Wedding Bands

by Ev Bishop

  Nina’s had been worse. She’d simply said, “No.”

  Even Brian and Dave, who understood so many other things about him, didn’t get it. “Dude, you’re a lawyer,” Dave always said. “Why would you give that up?”

  Over the years, he finally stopped mentioning the bakery plan, ever—until Jo came back.

  But talking to Jo, why he’d want to cook and bake for a living wasn’t even a question. She totally got it. Totally got him—

  Ouch! Stinging pain cut off that joy-triggering realization. Callum set his razor down and leaned into the mirror, tilting his jaw to see the damage. Blood beaded on the firm ridge just below his ear. Damn it—considering how distracted he was, he was lucky he’d got through this ritual without looking like a mummy. He pressed a small piece of tissue over the nick, slapped on aftershave, and padded out into the kitchen to make coffee.

  Was it remotely possible that Jo was playing him? Getting him excited with her enthusiasm, bringing him to a spot where it would only seem natural that she’d ask him to back her as a business partner because they were such close . . . friends.

  No. Callum shook his head and ground the dark roast beans longer than needed. Jo wasn’t playing him. She wasn’t the type. She might try to avoid uncomfortable moments—just one more way they were alike—but she wouldn’t purposely manipulate him.

  Nina just knew him too well, and her not wanting to be with him didn’t mean she wanted him to be with anyone else. This was one more of her control games, or even, possibly, something she sincerely believed. Nina would think Jo was up to something because that was how Nina lived—befriending those who could help her get something she wanted, cutting ties with those who stopped being useful. But not everyone was like that. They really weren’t.

  The coffee had finished brewing and smelled wonderful. Callum poured a big mug, added a generous amount of heated cream, and headed out to the large deck that overlooked the yard and gave a wonderful view of the small town in the valley below.

  The sky was orange and pink in the distance, and gold-tipped clouds tiptoed across it. He felt warm despite the cold, and finally let himself just enjoy reliving the evening before. How fun and sweet Jo was—authentically, he was sure of it. She didn’t have the ability to keep secrets or foster hidden agendas. She was the opposite of Nina in every way that mattered—and that was something he’d put money on.

  Chapter 19

  Jo sat at the kitchen table, picking at a fruit plate she’d made for breakfast, staring out at the pouring rain—or what rain she could see, through the fog of condensation on the poorly insulated window. Part of her wished the snow would return. It was December, after all, and she was ready for it now.

  And she wished it wasn’t a Tuesday. And she knew why she wished it wasn’t. Callum worked a longer day than usual every Tuesday because he traveled to a nearby community to represent Ministry of Children and Family cases that Archer and Sons held the contract for. She wondered idly why she hadn’t asked about what he did in court, what type of work the cases involved, etc.—but then again, she already knew why she didn’t. Callum’s eyes flattened when anyone brought up law, and his shoulders tensed.

  She wondered if he was aware that even physically he didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, and smiled as she imagined what his response would be if she asked. How he’d open his mouth to deny it, then close it again without saying anything. Then he’d laugh—and finally speak, only to disagree, to deny it . . . and eventually he’d admit she was right.

  Callum Archer. Callum Archer. Callum Archer! The only person she’d ever stayed up all night talking with—countless times as a teenager, and then again, how many times this month? Her first kiss, and maybe, if she was lucky, the last man she’d kiss, too—

  Oh, no, wait a minute—

  She dropped the apple she’d been crunching and had a horrible epiphany—but one that put a grin on her face that wouldn’t leave. Samantha, as usual, darn it anyway, was right.

  Just last night she’d accused Jo: “You’ve fallen for him. Don’t waste your breath or my time pretending otherwise.”

  Jo, of course, had “wasted” her breath and used up some of Samantha’s oh-so-precious time explaining that she absolutely was not, could not, and would not be “falling” for Callum . . . and failed to convince Samantha one iota.

  “Uh huh,” Samantha had replied. “Tell someone born yesterday.”

  Jo picked up her apple again, and took a huge bite. And her feelings weren’t even terrifying. They were . . . lovely. She would tell him soon—and pray it was still mutual. It was hard, so hard, to let herself trust that this really might be it: a relationship that could last. After all, no rule in the universe dictated that the one you loved would love you back—and while she’d forgiven the boy for breaking her heart, she didn’t know if she’d survive the man doing it again.

  She took another bite.

  In love. Really? Fancy that. And it also explained why she was meandering about the house like a fool instead of getting down to work. The last of Ray’s . . . treasures, to be polite, that she’d postponed dealing with while she and Callum cleaned, repaired and winterized weren’t going to take care of themselves.

  In love! Could it be true? She’d be lucky if she got one box sorted. She tossed her apple core in the compost bucket and headed to the back room—now the sole bastion of Ray’s remaining hoard. Progress!

  Jo made it through two boxes—deciding everything in them, except one small hand-carved box she recognized as Ray’s handiwork, was going to the Salvation Army—before she got distracted from her task by the phone ringing.

  She stood up and stretched, her hands pressed against the base of her spine, then grabbed the phone from where it sat atop the stack of boxes.

  “Jo, hi!”

  “Hello, Dave.”

  “You recognize my voice now,” he said, mightily pleased.

  “Or call display tipped me off, I’ll never tell. What’s up?”

  “Well, we haven’t visited for a while and the power’s down at work, so I have a free day . . . wondered if you wanted to get lunch or take a wander somewhere.”

  It was true that they hadn’t hung out a lot, only twice, in fact, since his declaration of interest. And that infrequency was fully intentional on Jo’s part, though Dave had been good to his word and not brought up romance again. She’d registered his occasional moon-eyed stare, however, when he thought she wasn’t looking. “I don’t know. I’m pretty busy today.”

  “Working on the place? I could help. I’d like to have an in with Greenridge’s up and coming hotelier.”

  “It’s not a—” Jo had been about to say not a hotel, but what was the point? She’d told Dave her dream was to own a bed-and-breakfast not a hotel, and had explained the difference, multiple times. It was interesting how he proclaimed to have this eternal burning desire for her, when he had no real interest in anything she talked about. And that was good—proved his infatuation would fade as they spent more time together and he realized they weren’t a good fit.

  “No, I’ve pretty much got the house as good as I can without any money, and the winterizing’s done too.”

  “Wow, you got a lot done in a short time all by your lonesome.”

  Jo held the phone between her chin and shoulder to free her hands, pushed one of the emptied boxes out of the way, and opened a new one. “Well, I can’t take full credit.”

  “Samantha helped? Weird. I’d never pick her as someone to get her hands dirty.”

  “No, you’re right about that—literally anyway. It was Callum. He had some banked days to use up, and he knows about this stuff, so he popped by a bit.”

  “Ah, Callum,” Dave said in a knowing tone that rankled Jo immediately.

  “Yes, Callum. And you know, since we’re on the subject, your description of him doesn’t seem to fit him at all.”

  “My description?”

  “You implied he’s a womanizer. From our talks, it doesn�
�t seem like he’s so much as dated since he and Nina broke up.”

  “Well, I guess you only call it dating if you’re interested in seeing the person again.”

  That stopped Jo for a second because it was true. Real playboys never admitted to having relationships. How many “clients” had Devin slept with—and stone-faced lied about—even when confronted with proof?

  “I never had a relationship with any of those people. I never cared about them at all,” he’d said, like it was a valid defense. Still, Callum was not Devin. He just wasn’t. Not in a million years. In fact, no matter how bitter or jaded she sometimes wanted to be, not many people were Devins, period. Thank goodness.

  Jo still hadn’t managed a response, when Dave spoke again. “And the other thing is . . . actually, never mind. You’re a grown up and you know what you’re doing, but we’re friends, right? Don’t friends look out for each other?”

  The “grown up” comment was ridiculous and obvious, and yes, friends looked out for each other, but Dave’s version of “friendship” felt more like an obsession to control her. She didn’t say anything confrontational, however, because she wanted to know what, if anything, Callum had said to Dave about her.

  “Yes, there are definitely things we need to discuss, so how about it? Meet for lunch?” Dave asked.

  Jo glanced at her watch. Eleven thirty-five, and she could use something more substantial than fruit to tide her over till dinner, plus she could pick up some more boxes—ones for the small amount of to-keep items.

  “Yeah, all right. Sounds good, but give me time to clean up. How about a quarter to one at Don’s?”

  “Excellent. See you soon.”

  The cheery warm restaurant was already decorated for Christmas, which seemed too early for Jo’s tastes, and was packed full of chatty late lunchers just arriving and early diners trying to finish up and leave. Jo inhaled the savory garlic and onion goodness in the air and sighed happily. She was starving. Good decision to meet Dave here!

  And speaking of Dave, in keeping with his overly eager self, he’d arrived early and claimed a small booth in the back. She slid onto the espresso brown bench across from him, then turned to scan the wall-sized blackboard behind her that featured the regularly changing menu.

  “So what’s good here besides everything?” she asked. She’d discovered Don’s a week ago with Callum and was already hooked.

  “I’ll have whatever you have.” Dave smiled.

  “Well, sheesh, that’s no fun. How can I be jealous of what I didn’t order if you get what I get?”

  Dave laughed.

  “No, seriously. And what if I order a salad, no dressing, and that’s it because I’m not very hungry?”

  “I like salad.”

  “Oh, you’re hopeless,” Jo grumbled, only half joking.

  Their food came, loaded plates of pulled pork enchiladas, refried beans and mixed greens salad with the most amazing dressing Jo had ever tasted. She got down to serious eating, while Dave took his time—and scraped away the sour cream drizzle and the beans.

  She shook her head. He grinned again.

  “So what are these ‘things’ we ‘definitely’ need to talk about?” she asked when the edge of her hunger was dulled.

  Dave pushed his yam fries around his plate.

  “Are you not feeling well?” Jo asked. “You’re not eating—”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I just don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

  Jo leaned in to hear him better and matched his low tone. “Get in the middle of what? You’re starting to worry me.”

  Dave looked away as if uncomfortable and trying to come to some sort of inner decision. Eventually he sighed and met her eyes.

  “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell the person it involves that I even whispered a hint about it? And do you swear not to hold it against me if . . . if I made the wrong decision in telling you? I want to believe in the guy, but like I’ve said—”

  “You’re talking about Callum.”

  “I am.” Dave nodded and finally took a big bite of food—at exactly the last minute Jo would’ve chosen him to.

  “I promise, of course. What is it?”

  “First I have a confession.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I already knew you were spending a lot of time with Callum.”

  “You did?”

  Dave nodded again. “And I’m disappointed, of course, but I get it. He’s Callum Archer. Lawyer. Big shot. Great looking. Funny. Plus, you guys have a history. . . .”

  “Uh, Dave?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Cut to the chase.”

  “Anyway, he told me you guys were officially seeing each other.”

  “He did? That’s weird.”

  Dave’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  Jo took a big sip of her lemony brewed-in-house iced tea. “No reason.”

  “He also told me how much he’s enjoyed helping you fix up Ray’s, and how it really suits him. He used to want to run a bakery. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah.” Jo smiled, remembering her and Callum’s recent conversation and knowing it wasn’t a case of “used to” at all.

  “So, well, here’s the thing. He’s hoping you’ll ask him to invest in your project—to buy into the business, or, at the very least, let him front you the money to get it off the ground.”

  “No way,” Jo said. “Not going to happen. He can forget it—and so can you.”

  Dave’s eyebrows rose. “You won’t even consider it? Why not? You’re desperate for cash, and Callum said if you don’t come up with a real solution soon, the place will be sold. You know that.”

  Jo nodded just as a curvy, sweet-faced server popped by. “Would you like that wrapped to take home?”

  Jo nodded again. “Yes, please.”

  Dave had hardly eaten anything, but said he was done, too.

  “You don’t trust him, is that it?” Dave asked the minute the server left with their dishes.

  “No . . .” said Jo. “That’s not it at all. I . . . well, I hadn’t even thought of Callum as a potential partner that way.”

  “Not ‘that way’—as in not in a business way, but in some other way?” Dave interrupted.

  You had to hand it to Dave. Some things he caught pretty quickly. She hadn’t even realized what it sounded like she might be saying. She blushed.

  “Let’s talk about something else, please. I don’t want Callum’s money. Never have. Never will.”

  “Even if it means having your dream fail?

  “Dreams can change.”

  “But you’d take your sister’s money.”

  “That’s different. If she wanted in . . . well, I thought it could be a healing thing for us.”

  Dave nodded and asked if she was going to finish her water. She shook her head.

  “Mind if I finish it then?”

  “Knock yourself out,” Jo said motioning for him to go ahead.

  “I think you’re right,” he said, crunching on a piece of ice.

  “About?”

  “About not offering Callum a piece of the action.”

  “It’s not like that either. I’m not trying to hog anything.”

  “Oh, I know—and besides, it’s okay. He’ll be disappointed, but he’ll find another pet project. He always does.”

  “He does?”

  “Yeah, he’s always investing in some screwball cause or another. It’s one of his good qualities, actually. Really generous—though sometimes I worry he’s too comfortable with people asking for handouts. If he sought out specific investment opportunities, that’d be one thing—but he seems to feel just the opposite. ‘You can’t get if you don’t ask’ is his motto.”

  “Dave, why are you telling me all this?”

  Dave met her stare steadily. “I don’t know exactly. I mean I like you and all, as you’re well aware, but if I ever convince you to give me a chance, I don’t want it to be because I
prevented you and Callum from finding out if you were right for each other.”

  “And knowing my past and what happened with Devin, you think me and Callum running a business together would be a good thing, a safe thing—for either of us?”

  Dave fiddled with the straw in the now empty water glass. “I’m not sure. It could totally blow up in your face. That’s why I was hesitant to even bring it up, but then again, maybe you’re the woman he was waiting for to make a life change.” Jo snorted. Dave ignored her. “Go with your gut. If you feel that strongly about not having him involved, don’t get him involved.”

  “Okay . . . well, thanks.”

  Dave shrugged. “No problem.”

  Chapter 20

  Jo thought about her conversation with Dave all the rest of the afternoon. He was one of Callum’s oldest friends, and if he said Callum was interested, he’d know.

  But was she interested? Could she risk everything again? It wasn’t just a matter of another business. She’d learned the hard way what to avoid and what to make sure you got in writing. But for her it wouldn’t just be a business. She wanted it to be her home. If she invited Callum to invest, to partner in the B & B, that’s really what she’d be asking: to make a home with her. And that? Now? It would be crazy. It was way too soon. It was, like she’d told Dave, not going to happen. Or so she’d decided, until Callum stopped by that evening unannounced.

  “I’d say I’m sorry for the surprise visit, but I’m not sorry one bit,” he said, grinning. “I had to see you. Is it a bad time?”

  “Never. You get a special show-up-whenever-you-want card because of all the help you gave me.”

  He stepped inside and pulled off his snowy boots and jacket. He was wearing her favorite sweater—the soft oatmeal thing—and she wanted to hug him. “Is it laminated?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “My card. I want it to be official. You know, laminated. Durable.”