Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  Britta smiled, lowering her eyes to the ground as she stepped inside. “Thanks for having me over. This is a nice house.” She set her purse on the chair by the door and turned slowly around the room. Her eyes lingered on the piano.

  Milo couldn’t stop staring at Britta. He’d imagined what it might be like if she wore her hair down, but he hadn’t come close to the vision of beauty before him. It was like she’d transformed into a different creature. Milo couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer and lifted his hand slowly to the lock of hair falling across her shoulder. It slid easily through his fingers. “Britta, you’re gorgeous. You look happy tonight.”

  She turned to him, a whisper of a smile on her lips, her blue eyes bright with awareness of his appreciation. “I feel happy.”

  He cupped her face with one hand and lowered his head, his lips meeting Britta’s like a spark of light. Her mouth was soft and sensuous and she reached her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Britta filled up his mind and his heart, and Milo knew then that he needed her in his life as much as he needed music. He pulled back and smiled. “I feel happy too.”

  Britta giggled and leaned forward, kissing him again. His heart beat out a staccato rhythm that lit a fire in his chest. He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, caressing her back and pulling her yet closer to him. Britta threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, her hand streaking warmth through his entire body.

  The timer went off and they still kissed, until Britta finally pulled back with a soft sigh. He stared into the crystal-blue pools of her eyes, wondering how he could ever get enough of the beautiful woman standing before him.

  He took her hand and led her into the cozy kitchen with an octagon-shaped table and two chairs in the corner. “I’d like to keep kissing you all night, but I put a lot of work into this dinner, so we’d better eat it.”

  Britta touched her fingers to her lips. “I’m hungry too.”

  The action made Milo wonder if she was hungry for food or more kisses. He tore his eyes from her face, somehow softer with her hair flowing around it in waves, and took the lid off the steaming pot. The potatoes were tender and the broth appeared to be just the right consistency.

  “Is that kartoffelsuppe?” Britta said from close behind him.

  “Ya, it’s my mother’s recipe.”

  “That stew was my favorite meal growing up,” she said.

  “Was? Does that mean it isn’t anymore?”

  “No, I still love it. I just haven’t eaten it for a long time.”

  Her eyes flickered with a story that she wasn’t telling. Milo served up two bowls of the wonderful-smelling kartoffelsuppe. “Tell me about the Britta behind the librarian.”

  They sat at the table, and Britta straightened her napkin. “That’s me in a nutshell. Books, order, simplicity.”

  “But it’s not simple. You just make it look that way because you do your job so well.” Milo lifted a spoonful of potato stew to his mouth.

  “Thanks.” Britta took a bite, chewing slowly. “This is delicious. Wow. I need your recipe.”

  “I hate to tell you, but it’s so simple it won’t make me look very talented.”

  “Everything you do has talent written all over it.” Britta smiled and took another bite.

  Milo sensed that she really felt that way about him, and it made him want to kiss her again. She must have noticed the desire in his eyes, because she arched an eyebrow. “I think it’s your turn to tell me something I don’t know about you, Milo Geissler.”

  Britta watched Milo eat his food thoughtfully, so at home in his kitchen with a traditional German dish. She didn’t tell him that this stew had always been her favorite until she’d shunned everything and started telling people her favorite food was pizza because that seemed to be a normal type of food to like. Milo was German to the core, and he was proud of who he was. Britta wondered briefly if she would be different if she’d embraced who she was instead of running from her foundations.

  “Let’s see. I feel for music the same way you do for books. Does that make sense?” Milo tilted his head to one side with a half-smile.

  “Like life wouldn’t be life without music?” Britta nodded. “I get it.”

  “So life wouldn’t be life without books either.”

  “I wouldn’t even want to imagine it.” Britta wrinkled her nose. “What else do you love?”

  “I loved my childhood,” Milo said. “I’ve always dreamed about finding someone who understood my heritage. Someone who could give my children the same things I had growing up.” He motioned to the food they were eating.

  Britta took another bite, listening to more than his words. “What kinds of things?” she asked.

  “More than food and parties. The German heart and strength. I am this man because of my ancestors and all they suffered through, fought for, and strived to become.”

  His speech was moving, but Britta’s hands shook as all of her old fears descended on her like a dark cloud. Milo’s accent was melodic, like every part of him, but it was noticeable. Britta could hear it, and in that accent she could hear the ridicule of her childhood.

  The way Milo had kissed her earlier, held her gently against his chest and murmured into her hair, melted away her defenses. Maybe Echo Ridge was different and diverse enough that her children wouldn’t suffer from discrimination. Maybe all of her fears were blown out of proportion. She swallowed the last bite of soup. “Milo?” She leaned back against her chair and saw the worry in his eyes. She’d only said his name, but he’d heard more.

  “What’s wrong?” Something had shifted in Britta. Two minutes ago he was thinking of taking her in his arms again and kissing her soft pink lips. But now those lips were pressed into a line of worry. Britta’s blue eyes were full of fear. Milo tried to think of what he’d said that would cause such a reaction. He was only talking about how much he loved his childhood.

  Britta swallowed, looked at her plate, and then lifted her eyes to his. “Were you ever teased as a child?”

  And that was it. Milo knew why he’d recognized the fear in her eyes. There was something in her childhood— a fear that Britta might still be hiding from. He felt his face tighten as if he’d tasted something sour. It was inevitable that his past would come up, but he’d hoped for more time with Britta before confessing his secret weakness. At first he’d told himself that she would understand. He could still read if he really needed to; it just wasn’t one of his strengths. But now, after listening to her talk about the magic of books, he was afraid of what the truth might do to their budding relationship. He sighed. “Yes, all the time.”

  “Me too.” Britta took a deep breath. “Milo, I hated being me because of what kids did to me and said about me.”

  She didn’t say what had happened, and for a moment Milo wondered if she already knew about his dyslexia. Relief flooded through him. He remembered how Elise had encouraged him to go after Britta— even ask her out again once she’d agreed to go to the potluck. Had Elise found a way to tell Britta about his difficulty with reading? He looked at Britta and felt an upwelling of love for her. Perhaps she had a similar hidden disability that she’d struggled with. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Those aren’t good memories.” Milo stretched out his hand, glancing at his fingers. “That’s why I get lost in my music sometimes. I used to get lost all the time. Escaping kept me safe.”

  “I hated junior high. I dyed my hair, changed my clothing, changed every part of me so maybe people wouldn’t tease me anymore.”

  Britta sat stiffly in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her lips tightened into a thin line. The remembered pain was still fresh. Milo wondered what exactly had happened to her. Maybe sharing more of his difficulties would give her permission to open up about her painful past.

  “In eighth grade I had to give an oral report on my German heritage. I had so much trouble reading it, and it made it worse because some of the kids were laughing and calling m
e names from the back row.” Milo opened his mouth, then closed it and lowered his head. “At the end of the day I couldn’t get my locker open, and a group of kids came over and started throwing books at me. I still remember that sound: books clanging against the metal lockers, banging against my back. I ran. I left everything there and ran to the church. I snuck inside and listened to the quiet. There was no one there, so I played the organ. The reverend came in a few hours later and helped get me home. Things were different after that.”

  Britta gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m stronger because of it. I’ve practiced a lot and I do much better now.” Milo realized he was rambling and Britta wasn’t really hearing what he was saying. She shook her head slowly, tears dripping down her cheeks.

  When she lifted her head, Milo’s heart seized in his chest. Fear pumped through his veins as he gazed at her blue eyes, shining with tears and profound loss. “Britta, it’s okay. I can help you through anything. I’m here for you.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do this. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t put my children through the same torture. I won’t make someone else go through what you did because I’m too selfish to stay away from you. I’m sorry, Milo.” She turned and ran from the room.

  Milo stumbled after her, but she was fast. By the time he pounded down the steps, she was in her car, backing out of the driveway. He ran after her, waving his arms. “Britta, wait! Please don’t go!”

  She didn’t even look at him as she put the car into gear and sped away. Milo thought about going after her, but she didn’t want him to catch her. He slumped onto his front steps and put his head in his hands. How could he have been so wrong about her? He thought Britta understood, but she had seemed terrified just now when she talked about her past. Which version of the past was she afraid of, his or hers?

  Milo clenched his fists together and went back into the house. He sat at the piano, but he couldn’t cross the giant chasm that appeared between his fingers and the keys. Britta had just ripped his heart open and the music was bleeding out. The backs of his eyes burned and Milo sniffed, trying to hold in a pain that was new to him. He had felt so close to Britta that evening, and then everything had gone terribly wrong.

  Milo had spent most of his life hating dyslexia and the way it tried to define his life. It had kept him from doing normal things that other kids could do, like taking quizzes and reading their favorite novels past bedtime. It wasn’t until he was in high school and the band teacher recognized his musical abilities that he found a place of his own. On the day that Milo flunked the music exam, that same teacher had been there to comfort him.

  “If it weren’t for your dyslexia, you might never have discovered the depth of your musical abilities. You are gifted, Milo. Never give up. The world needs to hear your songs.”

  Milo had carried those words in his heart, holding onto them like a lifeline as he finished high school and later started his own business. He knew his limitations, but he also knew his strengths. If Britta didn’t understand dyslexia, Milo could see why she would be afraid of him. If life wasn’t life without books, then why would she ever choose to be with a man who could hardly read?

  BRITTA WENT TO WORK in a dark fog on Tuesday. Every cell in her body screamed out that she had done something terrible to Milo. She argued back that she was trying to protect herself and her future. A tremulous voice seemed to whisper that if she gave up a chance for love, there would be nothing to protect.

  “Did you ever find a copy of that book I assigned you?” Marian asked Britta as soon as she walked through the door. She tapped her clipboard impatiently.

  Normally, Britta would’ve been irritated by Marian, but now she saw her more clearly— a lonely woman who loved the library. Maybe that’s how she would turn out. Britta probably had more in common with Marian than she’d ever realized, so she decided to take a Milo approach to Marian. “Yes, and I’ll have it to you in a couple of days. I’m really glad that you chose that book and that you came up with this idea, Marian. Our library needs you.”

  Marian’s lips twitched, and she almost smiled before hugging her clipboard. “Well, see if that boyfriend of yours can get his book in. I would have thought that one would be easy to find.”

  “He’s not my …” Britta started to say, but Marian was already stalking off in the direction of some poor patron who was making too much noise. The word “boyfriend” rolled around Britta’s tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, but his face still came to mind— the raw pain in his eyes as she ran from him last night. How would it feel to give him a chance, to call Milo her boyfriend in public? To let the world know that they belonged together?

  She bit her lip, angry at her heart thumping, betraying her with memories of Milo’s kisses. Why did she have to fall for him? After what felt like a lifetime of following her rules, her heart had gone behind her back and broken all of them. Britta pushed all thoughts of Milo from her mind. She wouldn’t think of his blue eyes, his dimple, his stereotypical blond German hair, or his kisses anymore.

  The library cart was almost empty, and Britta straightened and stretched out her back. They needed another librarian. There was too much work behind the scenes for Britta to keep up with, but still she sometimes missed being out in the library directing children to the right section, helping people find their favorite books, restocking the shelves filled with story after story.

  Britta was lost in thought when a huge gust of wind buffeted the building. The lights flickered, and another gust of wind pushed at the branches and screamed through the vents. Outside, the trees leaned into the wind, thrashing violently, and dark storm clouds loomed over Echo Ridge. Britta took a step forward to peer out the window. Another blast of wind ripped through the neighboring fence and several pickets came loose. Britta heard snapping noises and a loud crack, followed by a giant thump on the roof. She jumped back, and several people screamed.

  “The wind just blew a tree down!” someone shouted.

  “Should I call the fire department?” Marian ran alongside Britta toward the far window.

  Britta bit her lip as she assessed the damage. “It’s not near any power lines. Let’s wait out this storm, and then we’ll see what we need to do. Better to leave the fire department for emergencies. In this kind of storm, someone is bound to have trouble.”

  They listened to the groaning of the wind and the tree raking its branches back and forth across the roof for the next twenty minutes. Everyone stood back from the windows and watched the wild storm. Britta kept expecting hail or rain, but there was nothing but wind— all-powerful and destroying wind. Garbage and debris blew past the windows, and Britta found herself taking another step back. What if there was a tornado? Britta’s heart raced, but she kept her face guarded for the patrons who remained in the library. A few people were reading despite the storm, and for some reason that calmed Britta when she thought of how much she would like to be lost in a book right then.

  The wind had just started to die down when Britta heard the front doors open. She looked up, and almost cried out when she saw Milo.

  He headed straight for her and gathered her in his arms. “Is everything okay? I saw the tree.”

  Britta nodded. “We still have power. I can’t believe you came out in this storm.”

  “I was already out, driving back from an appointment. I pulled over and waited out the worst of it, but I wanted to come here and make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m worried about the damage that tree might have caused to the roof.”

  Milo grimaced. “There will definitely be some repairs, but maybe they won’t be as bad as it looks.”

  “So it looks bad?”

  “Ya, the gutters are torn up and some shingles ripped off. But try not to worry.” Milo squeezed her hand. “We’ll get it fixed.”

  Britta’s lip trembled. “I don’t know if I can handle one more thing right now. Those repairs will take money that was supposed to go to
improving the library. Oh, Milo, I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Hold on. Let’s go back to your office.” Milo must have noticed what Britta had been oblivious to in her meltdown— people were gawking, probably thinking that the librarian had finally cracked.

  Milo opened the door and helped her sit on the tiny love seat. He sat next to her. “Now take a few deep breaths. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  Britta shook her head. “No, we won’t. All my hard work. First Armand canceled, and now the library.”

  “What can I do to help?” Milo asked.

  He was there again, right by her side, offering himself even though Britta had cast him aside last night. Britta looked at her hands, clenched tightly in fists. No. She couldn’t give in to her heart. It didn’t know what was best. Don’t you remember what it was like to be me? Britta wanted to scream. Instead she took a deep breath and turned to Milo. “I think the best thing now is for you to go check on your house. Make sure everything is okay.”

  “But I’m— ”

  “Milo, I can’t think clearly right now.”

  “Can’t we at least talk about what is bothering you? I mean, I know my problems are hard to see past, but if you give me a chance I’ll tell you how my life is better because of my defects.”

  “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am,” Britta said. “All my life I’ve wanted people to see me— Britta— not just the little Klein girl down the street. I finally have a library I can be proud of and I’m not going to give that up.”

  “I don’t understand. No one is asking you to give up anything.”

  “You’re wrong. My whole life has been about giving up everything to get to this point. I didn’t work this hard to put my children down the same dark hole I had to crawl out of.”

  Milo’s eyes widened. “Your children or our children?”

  Britta sucked in a breath as her eyes met his. For a moment, she could see her future, but her rules tapped against her consciousness. She held up her hand and pointed at the door. “Just go. I don’t want to hurt you.”