A Time to Fall (Love by the Seasons Book 1)

by Jess Vonn

  “You will?”

  “I will,” he said, lowering his voice to continue. “But I don’t think it’s just me. I think she likes some privacy, too. And to set some boundaries. You need to be respectful of that.”

  Back at the table, his sisters continued their earlier discussion.

  “Well, even if Cal won’t fill you in on this mystery woman, I will,” Haven said. “I saw her, and she’s adorable.”

  Cal groaned.

  “Waves of auburn hair piled high,” Haven continued. “But she’s got that girl-next-door kind of vibe. More Katie Holmes than Mila Kunis. Big brown eyes and a gorgeously curvy figure.”

  “For God’s sake,” he muttered, but no one listened. It suddenly dawned on him that he should have begged Winnie to attend the dinner. At least her presence would have forced his sisters to be on their best behavior.

  “Is she home now? I wonder if I could sneak a peek,” Rosie said, standing and beginning to walk toward the back kitchen window that faced the yard separating his mother’s house from Winnie’s cottage.

  “So that’s what it’s come to? Treating the woman like a zoo exhibit on display?” he asked incredulously.

  “Pretty much,” Rosie smiled. He playfully pinched her arm as she walked by.

  “Save yourself the trip. Her car’s not there, anyway,” he said before he could consider the consequences.

  “Look at him, noticing that her car wasn’t there. It’s almost like he has some interest in the zoo exhibit as well,” Willa observed.

  “That’s it. I’m off to play with my little nieces, the only civilized ones among you.” He killed his beer and walked to the fridge to grab a second, and his mom stopped him for a private moment, now that his sisters were lost in their own conversation.

  “Sorry for pouncing on you the minute you walked into the kitchen,” she said regretfully as she gave him one more side hug, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re a good man. I never doubt that.”

  “I know, Ma,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “Well, I want you to be happier, then. I like her a lot.”

  He sighed, not because he disagreed with his mother, but because he agreed with her. He grabbed the beer, and made his way to the floor where his nieces were engaged in an intricate game of pretend.

  Stretching out on the soft rug on his mother’s floor, he stacked blocks mindlessly as the girls played out some storyline about a princess who learns to fly. Tonight, though, he couldn’t get into their imaginative play.

  His mother knew. Somehow she always knew the things he tried to hide. There was something different this time. There was something different about Winnie, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt it. Or really, if he’d ever felt it. He liked Winnie. He didn’t just want her, though that instinct was plenty strong. He genuinely liked her and it scared the hell out of him, because it would require him to have her best interests at heart.

  And that was the crux of it. If her best interests motivated him, then he’d have to be sure that they did not become a couple. His mind flickered back to the night before, to the way Winnie shivered in the stands next to him. To the overwhelming urge to rub his hands up and down her soft, polka dot tights and ignite heat between the two of them. Of the way those random curls escaped the bobby pins that did little to control her dark, unruly hair, sending wispy locks down the side of her cheek. Along her neck. All the places he wanted to explore for himself.

  But more than anything, he thought back to the way that two or three times throughout the evening, her eyes lingered absentmindedly on his mouth, as if she wanted to taste him as much as he wanted to taste her.

  Though he knew it couldn’t move beyond harmless flirting, it suddenly occurred to him that flirting with Winnie was already far from harmless. And what was worse was that he didn’t have a damn clue what he was going to do about it.

  ~-~-~-~-~-~-

  Winnie’s brain hurt, and she wanted to curl up in bed and read the latest Julia Quinn novel she just picked up from the library, but if she didn’t finish this blasted article for the paper tonight, her week would start off on the wrong foot.

  It was nearly eleven on Sunday, yet there she sat at the small desk in the back corner of the cottage, working away on a story about the county planning and zoning commission meeting.

  If it had been a plucky profile? An education story? A small business feature? No problem. She could have cranked the story out in less than an hour.

  But the tedium of the county zoning commission meeting was the same reason the story wasn’t done yet. She’d started it that morning, avoided it most of the afternoon, went out on a picnic with Evie and her kids over dinner, and now it was reckoning time.

  Her brain was a jumble of unfamiliar zoning jargon—land use tables and right-of-way easements and aquifer protection areas and homeowner covenants.

  Gah. Rural legalese was not her forte. But luckily an alert from her phone provided one more distraction from the world’s least interesting article.

  When the bright, tinkly chat notification sound went off, she’d expected Evie’s number to pop up, especially given that she and Bree were on a communication hiatus, and no one else in town used her cell phone. Well, except for Betty Jean.

  So when she picked up the phone and saw the alert that read “New text from Cal the Great” she dropped her phone as if it would burn her.

  It clunked on the desk and she stood up.

  Fear and excitement went rounds in her stomach as she debated whether or not to look at the text. Who knew what it might contain?

  Of course it’d be work related. There’d be no other reason for him to contact her. So she should probably just wait and read it tomorrow.

  Oh, to hell with it. There was no way she could wait until tomorrow.

  She sat down, picked up her phone, swiped through and opened up her text inbox.

  Is it past your bedtime, Briggs?

  She grinned. And then groaned. Lord, this could be trouble. Her fingers typed a quick reply.

  Not even close. Working on a county commissioner story.

  Those three little dots popped up instantly, letting her know he was responding this very second. The flickering circles seemed to synchronize with the nervous swirls in her stomach.

  A night owl then, huh?

  Guilty. You?

  Also guilty.

  She froze, suddenly unsure what to type. Relief flooded her veins when those ‘typing’ dots popped up once more. She waited with bated breath to find out his real intention behind the text conversation.

  Wanna meet sometime this week to talk about Bloomsburo Days and the special section?

  Winnie couldn’t help but smile. His mother must have laid on the guilt at Sunday dinner (an event she’d mostly been able to forget given her outing with Evie’s crew.) Why else would he suddenly be playing nice?

  That’d be really helpful. Will your translator Danny M. be joining us? ;)

  Oh, sheesh. That was a premature emoji. Too flirty.

  Nope, one on one. But I’m sure he’ll miss you. #heartbreaker

  Winnie had to snicker.

  Poor guy. Let him down easily for me, will you? When works for you?

  She pulled out her planner, excited, but she sighed after opening it, realizing just how booked she already was for the week. She really could use an intern of her own. She might have to talk to the publisher about the possibility of hiring a few more reporters.

  Tomorrow afternoon work? he typed.

  Nope. Tuesday morning?

  Tuesday’s no good for me. At an all-day conference. What’s Wednesday like?

  Meetings at 10, noon and 2. Thursday’s just as bad. Friday?

  You’re a hard woman to pin down.

  Focus, Winnie. Focus on this very professional situation, not on that big bed behind you that would be so nice to get pinned down o
n. He wrote again.

  Could do Friday at 3. That’s about the only time.

  No can do. :( Will be putting the weekend issue together.

  Dang.

  Dang,she repeated.

  Do super journalists take dinner breaks?

  I try to. Not always successful though.

  Dinner meeting? Wednesday?

  BadIdeaBadIdeaBadIdea, her brain warned. Too much like a date. She’d only just recovered from the effect Cal’s proximity had on her at Friday night’s football game.

  And yet, she really needed more information on Bloomsburo Days to get this special section rolling. If it took until next weekend to have a less intimidating daytime meeting, she’d be that much farther behind.

  She looked at her calendar. It could work. And it would be one more evening that she didn’t have to resort to dinner-in-a-cup by herself in her tiny kitchen.

  She started to reply, then deleted it. Started again, then erased it once more. Displaying more clairvoyance than Winnie was comfortable with, Cal wrote once more.

  It’s just a work meeting, Briggs, not a trick. Haven’t forgotten your stance on men.

  She laughed, feeling more at ease thanks to his humor.

  That sounds great. Thanks for reaching out. Where should we meet? You’re the local guy. I only know Dewey’s.

  Dewey’s is good, but you should branch out. Heard of Cafe Gioia? Midway between here and Broadsville.

  Nope, but I’m not picky.

  A hidden gem—excellent food.

  She almost wrote ‘It’s a date!’ Thankfully she caught herself in time. Because if there was one thing she’d have to remind herself 523 times between now and Wednesday evening, it was that her upcoming dinner with Cal was 100-percent not a date.

  See you then.

  Night, Briggs.

  She had a feeling that the anxiety and excitement she felt swirling in her stomach would be with her for much of the next three days, but it wasn’t all bad. Already she found herself with an unexpected boost of adrenaline to help wrap up her godforsaken zoning story, and that could only be interpreted as a gift.

  Chapter 10

  What were you thinking?!

  Winnie grumbled to herself for the dozenth time on the drive to the non-date dinner meeting on Wednesday night. When Cal had recommended a café a few towns over for their “business meeting,” she had pictured a casual, small town cafe.

  Much to her horror, when she Googled the café Cal suggested, she learned that it was all dim lighting and tabletop candles and cozy interiors and Italian food, which was basically the foreplay of the culinary world.

  Bad idea. This is a bad idea.

  Her hands were shaky and she was uncomfortable in the outfit she’d finally picked (the seventh and final choice). Evie had provided fashion support via text. Winnie would snap a picture of an outfit and send it to her for a thumbs up or a thumbs down. Finally they settled on something that felt pretty but professional: a black flounce skirt paired with a satiny lavender top and a light grey flyaway cardigan. And just for a confidence boost, she wore her highest-heeled black booties.

  She felt good in the ensemble when she left the house, but suddenly the top felt tight, as if her boobs had inflated a cup size, and her skirt now felt a bit too short.

  She willed herself not to sweat profusely out of anxiety. At least the car’s AC could help with that. If she’d done one thing right, it was refusing Cal’s offer to give her a ride. Yes, they might have saved some gas, but it would have felt way too intimate.

  Sorry, planet. Her unstable libido just wouldn’t allow her to go green today. She promised to make it up to Mother Earth by walking somewhere she would normally drive to later in the week.

  The most important thing to remember, despite the impending dinner with an aggressively handsome man at a cozy restaurant, was that this was absolutely not a date. Which was good, since she hadn’t been on a proper date in about a year, and even that long-ago date would have been with Anthony who was probably glued to his fantasy football updates on his phone the entire time anyway.

  She didn’t even want to think about how long it’d been since she’d been on a first date.

  Not that this was a date.

  She grabbed her shoulder bag and headed into the packed lobby. The place was surprisingly busy given that it was a weeknight. She didn’t see Cal anywhere in the waiting area, so she glanced into the bustling restaurant. Butterflies swam through her stomach as she took in the low, romantic lighting. Then nausea drowned those butterflies when she spotted Cal from across the room. It was a merciful gift of the universe that she spotted him first, because he looked positively gorgeous and had he been watching her as she approached, he surely would have noticed the favorable appraisal.

  His cozy booth was lit only by an antique wall sconce, which cast a tempting, soft light onto his wavy golden hair. In his deep blue and perfectly cut suit and vest, Cal looked red carpet ready and far more dressed up than Winnie might have anticipated.

  This is only a business meeting. This is only a business meeting.

  It was not lost on Winnie, however, that she had never before had a business meeting with someone so sexy.

  When she approached the table, Cal did a double take, stood and broke into a smile that increased the wattage in their corner of the restaurant by a few marks.

  “Winnie,” he said to her in a tone that sounded more like a shocked question than a greeting.

  He reached out for her hand. It was a professional enough gesture, but the feel of Cal’s skin, his grip firm and warm, unsteadied her.

  In the celibacy game, touching a sexy man’s hands was playing with fire.

  “Hey there,” Winnie said, more calmly than she felt. He held on to her hand just a moment longer than she expected before returning to his seat. She slid into the opposite side of the high-backed booth and clasped her hands firmly around the clutch on her lap, so their shakiness wouldn’t betray her attempts at composure. The booth, which was covered in a gorgeous canopy of flowers, was at once huge and cozy, and she was aware of just how very close Cal felt across the table. Of just how intimate the setting was.

  “Winnie, you look...” he began before pausing ever so briefly. “Lovely.” His intense gaze flickered down her body quickly before returning politely to her face.

  “Well, low lighting can do wonders for a girl,” she joked with an awkward laugh, looking out into the restaurant and wondering just why it was so hard to keep eye contact with Cal.

  “That’s hardly the case here,” Cal said genuinely, leaning in and looking even more intently at Winnie.

  “You’re awfully dressed up yourself,” she observed casually, as if he wasn’t devastating her senses.

  Cal looked down at his suit.

  “Oh, this? Yeah. I came straight from a meeting with some investors in Evansdale,” he said, referring to the largest town in the region. “I always try to dress a little nicer when I’m trying to get people to give me money.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Like a charm,” he said, and she wondered for a moment if the man had ever been denied anything. Her gaze dared to meet his once more, despite the intensity she felt when they locked into hers. Soon enough, though, her eyes, which simply could not be trusted, skimmed down his handsome face and fixated on his mouth.

  He had the perfect mouth, in her opinion. His bottom lip was especially full. Bitable. Inviting.

  Why did her mouth suddenly feel so dry?

  She quickly grabbed the drink menu, looking for some liquid courage.

  “So, when you met with the last newspaper editor to discuss business, did you usually start with drinks?” she asked slyly, glancing at the half-empty beer glass in Cal’s hand.

  “The old editor usually started with drinks before I started breakfast, so it was somewhat of a moot point.”

  Winnie laughed a big laugh that somehow seemed to put them both at ease. It felt unfair that Cal could be that prett
y and genuinely funny.

  The waiter came through and she ordered a vodka tonic before turning her attention back to Cal.

  “I read your article by the way,” he offered.

  “Which one?”

  “Your best one. The football story.”

  Winnie snorted.

  “If you’re going to flatter me, please don’t flat out lie while doing it. Plus it was me and Randy’s story. We shared the byline, which was generous of him, given that he wrote three-quarters of it from his sick bed.”

  “I was sad that you didn’t reference the coach’s head almost popping off in anger. It was your best observation.”

  “Yeah, Randy nixed that line.”

  “The football story actually wasn’t my favorite though. I really enjoyed your piece on the new cultural council.”

  Pride swelled in Winnie’s chest. It hadn’t occurred to her that Cal would pay any attention to her writing. It surely had little to do with her and a lot to do with his need to keep up with community goings-on, but it felt more touching than she might have expected.

  “You read that? It’s a cool initiative and I think it’ll be great for the town. I had fun writing it.”

  “It showed.”

  “As opposed to the zoning story,” Winnie groaned. “I’m pretty sure that the only person who wanted to read that one was the mother of the zoning commissioner.”

  Cal chuckled.

  “It’s hard to make some of the stuff that happens around here seem interesting.”

  “And yet, a fist fight almost broke out at the zoning meeting.”

  “You chose to bury that detail?”