Outside The Lines

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Jules white-knuckled the edge of the apron around her waist, her heart doing its level best to vault clean out of her ribcage. She was so far past this-can’t-be-happening, and yet…“You…you’re the event coordinator for the Carnival For A Cure?”

  “Yeah.” Now it was Blake’s turn to draw the word into a question. “Why?”

  “Because I wrote that proposal. I’m in charge of all the catering and planning for that event on our end.”

  Jules shifted her weight to stand as tall as her five-foot-nine frame would allow, her palms going slick with realization as she finished, “You won’t be working with Serenity for the next six weeks, Blake. You’ll be working with me.”

  #

  Blake attempted to read the event overview splayed out on the table in front of him four times before conceding defeat. He had the damn thing half-memorized anyway, and right now he had bigger things to worry about.

  Namely, the redhead sitting so close to him that the break room they’d taken over in the back of Mac’s Diner felt more like a sardine tin than a study space.

  “I have to be honest,” Jules said, looking up from an identical copy of the overview in his hands. “I was surprised to see the charity fundraiser turned into a carnival this year. Usually it’s not something a restaurant like Mac’s can even think about putting a bid on.”

  Blake cleared his throat, propelling himself into business mode. Okay, so the situation was less than ideal. But his mother was already working herself into the ground with this event, and she was becoming frailer by the minute, even though she wouldn’t slow down or admit it. If he wanted to take care of her, planning of as much of this event as possible was a moral imperative.

  Even if it meant being nose to the grindstone with the one woman who could still torch his composure like a five-alarm fire in a gasoline factory.

  “Right.” He cleared his throat again just for good measure. “The board wanted to do something different this year to broaden their outreach. Something that would involve the whole community rather than just a small group of contributors.”

  “Well, a carnival will definitely do the trick.” She nodded at the stack of papers covering the scuffed wooden table. “But it’s going to be a ton of work to feed these people, and the logistics are a lot different than a typical sit-down dinner.” Jules traced an invisible line over the last page of the overview. “This site map says you’ve got access to all of City Commons for the event. We’ll need to get a few trucks in there to drop off the food and equipment on the morning of the carnival. I’m assuming Brentsville PD will close off the surrounding blocks leading into the Commons?”

  “That’s the plan, and we’ve got preliminary approval on the permit,” Blake agreed, leaning in to look at the schematic. An unexpected shot of Jules’s sweet vanilla scent hit him all at once, catapulting him back to those sleepy Sunday mornings when she’d tiptoe down to the kitchen in his apartment on the Brentsville University campus to make French toast. He’d asked her about her own kitchen those first few times, figuring she might be more comfortable with her own stuff rather than the sadly lacking cupboards in his man-kitchen. But she’d said she lived far enough from the University that it was so much easier to stay at his place. Even though it had hit him as not-quite-right, Blake didn’t want to push it. Jules had no family, and she kept her personal life close to the vest. She seemed happy to stay with him at his place, so eventually he’d just bought a skillet and some groceries and stopped asking, figuring she’d open up when she was ready.

  But she never did. And although Blake knew she’d lived somewhere off Sycamore Street, he never did see her apartment, let alone her kitchen, before she was gone.

  “Getting a few trucks in won’t be a problem. What kind of space will you need outside of actual food service?” he asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present. Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to get this event coordinated, and anyway, Jules had made it clear eight years ago that being together wasn’t part of the plan. He needed to drop it and focus on the carnival, for good.

  Jules pulled a notebook from the bag she’d slung over the back of her chair, the pages covered in extensive hand-written plans, and damn, she took this job seriously with a capital S.

  “We’ll do a lot of the prep ahead of time, but we’ll need space for safe food storage and actual cooking. Per the proposal, we can set up a portable kitchen station in the main food tent using generators and a couple of big grills. The way it’s outlined in the plan is up to code, but we’re still going to need written approval from the Brentsville Fire Department.”

  Finally, something for the easy column. “That won’t be a problem. If you add a list of specific equipment to the proposal, I can get the paperwork signed for you by the end of the week.”

  Surprise painted Jules’s pretty features, and she looked up from the schematic, brows raised. “It’s Wednesday afternoon, Blake. How on earth are you going to make that happen?”

  “Do you remember my cousin, Aaron?”

  She laughed. “He used to jump out of perfectly good airplanes as often as most people change their pants. A guy like that is a little hard to forget. Is he still crazy?”

  “Yup. Only now he funnels it into his job. Well, most of it anyway. He’s a lieutenant for the Brentsville Fire Department, over at station thirty-two.” And crazy as he might be, Aaron was also a decent guy, despite the black-sheep label both his mother and Blake’s had tried to slap all over him. “If the proposal’s up to code, he can push it through for us.”

  “Handy,” Jules said, rifling through the small mountain of papers in front of her. “I’ll add the equipment specs right now so we can get the ball rolling there, but that should take care of the preliminaries for the main food area. We can also work the catering around some of the other carnival events, too, depending on what they are.”

  “We…I guess I should say I…I’m still kind of finalizing that.” As long as finalizing that was synonymous with trying to come up with our big attraction with no good ideas in sight, anyway. “But we can just focus on the main food tent for now.”

  “We already did.” She rapped the now-updated proposal against the edge of the table, the medical tape on her sad excuse for a bandage curling away from her skin as she handed it over, and Blake’s fingers itched to replace the gauze.

  “Still tenacious, I see.” Damn if it wasn’t still a massive turn-on in spite of throwing him ass-first onto the hot seat.

  “And you’re still not afraid to say so.” A smile threatened the corners of her mouth. “But you’re also not helping me with the overall plan. Why don’t we talk about the other events just generally? It might give me some ideas on how better to serve the food with as little bottleneck at the main tent as possible.”

  Well, when she put it that way…“The board arranged for rides and games and face painting. You know, basic carnival stuff. Plus, they do their standard silent auction every year, with items and services donated from all over Brentsville. ”

  She scribbled out a few notes. “Sounds like fun.”

  “I guess. It fits with the theme, that’s for sure.” Blake nodded, but of course Jules saw right through him.

  “You’re looking for something with a little extra kick, though.”

  “Yeah.” Now his nod became more enthusiastic. “Don’t get me wrong, I think the carnival idea is great. But it feels just the smallest bit underutilized. Like something’s still missing.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t mean a pie-eating contest between the mayor and the chief of police. Although I would personally supply the baked goods if you wanted to go that route,” Jules said, leaning toward him with a spark of interest in her caramel-colored eyes.

  “Thanks,” Blake laughed, both unable and unwilling to tamp down the response. “But I’m thinking something…big. Something that will get everyone in the entire city talking, and more importantly, donating. Something different than the same-old silent auction stuff.”
r />   Something Jeremy would’ve loved.

  “What about a bachelor and bachelorette auction?”

  He pulled back, his chair scraping against the tiled floor. “You mean like a riff on one of those reality TV shows?”

  “Sure. They’re pretty popular, so it would give you a decent draw, especially from outside the regular board-of-trustees crowd. The proceeds would go to the foundation, and the dates would be all in good fun. Everybody wins.”

  Jules scooped up the pen she’d discarded a few minutes ago, scratching out notes in earnest on a paper napkin as she kept talking. “There’s got to be a handful of eligible singles on the medical staff who would play along for a good cause. Oooh, maybe you could even get Aaron to help round up some firefighters. I bet they’d go for a mint.”

  The idea swirled through his brain as she spoke, picking up speed and intensity. “We do have some people in the emergency department who might go for this kind of thing.” Blake’s thoughts zeroed in on his cocky colleague, Dr. Cross, and he added, “We’d have to set some ground rules, but it shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Convincing his mother might be a little more challenging, but if he got all the details into place first, she’d have a hard time saying no, especially for this charity. Plus, this was a perfect complement to the more traditional silent auction, with just enough edge to make it fresh.

  It was exactly what he’d been looking for.

  “Thanks.” Blake took the ink-smudged napkin from Jules’s fingers, the excitement of the fresh plan still sparking in his chest. “I’ll have to work out the logistics, but this is a really great idea.”

  “No problem,” she said over a shrug and smile combo that did sudden, wicked things below his belt. “It’s nice to know all my late-night TV watching is good for something.”

  “So you’re not spending your late nights with someone, then?”

  Damn it. Impulse had dared the question right past the limits of propriety but Blake held up a hand before she could reply. “You know what, I apologize. That’s totally none of my business. I think we’re set here for now, so I can just—”

  “No.”

  “Sorry?”

  Her heart-shaped mouth quirked into a smile. “If I don’t get to apologize, then neither do you. No, I’m not spending my late nights with anyone.”

  Oh. Hell. The next six weeks were going to last an absolute ice age, only there wouldn’t be anything cold about working with this woman.

  On even more impulse, Blake reached between to the tight space between them, slowly cupping his palm beneath Jules’s elbow. “I thought you said you weren’t having any trouble with this.”

  “I’m not.” The answer sprang from her lips on ingrained toughness, but he met her brash cover head-on.

  “Jules, this bandage is hanging on for dear life. Your poker face might be better than mine, but I’m still calling your bluff.”

  It only took a few strides to reach the first aid kit on the wall, then a few more to re-trace his way back to the table, and he flipped the plastic latches on the kit with a pop.

  “In my defense, it’s really hard to put on a bandage one-handed,” Jules argued, but she didn’t fight him as he nudged the haphazard gauze pad from her arm to reveal a still angry-looking but slightly healing strip of blisters.

  “But not harder than asking for help, huh?” Blake tore open a packet of antibiotic ointment, sliding the contents over her skin with careful motions.

  She rolled her eyes, but the blush climbing over her cheeks was unmistakable. “Is that why you became an ER doctor instead of a surgeon? To help people?”

  “That’s the short answer, but yes.” It had taken barely two semesters of medical school before he’d done that one-eighty, much to his mother’s chagrin. But taking care of people, really helping them in their moments of emergent need, that was why he’d become an ER doc.

  He might not have been able to do it for his brother. But he sure as hell could make up for lost opportunities. He at least owed Jeremy that much.

  “What’s the long answer?” Jules asked, and damn, her intuition was just as spot-on as ever.

  Blake reached for a fresh bandage, re-setting his focus to his task instead of the pang growing out of his gut.

  “Maybe I did it to be a little defiant,” he admitted, although he had no idea where it came from. But the shock of his answer didn’t bother him quite as much as the peal of laughter coming from Jules’s lips.

  “No offense, but you’re not the type.”

  “No offense, but you don’t really know that.”

  Rather than get offended or huffy, Jules just lifted a coppery brow. “Bet I do.”

  “Really?” Fuck. He should be calm. He should be in control. He should not be so turned on at the shot of pure mischief blazing beneath her stare, but there it was, and yup. It was definitely hot in here.

  “Fifty bucks says you still go to the dentist every six months, to the day.”

  Blake coughed out a laugh. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. And don’t try to weasel your way out of this. Remember, your poker face sucks.”

  “Okay, fine.” He dropped the gauze pad he’d been about to open, rising to the challenge in her eyes even though he knew it was a bad plan of epic proportions. “Same fifty bucks says you still sleep with the lights on.”

  Her lips parted over a sexy-as-hell gasp, and hah! That got her. “I do not sleep with the lights on,” she argued, but the wash of pink on her cheeks screamed jackpot.

  “I suppose you probably still call it accidental.” Blake’s tone emphasized the word like air quotes. “But you do, don’t you?”

  “Double or nothing you still fold your laundry right out of the dryer,” Jules shot back, but no way was he backing down now.

  He leaned in close enough to breathe in the scent of warm vanilla on her skin and said, “I bet the house and everything in it that you still hum while you cook, just as loud and off-key as you did eight years ago.”

  For a second, the only thing Blake saw was the image of her in his college apartment kitchen, flipping French toast with a crooked tune spilling right past her lips. But then it was gone, replaced by the here-and-now of her surprisingly wistful smile.

  “Okay, yeah. I do still hum when I cook.”

  Blake’s thoughts stuttered to a graceless halt. “What?”

  But she didn’t budge from her tell-it-like-it-is demeanor. “I still hum when I cook. Drives Serenity nuts, actually. But I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

  Jules slid a glance at the door leading down the short hallway to the kitchen, and damn, how had they gotten so distracted?

  He reached for the temporarily forgotten bandage he’d been about to put on her forearm, steering the conversation back to less impulsive territory. “With your love of food, I’m not surprised you went into the culinary arts.” She’d always been able to make something out of the mishmash of ingredients he’d had in his cupboards. Really, he’d have been shocked if she’d chosen anything else.

  “You make it sound so upscale,” Jules said, shifting close enough for him to put the gauze in place. “It’s just me, working at Mac’s.”

  Blake eyed the notebook full of ideas sitting among the detailed catering proposal on the table and shook his head. “You sure you’re not selling yourself a little short? The board chose your proposal out of at least a dozen. It’s definitely impressive.”

  “The planning is the easy part. But it’s even better to feed people.” A coppery wisp twisted free from her ponytail, fluttering over her neck as she looked down at his hands on her skin. “It feels important, if that makes sense. To take care of people who need something vital.”

  “Looks like we have a lot in common, then.”

  Her smile became a laugh, and Christ, it was the best sound he’d heard in a month. “I split my time between slinging burgers and signing order forms at a diner, and you graduated summa cum laude from one of the most prestigious m
edical schools in the country. How is it that we have a lot in common?”

  Blake snapped back in surprise. “How do you know I graduated summa cum laude?”

  Just like that, her expression slammed shut. “Lucky guess.”

  Oh hell no. No way was he letting Jules tough-girl her way out of this one. “We’re really not so different at all. We both want to help people. We’re both devoted to making that happen. Just because we do it in different ways doesn’t mean we don’t have the same desire.”

  He fastened the last strip of medical tape into a crisp, neat angle over the gauze, but Blake didn’t let go of her arm.

  And Jules didn’t pull away.

  “You are pretty committed to this doctor thing. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we do have a lot in common.”

  She tilted her head to examine the bandage, bringing her face dangerously close to his. It would be all too easy to bridge the space, to impulsively pull her and that sweet vanilla-sugar scent of hers against his body and kiss her, to pick up exactly where they’d left off eight years ago.

  But he’d already been down that road of wanting to be with her, and all it got him was a Dear John letter two days before he left for medical school.

  Blake pushed back in his chair, gathering his things at warp speed and slipping them briskly into his laptop bag. “The burn looks like it’s starting to heal. You’ll probably only need the bandage for another few days.”

  What was he thinking, getting all close to her like that? They were supposed to be working on a project together, one that had huge implications, no less. Hadn’t he learned the hard way that being impulsive— especially around Jules— was dangerous?

  “Right.” Her expression was cool, completely unfazed by the proximity they’d shared only seconds ago, and it was further testament to the fact that recklessly kissing her would’ve put the idiot stamp right across his forehead. “I’ll get to work on the first phase of the proposal.”