Once again, his coffee cup crashed into the saucer. He scowled and leaned across the table to stare at her, his lips thinning. “Well, considering that yesterday,” He glanced over his shoulder and in a terse whisper continued, “…you were in my bed, I thought we had a little more than a business arrangement here!”
She seemed surprised that he was angry. “Well! I—You assume a lot. That was just—”
“Just what, other than damn amazing?”
“It was a mistake.”
He threw his hands in the air and slammed back in his chair, his face dark.
Tara realized that he was hurt as well as surprised. Satisfaction over being in control of the situation surged through her, like normal, but her heart sank in her chest. A strange, dull ache radiated through her system, pulling at her like a black hole. Her words rang in her ears, stomping out the light from a million tiny fires of pleasure that had burned in her spirit since he’d kissed her. “Justin…”
He didn’t look up, just gave her the hand – held her at bay.
Desperation coursed through her. “Justin, really, I don’t know how to do this! I’ve not—you’re the first…”
She gave up, humiliated and confused.
Finally, he looked up and they stared blankly at each other across the table, both at a complete loss.
Marge brought the check, concern in her face, and worry apparent. Both Tara and Justin ignored her, so she returned to her counter.
Tara cleared her throat and stood. “I really am sorry. I’m no good with men.”
He stood and scooted his chair under the table. “You kill me, girl.”
She stared at the floor, her gaze on his feet. “You need boots. I can show you where the locals shop. Maybe we can talk about the resort?”
Justin tossed a bill on the table and met her eye. “Why not?” he sighed.
Chapter Fourteen
Tara and Justin stopped back by the shop to grab her paperwork, then loaded into Justin’s truck.
He flipped the blinker and glanced both ways before turning onto the highway. “Where are we headed?”
She clicked her seatbelt and situated her purse on the seat between them. “Wheeling.”
“Wheeling…West Virginia?”
She tossed him a snotty look. “That’s where Wheeling is. Why so shocked?”
“I thought we were headed west.”
She shrugged. “We are. West Virginia has a part that sticks up to the west of Pennsylvania. And Arapaho is actually this side of Wheeling. It’s about an hour from here.”
“What’s Arapaho, besides the Indians I mean.”
She smiled. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
He watched for signs and asked her a few questions about getting to Interstate 70. Once he felt confident he was on the right track, he glanced at Tara, her hair blowing gently in the breeze from the air conditioning vent. “You said you put together some numbers for the resort?”
Her expression smoothed from unease, into confident work mode. “Yeah, most of the furniture, art, and textiles I’d planned aren’t going to work now. Have you given it any thought?”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 11