Not Until You (Hope Springs Book 3)

by Valerie M. Bodden

  “And you’re okay?” Dad repeated.

  “I’m fine.” Nate clamped his teeth together. He would not convince himself Dad cared. Not this time.

  Dad’s exhale crackled over the phone. “And you really think I had something to do with this?”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not! For Pete’s sake, Nathan, I’d think you’d know that without asking. Why would I set fire to my own building?”

  “You were pretty adamant the other day that she had to be out of there one way or another.”

  “I meant that I was sending an eviction letter for you to sign and give to her. Not that I was going to commit a felony. I leave that to you.”

  There it was. Nate had known they wouldn’t be able to get through a conversation without his past coming up. He forced himself not to react. “Do you think Talmadge could have done it?”

  “What makes you think someone did it? Couldn’t it have been an accident?”

  “Maybe.” Nate had to concede that. Violet’s theory that someone had used an iron to burn down the store seemed pretty far-fetched. “But Violet is sure the iron that caused it was unplugged and put away, so someone had to get it out. And Talmadge was the last person in the store before she closed yesterday.”

  Dad snorted. “That’s thin. She’s probably afraid she won’t get the insurance payout if she admits it was her fault.”

  “She’s not like that, Dad.”

  “Everyone’s like that for the right price.”

  Nate shook his head. This was going nowhere. But he needed to ask one more thing before he hung up. “Could I talk to Mom for a few more seconds? Please.”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Does she even know where I am? Have you even told them where you’ve banished me?”

  Instead of answering, Dad hung up.

  Chapter 29

  Nate wrung the sooty water from his sponge and attacked the wall yet again. Violet had sent everyone else home two hours ago, but he’d insisted he wasn’t leaving until she did.

  She’d wanted to argue. He could see it in her eyes. But he’d picked up his sponge and gotten back to work, and a minute later she had fallen in beside him.

  He wished she didn’t have to go through any of this, but he had to admit that it was comfortable working together. Neither of them said much, but that was okay. Somehow, they seemed to be sharing something deeper.

  “Phew.” Violet dropped her sponge into the bucket and swiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. Nate grinned as her efforts to keep her face clean failed. A light stripe of soot crossed her face. He resisted the urge to wipe at the smudge only because his own hands were even dirtier.

  “I’m hungry. How about you?” Her smile went right through him.

  He didn’t understand how someone who’d been through everything she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours could come out of it smiling like that.

  “I could eat.”

  “Hidden Cafe? My treat?”

  There was no way he could say no when she looked at him like that.

  “We should probably change first.” He pointed to her t-shirt, which had been the lightest shade of pink this morning but was now tinged gray.

  Fortunately, they’d been given the all-clear to return to their apartments. And it sounded like Mrs. D’Angelo would be able to come home tomorrow.

  Twenty minutes later, Nate had showered and changed and was ready to go. Unlike the first time he’d knocked on her door to go to dinner with her friends, he wasn’t the least bit nervous this time. Being with Violet felt more natural to him now than being without her ever had.

  When she didn’t come to the door right away, he opened it a crack. “Violet?”

  “I need ten more minutes,” she called from the back of the apartment. “Come on in.”

  Music filtered to the living room as he stepped through the door, and he found himself humming along without the pang he usually felt. He moved to the couch and patted his back pocket. She may think she was treating, but she was wrong about that. Except his wallet wasn’t there.

  “Hey, I think I left my wallet down in the store. I’m going to grab it. Be right back.”

  He jogged down the steps and into the workshop. They’d made good progress today. She’d probably be able to reopen the store in a day or two. For the hundredth time, Nate was swamped by the staggering reality of how much worse it could have been. Of what could have happened. He could have lost Violet. Every time he thought about it, his body had a visceral response, his chest tightening, his throat catching.

  But he hadn’t lost her.

  She was still here. Still alive. And still in one piece.

  He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t prayed for that. Couldn’t pretend God hadn’t heard him. Couldn’t pretend God hadn’t answered.

  But he didn’t know what to do with that information. So he pressed it down and pushed it to the back of his mind. He could process it later. Or not. One answered prayer didn’t necessarily mean he and God were all good again.

  He grabbed his wallet off the workbench where he’d left it this morning and turned to go, but something made him stop. He moved toward the sales floor. He didn’t know exactly where he was going until his feet stopped in front of it.

  The Bosendorfer.

  He stared at it. It was a beautiful piece, rounded in all the right places, the keys gleaming and just crying out for someone to play them.

  But it couldn’t be him.

  He’d promised himself.

  Still, he found himself settling onto the bench and resting his fingers on the keys. Their cool smoothness tingled through his fingertips. All he’d have to do was apply the slightest pressure.

  Nate closed his eyes, letting the silent war between his fingers and his brain rage.

  His fingers won out.

  A G minor chord resonated across the shop, and something stirred in his soul.

  He tried a few more chords. It felt right and wrong at the same time to be playing again.

  But this was the language of his heart. His soul.

  He adjusted himself on the bench and brought both hands to the keys, picking out the first notes of a song he’d written years ago. It was the song that had brought his band to the attention of the record producer, but that’s not why he played it.

  He played it because it was the song that expressed the deepest longing of his heart, a longing to know that he was loved unconditionally, a longing to know that whatever he had done, God had prepared a place for him. He couldn’t deny that he’d felt that longing again lately. But he hadn’t known how to soothe it.

  Now, he closed his eyes and let the words of the song do what nothing else could. As he sang, a slow trickle of relief flowed over him.

  He let the chords carry him, let the song lift him until he didn’t know where he was anymore.

  Violet swiped on a light layer of lip gloss and emerged into the living room, still humming along to the music she’d just turned off. Today had been hard, there was no denying that.

  But her friends had made it easier. They’d dropped everything and spent all day getting soot-covered and dirty to help her.

  Especially Nate. He could have walked away. He could have said it was her problem. But he’d stayed, long after she’d insisted he leave.

  “Okay, I had to wash my hair three times to get rid of the smoke smell, but I’m finally ready.” She stopped as she entered the living room. It was empty.

  She glanced around the apartment, but unless Nate had decided to play an epic game of hide and seek, he wasn’t here. He’d said he was going to run downstairs to grab his wallet, but that had been at least ten minutes ago.

  She grabbed a light coat from the hook next to her door and stepped into the hallway. “Nate?” Had he gone back to his apartment to wait? But when she knocked there, all she heard was a faint snuffling from Tony.

  She started down the steps. No one had worked harder than
him in the workshop today―maybe he’d gone back to it. Though she hoped not, since then he’d have to clean up again, and she was starving.

  The moment she opened the workshop door, the lingering smell of smoke hit her nose. But that wasn’t what stopped her in her tracks. A rich melody filtered to her from the front of the store.

  The song was somehow familiar even though she’d never heard the words before. She stepped into the workshop and followed the music toward the sales floor. She knew exactly where it was coming from.

  After a few more chords, a deep male voice joined the lilting music.

  Violet’s hand lifted to her heart.

  She’d never heard Nate sing before, but that was his voice.

  She inched closer, afraid if he heard her, he’d stop. Finally, she came to the alcove where the piano had sat for so long.

  Nate’s eyes were closed, and his face wore an expression she couldn’t place. He bowed his head as he began to sing another verse.

  Can your love really be so great, so vast

  Can you really love me, no matter my past

  No matter my future, or who I am right now

  Are you the one I need, or are you a dream somehow

  An ache in my heart that will never cease

  Or the one who can fill me―fill me with peace?

  The song drew her closer, but she bumped against a floor lamp that let out a metallic clang.

  Nate’s eyes snapped open, but his fingers continued to play over the keys.

  His eyes latched onto hers and didn’t let go.

  Violet couldn’t look away.

  It was as if her soul was being tugged up from all the layers of grief and pain she had cradled it in the past three years.

  She felt raw and exposed and yet also alive.

  As Nate’s voice picked up the song again, she was drawn closer to him, until she stood only steps in front of him. His eyes were still locked on hers.

  Every part of her body seemed to sing with the connection between them.

  After another minute, Nate’s voice grew quiet and dropped out. The piano, too, softened, then faded.

  And still their gaze remained locked.

  Violet felt the steady in and out of her breath. Felt the slow thump of her heart.

  Finally, she dragged her eyes from his, down to the piano. “You wrote that?” The song had been so raw, so open. Not at all how she thought of Nate.

  There was something in his smile she couldn’t place―longing, maybe?

  “A long time ago.”

  Something in his voice tugged her closer, and he slid over as she moved to sit on the piano bench next to him. She lifted her hands to the keys. “Can you teach me?”

  He watched her fingers for a second, then moved his hand slowly to touch hers, shaping her fingers to the keys. The simple connection of their hands made her feel more awake than she had in years. He pressed gently on her thumb until a note rang out. “C,” he said.

  He moved to the next finger. “D.”

  After he’d run through a scale, he lifted his hand off of hers. “We should probably get that dinner now.”

  She swallowed. Nodded. But neither of them moved.

  His head tipped closer, and Violet’s heart went wild. He was going to kiss her.

  She should turn her head, run, move out of the way. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers.

  She waited, her breath caught in her lungs.

  After a second, Nate slid off the bench. “You were starved an hour ago. You must be famished by now.”

  He threaded his way through the displays toward the back room. By the time Violet caught up, she’d almost managed to convince herself that it was for the best that they hadn’t kissed.

  Almost―but not quite.

  Chapter 30

  The wind cut through Nate’s coat, but he didn’t care. The weather may have darkened as they’d entered October, but his days had brightened. Ever since that night on the piano bench when he and Violet had been within heartbeats of kissing. He’d kicked himself a thousand times for pulling away. Even if he knew it was what was best for Violet.

  In the week since then, he’d been looking for another opportunity to bring his lips to hers. But though they spent nearly every second he wasn’t at work together, he hadn’t found the right moment yet. He wanted it to be perfect. And he was willing to wait to find that.

  She’d invited everyone over for dinner tonight, and he’d promised to help get things ready. Not that he had any idea how to cook, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to pass up any chance to spend time with her. He’d been foolish enough to waste those opportunities before. Not anymore.

  He jogged up the stairs and found Mrs. D’Angelo just emerging from her apartment.

  “Hey, Mrs. D. Thanks again for the pie.” He patted his stomach. “Though I probably shouldn’t have eaten it all in one night.”

  Only a day after she’d returned from the hospital, Mrs. D’Angelo had brought him an apple pie to thank him for saving her. He’d been embarrassed and yet at the same time, filled with a sense of something larger than himself.

  “You’re welcome, dear.” Mrs. D’Angelo gave him her crinkly smile. She reminded him of his own grandma, and the longing for his family that always hovered in the background flared up.

  “God sure knew what he was doing when he brought you to Hope Springs.” Her voice was scratchy from the smoke she’d inhaled, but her words were clear.

  Nate froze. He could admit that perhaps God had answered his prayer to save Violet. But it wasn’t God who had brought him to Hope Springs. It was his own mistakes. “Actually, I moved here to work for my father.”

  Mrs. D’Angelo shook her head. “That might be the circumstance that brought you here. But do you really think God didn’t have a bigger purpose in mind? Look what he’s done with you since you’ve been here. Don’t think I haven’t seen how you’ve changed in the past two months. You’re not the same surly, feeling-sorry-for-himself man you were then.”

  “I―” But Nate had no response to that. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take it as an insult or a compliment.

  “God has softened your heart, young man.” Mrs. D’Angelo stooped to pick up the paper on her welcome mat. “And if I’m not mistaken, he’s used your Violet to do it.” She winked at him.

  Nate opened his mouth to protest, but by the time he’d come up with a response, she’d already disappeared into her apartment.

  “She’s not my Violet,” he finally whispered to the empty hallway.

  He moved slowly to Violet’s door and knocked, still contemplating Mrs. D’Angelo’s words.

  Violet opened the door, greeting him with the warm smile he’d come to love.

  There she is. He couldn’t stop the thought. My Violet.

  “Hey.” Violet resisted the urge to hug Nate the moment he stepped into her apartment. Much as she wanted to feel his arms around her, she’d never greeted him with a hug before, and it’d be weird to start now.

  “Hey.” Nate’s answering smile made her stomach flutter. She could step closer right now and just kiss him. There was no use pretending she hadn’t been thinking about doing just that every moment since they’d almost kissed on the piano bench last weekend.

  But he clearly hadn’t been ready, and she didn’t want to scare him off.

  “So, you ready to cook?” She wiped her hands on her apron, more to have something to do with them than because they were dirty.

  “As long as you tell me exactly what I need to do.” He gave her a self-conscious look. “I may have neglected to mention that I’m not exactly a top chef.”

  “That’s okay.” Violet led the way to the kitchen, that nervous fluttering in her stomach still in full force. “I’ll go easy on you. You can make the graham cracker crust for the cheesecake.”

  She passed him a package of grahams. “The food processor is over there.” She pointed to its spot in the c
orner of the kitchen counter.

  “Um, okay. Do you have a recipe?”

  Violet grabbed a spoon from the antique juice pitcher that held her kitchen utensils. “You’re kidding right?”

  Nate was staring at the package of graham crackers as if they were a grenade that might explode in his hand.

  She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Okay, you weren’t kidding. Haven’t you ever made a graham cracker crust?”

  Nate passed her the grahams. “Literally, the extent of my kitchen experience involves pushing buttons on the microwave.”

  She opened the package. “Didn’t you ever help your mom in the kitchen?” It was a dangerous question, she knew. He always shut down when she asked about his family. But she’d found herself wanting to know everything about him lately, from how he preferred his eggs to what his family was like.

  “Not really.”

  Violet looked up at the edge in his voice, trying not to show her surprise that he’d volunteered even that much information about his family.

  “Why not?” She dropped the grahams into the food processor, waiting for him to change the subject like he did every time things turned personal.

  “My parents were very traditional. He worked. She took care of the house and cooked. I guess she figured I’d get married and have that kind of relationship, too.” He rubbed his chin.

  Violet stilled as she listened. “And is that what you thought, too?”

  Nate looked toward the window. “I suppose at one time it was.” He shook himself a little. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. It’s about time I learned how to make something other than a frozen dinner. Teach away.” He gestured to the food processor.

  Violet watched him a moment longer. He’d ended the conversation but not before revealing more about himself and his life than he ever had before. His face wore a trace of the vulnerability he’d allowed himself to show. It made her want to reach up and touch his cheek.

  “Now, you process them, until they’re fine crumbs.” She pointed to the controls on the food processor and stepped aside to let him do it as she picked up the mixer and turned her attention back to the filling.