Until Winter Breaks

by Elana Johnson

  She wished his voice didn’t paint her insides with honey and heat.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore,” he said.

  “I can’t pay you very much.” She gestured to the sewing room. “I lost dozens of dresses. I’m already behind this month.”

  “I don’t need to be paid.”

  She cocked her hip. “You don’t?”

  “Not for this.” He gazed at her steadily, almost daring her to contradict him.

  “You said you were looking for a job.”

  “If you can cover the supplies, I’ll do all the labor.” He smiled at her in a bone-melting way. “And that’s a pretty sweet offer, Mills.”

  “Exactly.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Why are you offering this?”

  “Why can’t you just accept it?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense!”

  Jared straightened, his blue eyes darkening into gray. “What do you want from me? An admission that I’m lonely? Fine, I’m lonely. I like spending time with you. The last thing I want is to stick around my place all day long, without anyone to talk to.”

  Millie’s mouth snapped closed as Jared cast her a glare and walked back to the front door. “I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore. I used to work in construction, and it feels good to be doing it again.” He tossed her a daggered look over his shoulder. “But you know what? I’m sure there’re a dozen other shops that wouldn’t turn down the extra help. And the owner would be a lot nicer than you. So—”

  This time he turned silent as she placed her finger to his lips. Just as quickly, he shook her hand away. “Consider my offer retracted, sweetheart.”

  “Too late. I’ve already decided to accept.”

  He stripped the old hinges off the door and filled the holes. “Fine, then.”

  “Fine,” she repeated, retreating from the perfect storm swelling around Jared. It drew her toward him as much as it propelled her away.

  Chapter Five

  The plaster in the door had barely dried when Millie announced she was ready to go home.

  “It’s two o’clock,” Jared said, checking his watch. “And I’m not done with the door yet. The roof’s not—” He paused as she shouldered her purse. “Are you canceling on me?”

  She looked like she wanted to, her eyes darting away from his and back again. “No, I just don’t want to work anymore today.” She sighed. “It’s too overwhelming.” Since lunchtime, she’d bagged and moved all the dresses out of the showroom. While the plaster dried, he’d shoveled out the dried mud and swept the perimeter of the room in preparation for painting.

  “Fine, I’ll go shopping for a few minutes while you finish the door. We can finish the roof and everything tomorrow.”

  “Everything won’t be done in one day,” Jared reminded her. “But I should be able to get the roof done tomorrow, and we can buy all the supplies we need to make this place brand new tonight.”

  “Sure,” she said, stepping past him to get to her car. He watched her drive away, wondering where she could go shopping in this town. As far as he knew, well, he didn’t know anything about Redwood Bay. Not anymore.

  While getting lunch at the diner, he’d asked Lucy about the best places for dinner outside of town. She’d suggested Arcata, a ninety-minute drive south of Redwood Bay, and full of trendy restaurants and bistros. Jared wasn’t sure if Millie would go for it, but then he also wasn’t planning to ask her opinion. He’d pay for her gas and drive her car, since she wouldn’t get on his “deathtrap of a vehicle.”

  He had no illusions that their outing would be perfect. In fact, he fully expected her to get angry and abandon him on the side of the road. He had his credit cards at the ready and had mapped out all the hotels between here and Arcata.

  He pulled out the old tumbler, removed the doorknob, sanded down the wood. The black paint on the outside of the door hadn’t been refreshed in years, judging by the extreme fading. The inside was much darker, but Jared had taken it upon himself to purchase a new color.

  The bright purple stared back at him as he twirled the mixing stick through it. He repeated the process with the primer and had both sides of the door painted in only a few minutes. While it dried for the required half hour, he filled a bucket with soapy water and began washing the baseboards and walls.

  He lost himself in the work, moving from one task to the next almost without thought. The manual labor kept his mind busy—and away from the more unpleasant things he usually settled on. He couldn’t change what had happened in Denver. He couldn’t make Carla love him. He couldn’t help the increasing attraction between Millie and him.

  At least that was one thing he didn’t regret. Yet.

  He frowned as the sunlight coming through the doorway flickered. Would he end up regretting a relationship with Millie? His heart bumped out an irregular beat, telling him that it wasn’t quite ready to get involved with another woman so soon. He’d reinvented himself once before, and he needed to do it again.

  “You’re not done with the door?” Millie stood in the doorway. “And why is it white now?”

  Jared dropped the washcloth into the bucket. “It’s primer. I’m going to paint it.”

  Millie glanced around, her shoulders sagging a couple of inches. “You’re not going to be ready to go home for hours.”

  He crossed the space to her and stood in front of the purple paint can. “Go on without me. Then you can be surprised by the door color.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What color?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He nudged her toward the sidewalk. “Now go.”

  “Jared, this is my shop.”

  “I know what it is.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to make it exactly how you want it. You just don’t know it yet.” If the shop had had a door, he would’ve closed it in her face. As it was, he had to stand in the doorway until she reluctantly got in her car and drove away.

  Two hours later, Millie’s shop door had a new knob, a new paint color, and fit onto its hinges with exact precision. Tripp waited on the street with the windows down in his truck.

  Jared grinned at the purple door, suddenly flooded with a ridiculous amount of hope that Millie would like it, and in turn, start to like him.

  * * *

  Jared’s knee bounced like an over-caffeinated toddler waiting for Christmas morning in anticipation of Millie showing up for their appointment. Picking out baseboards and electrical switches could hardly be considered romantic, and yet Jared wore a ridiculous helping of cologne, his best jeans, a pristine black polo, and a grin as wide as Texas.

  Or at least he’d be smiling once Millie rang the doorbell. Ten minutes late, and not a whisper from next door. He could redecorate her place without her help, but he didn’t want to risk her disliking his selections, and thus transferring more of her animosity to him.

  The doorbell’s peal startled him away from the kitchen counter, his dark cowboy boots clattering against Sophie’s hardwood floors. A few long strides later, he answered the door to a view of the ocean.

  He glanced toward Millie’s house, half-expecting to see her sprinting back to safety. Instead, she perched on the edge of the porch with her swishy skirt billowing in the breeze.

  Jared leaned against the doorway as something hot roared to life inside his throat and traveled down his spine. “Millie?”

  She spun, her dark curls tangling with her overly large gold hoop earrings. A mixture of emotions flitted through her expression—apprehension, courage, anxiety, calm—but she erased them easily. Jared got the feeling that she’d had years of experience giving people only a glimpse of what stormed beneath.

  His law training had taught him how to read people, and he’d found most of her cues simple to interpret. But now he stalled. Stalled like he’d hit a wall of darkness.

  He recovered when she raised her eyebrows. “The Home Depot awaits.” He gestured toward her driveway. “I believe you said you’d donate your vehicle.”

 
; A tentative twitch of her lips drew his attention there. “Am I overdressed for the hardware store?”

  “Definitely.” Jared moved down the steps with the more delicate footfalls of Millie behind him. “Have you seen the kind of people skulking around Taylor’s?”

  Millie laughed—a delightful sound that rang through Jared’s ears like birdsong. “Skulking? Is that lawyer language?”

  “And we’re not going to Taylor’s.” Jared resisted the urge to slide his fingers through Millie’s as she stepped to his side.

  “We’re not?”

  “We need a larger selection.” He slid into the driver’s seat and held his hand out for the keys. “I’m driving, sweetheart,” he added when she cocked a hip and appraised him.

  “It’s my car.”

  “Do you even know where a Home Depot is?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she slapped the keys into his palm and stalked to the passenger side.

  Jared concealed his chuckle behind the starting of the ignition and the adjustment of the radio. After all, Arcata was a long drive. He hadn’t shared his plans with her, but he couldn’t keep them a secret as he set her car south.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Arcata. Best Home Depot this side of the Rockies.”

  “Jared.” His name sounded like a whine.

  “Millie,” he mimicked.

  “You didn’t say this would take all night.”

  “Didn’t I?” He cast her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “You eat dinner yet?”

  “It’s after seven.”

  “And that answers my question how?”

  “Of course I ate dinner.” She pressed her arms to her chest like she needed them there to keep herself together. “This isn’t a date.”

  “I didn’t have time to eat, what with how long I stayed at your shop.”

  She faced the window. “No one forced you.”

  “You certainly didn’t.” Jared didn’t mean for his tone to be reminiscent of bitter, burnt, black coffee. But she didn’t have to be all crossed-arms cold, either.

  “I—what does—?”

  “Can we not do this?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t afford the gas to Arcata and back.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He pointed at her and then at him. “I mean, us. Can’t we get along?”

  She visibly crumpled in the seat next to him. “Can’t we get what we need at Taylor’s?”

  Jared swerved to the side of the road and flipped the car around. “Fine. But if we stay in Redwood Bay, we have to get something to eat.”

  Her silence spoke volumes—and Jared didn’t like anything he heard through the warbling on the radio.

  * * *

  “Not the diner.” The back of Millie’s sweater velcroed itself to the passenger seat. She was not going into that diner with him. Ever. Everyone was already talking about the days he’d spent at her shop. That afternoon, while Millie sat in her hairdresser’s chair and Sadie added curls to her hair, Sadie had eluded that he needed to start nailing more than just roof tiles. The same heat that had blushed her face then flushed her body again.

  “Is Diana open at night?” The eerie calmness in Jared’s voice set Millie’s nerves rattling. He was a lawyer through and through, never letting an emotion escape the cracks in his armor.

  “No.” Millie’s stomach squeezed. “There’s a seafood restaurant on the wharf.”

  “All right then.” Jared’s hesitance hung in the air, evident in the careful, cautious way he backed out of the stall and pulled toward the street. A street he checked twice before entering, though not a single car could be found.

  “We don’t have to,” she said.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Why don’t you want to go to the wharf?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  Jared glared, and that flush rushed through Millie again. It was absolutely ridiculous that his frustration got her blood pumping so hard. A sexy smile should do the trick. A slow brush of his fingers against hers. A warm hand sliding over her shoulder. Any of those should—and would—bring the burn.

  But his fury?

  She needed professional help, and not with her roof.

  “My dad used to have a boat construction shop along the wharf.”

  Millie noted the change in the air, a muted, calming change.

  “And he didn’t like me much, and I left town to get away from him.” He turned toward the wharf.

  “When you were sixteen?”

  “I hate this town.” He exhaled like oxygen was poison to his lungs. “What else have you heard about me?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice strayed into an upper octave.

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Jared slid her that sexy smile and, sure enough, her blood thrummed and hummed like she had live bees in her veins.

  “Come on, Mills.” He cut the engine and got out of the car. “I’m starving, and this night ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

  Neither was she, and as Millie watched Jared saunter toward the restaurant’s entrance, she wondered if she should take a chance on her hot new neighbor, motorcycle and leather jacket notwithstanding.

  Shaking some sense into herself, Millie hardened her resolve by reminding herself of Brady, his death, her uprooting, the years she’d spent trying to heal her heart.

  Just because Jared had a handsome face and dark intrigue didn’t mean she could take unreasonable risks—and he was both risky and unreasonable.

  * * *

  Jared chose the seat facing away from the ocean, allowing Millie to gaze past him without seeming rude. Not that studying him was painful.

  He asked her questions about her shop, what her tastes were like, what color palette she preferred, what her budget and timeline entailed. She found him easy to converse with when speaking of her shop. At the same time, discussing the renovations made his presence in her life seem more permanent.

  “This sounds like it will take weeks.” She spooned the last bite of her dessert into her mouth, an attempt at nonchalance she thought she pulled off rather well.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Why would it be a problem?” Her eyes drifted from the ocean and found his.

  “Because you made it sound like one.”

  “I’m just anxious to re-open.”

  “You can re-open tomorrow.” He leaned away from the table, crossed his arms, quirked one eyebrow. “The dangerous part of the roof is done. If your customers can put up with a little dust, re-opening isn’t an issue.”

  Millie nodded, though she wanted to argue further. Having him hover as he did his handiwork was an issue. She didn’t want him to know how few customers came into her shop, how late she arrived to work, or how early she left. She made enough to live comfortably, mostly from baptisms and weddings, but the work was sporadic and unpredictable. She might go weeks without an order, and then have to work fourteen-hour days to make a deadline.

  February didn’t produce a lot of weddings, and frankly Millie didn’t want Jared hanging around to witness her slowest time of year.

  “Well, Taylor’s closes in an hour if I’m not mistaken.” Jared stood, his lean form drawing Millie’s attention. That blasted eyebrow stretched toward his hairline when she remained seated.

  “I can’t leave you here, sweetheart.” He dangled her keys from his fingers. “Though maybe you do need a taste of your own medicine….” He chuckled as she swiped for her keys.

  “I don’t feel like shopping tonight.” She shouldered her purse and stormed past him.

  “Sure, you do.” He matched her gait, his long legs keeping pace with her easily. “In my experience, all women like to shop. My ex, Carla—” His voice silenced as if Millie had pushed a mute button.

  So he had an ex-girlfriend. At least it wasn’t a dead husband. Still, something snagged within her. Something that spoke of old wounds. Something that wanted to erase his heartache, the tightness f
rom his jaw, the blazing bonfire in his eyes.

  Millie left the restaurant with the name Carla scorching her ears and Jared’s even footsteps behind her. She waited on the passenger side of the car. He stepped next to her, too close to be casual, but didn’t unlock the vehicle.

  Against her will and with every fiber of her being protesting, she met his gaze. Instantly, a cord bound them together. A cord alive with danger, daring, desire.

  Millie touched his chest, a feather-light touch. He drew her into an embrace so tender she could scarcely believe him capable of such gentleness. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and Millie yearned to stretch toward him.

  The yearning liquefied, and Millie rose onto her toes a fraction of an inch. It was all the encouragement Jared needed.

  Chapter Six

  Jared didn’t mean to kiss Millie in the parking lot. That first union of their mouths should’ve happened somewhere special, like maybe her front porch. Or under the tree he’d repaired for her. Or as he bent her over the counter at her shop, with the smell of paint and pheromones heavy in the air.

  When she didn’t shove him away, smack him, or scream—when he realized she was kissing him back—he decided pressed up against her car was a fine place for kissing.

  The thrill of her fingers along his scalp, the press of her curves against his chest, the delicious taste of her dessert in his mouth, drove Jared to explore more than he normally would have.

  A tease with his tongue generated a low moan in the back of her throat. She tilted her head back, and he moved his mouth to her waiting and willing throat. She gripped his shoulders like she’d fall without holding onto him. “Jared.” Her words, wispy like the fluff from a dandelion, weren’t a command to stop. More like a plea to keep going.

  He spoke her name against her throat before reclaiming her mouth. The kiss deepened, and he wasn’t the one to do it. He went along because he wanted to, because he was lonely, because she made him feel alive again after months of feeling nothing.