by Leah Atwood
When she held her silence, he offered a friendly wink. “But I’m here for more than just a mocha.”
She forced her knees to hold her upright by pressing them into the cabinet doors. “More…like a sandwich?”
The quirk of his lips sent a ripple of awareness down her spine. “No, not like a sandwich.” His attention lingered leisurely on her features. First her hairline. Then across her brow and down her nose to tarry at the lips she kneaded nervously with her teeth, then slowly across each cheek before he met her gaze once more. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”
She chewed one side of her lip and studied a Danish, unable to meet his perusal for a moment longer.
He tipped a subtle nod toward Jim. “Admirer. He got it right. I didn’t rearrange my schedule, find someone who could fill in for me on a build, and fly all the way to Seattle for coffee and a sandwich.”
Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and overflowed. It blocked up her airway and slid down her arms into her fingertips, making them tap the countertop. “You came for the wedding?”
He tilted his head, his magnetic blue eyes wielding enough power to pull her gaze back to his. “I was invited to the wedding, yes.” His focus dropped to where her fingernails played out a jittery rhythm, and he slid one of his hands across the space between them. He slipped it under her fingers, lifting them and massaging warmth into them with his thumb. “But as much as I like Havyn and Levi, there was a bigger attraction in Seattle for me than their wedding.”
A swell of emotion pinched her throat tight and she swallowed.
She studied his face, searching for the elusive element she must be missing. Guys like Cannon – handsome athletes with perfect features and muscles in all the right places – did not go for girls like her – skinny, freckled redheads with nerdy laughs and more brains than sophistication.
This felt dangerous. Like she was a glass vase teetering on the edge of a very unstable table. Something would shift sooner or later, and she had a feeling it would be the vase that would get shattered.
She curled her lips in and pressed them together, unsure how to respond. The bell above the door tinkled, giving her the distraction she needed. She glanced behind him to see two women enter, rubbing their hands together and eyeing the menu. “I’ll be right with you.” She smiled at them. Then to Cannon, she said, “I’ll get that mocha for you.” She started to pull away, but his grip tightened.
A frown formed between his brows. “Who was the guy who went busting out of here a few minutes ago with the flowers?”
Was that worry she saw in the depths of his eyes? As she pulled away to make his mocha, she laughed outright at the thought of Cannon being concerned about a guy like Ted. But maybe she could tease him a little. “That was Ted.” She tried not to spit his name out with distaste, and peeked at Cannon from the corner of her eye to see if she’d pulled it off.
He was grinning, so apparently she hadn’t.
He stood and folded his arms. “Ted looked none too happy. And since he was leaving with flowers, I take it I don’t have much to worry about where he’s concerned?”
He had been jealous. Her tummy rolled on a wave of pleasure and she took pity on him. “For your information, I fired Ted this morning, and before he left he knocked about two hundred dollars worth of coffee beans on the floor. So there’s no love lost between us.”
A frown bunched his brow. “Will he have to pay for them?”
She sighed as she heated the milk for his drink. “No. Likely, I will.”
He immediately reached for his wallet. “I’ll cover it.” He pulled two one-hundred dollar bills out and laid them on the counter.
Her eyes widened. He could just toss two hundred dollars down like it was a couple bucks? He would do that? For her? Something inside her went all soft. Heaven knew how hard she worked here already and how nice it would be to let someone else take care of her for a change. But as she snapped the cover on his cup, a twinge of disgruntlement tugged at her brows.
She set his mocha in front of him and slid the money back in his direction. “It’s been weeks, Cannon. Not an email. Not a phone call. And you just show up?” He started to answer but she held up a finger to silence him. “The mocha’s on the house. But I have to help these customers. And I don’t want your money. I get off at one o’clock.”
He gave the cup a couple twists, his gaze boring through her. “There’s a reason, Chels. But it’s too much to explain now. I’ll let you get to work. Can I take you to lunch when you get off?”
She swallowed and was tempted to decline and let him feel a little of the dejection she’d been feeling over the past months. But of course she nodded. Because how could she resist this man?
He lifted the coffee in a salute and dropped the two hundred dollars into the tip jar on the counter. “Great. I’ll meet you here.” With that, he disappeared out the door, leaving only the hollow ringing of the bell in her ears and customers waiting for her assistance.
Tension zinged along her spine all day as she waited for the clock to creep its way toward one. What reason could he have for not contacting her for weeks?
Before she’d left Africa, he’d insisted on getting both her email address and her phone number, and for the first several days she’d waited with anticipation, carrying her phone with her everywhere she went and pulling it out to check email so often she might as well have had the thing glued to her hand.
Finally after a couple weeks, the message had sunk in. He really wasn’t interested in her. She’d just been convenient…and gullible enough to fall for him.
She gritted her teeth. Well, he’ll just see how gullible I am this time, won’t he!
Chapter Two
Cannon slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and leaned against his rental car, waiting for Chelsea to emerge from the coffee shop. He’d been rehearsing the best way to tell her all that had transpired since they’d last seen each other and cringing each time he reran the story through his head. Truth that it may be, he doubted it was going to sound like anything but a flat-out lie to her.
He tipped his head back and studied the clear blue Seattle sky. God, you’re the one who called me to be a builder in Africa. So…a little help here, please?
That prayer brought the reminder of the feeling of impending change he’d been sensing lately with regards to his job. A year ago, if anyone had asked him, he would have said he’d probably be a builder in Africa until he retired. But lately he’d had a premonition that God might be about to upend his plans and ask him to do something else. He just wasn’t sure what that was yet.
The bell on the door to Flo’s Coffee Shop jangled and Chelsea emerged, settling a large canvas bag over her shoulder as she scooped her mass of red curls out of the way. She hooked one thumb into the straps and paused when she noticed him. A hint of indecisiveness narrowed her eyes.
He was glad for the sturdy presence of the car behind him, because one look from that girl’s big green eyes could nearly knock the breath right out of him. He tried to keep the timbre of his voice even. “I thought I could drive and then bring you back later to get your car?”
She seemed to struggle with the decision as she frowned and stared blankly down the hill. After a moment, though, she nodded and swept a gesture of agreement toward his rental.
He opened the passenger door for her and prayed, once again, for the right words as he made his way around to the driver’s seat. He put the car in gear, but kept his foot on the brake and looked over at her. “So…where’s a good place to eat around here?”
“You like seafood?”
He nodded.
“Let’s go to Ivars at Pier 54, then. I can afford it today. This crazy guy came in this morning and gave me a two hundred dollar tip.”
“Two hundred dollars?” He whistled and gave her a wink. “That guy probably has more on his mind than just coffee. You better be on your guard.”
Her eyes widened a little and her hand settled on th
e door handle.
And it hit him how his words might be interpreted. His brows shot up and he hurried to explain. “More on his mind like friendship and getting to know you. Not like…anything else.”
“Well, that’s good because he was about to have to eat lunch on his own!”
He loved the melodic sound of the chuckle that accompanied her words.
She propped her elbow against the door and rested her head into one fist, studying him. “Still, I’ll be on my guard, for sure. Definitely something sketchy about him.”
“Sketchy!?” He did his best to look wounded. “I bet a guy like that wouldn’t make a girl he asked out pay for her own meal.”
She wrinkled her nose as though she was still undecided about his fate. “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out. But first” —she pointedly glanced at the still unmoving vehicle— “we have to get rolling.”
He leaned toward her, resting his elbow on the console between the seats. He caught a whiff of something floral that made his pulse skitter like spilled nails on a steep tin roof. “Help a sketchy guy out and tell him which way to drive, would you?”
She pointed in the direction the car was already facing. “Just follow your headlights.”
He was reluctant to pull away from her, so he held his ground for a moment, letting himself revel in her beauty. She had a natural attractiveness that most women could only mimic with lots of makeup. A tiny scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He’d remembered them as darker, but maybe they darkened when she got more sun. Long brown eyelashes framed her eyes. They were almost emerald, and with that rim of holly-green border they caught him off guard at times. Like now when she was looking at him with a mixture of longing and terror in her expression. He swallowed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to contact you sooner.”
That was the wrong thing to say. A visible shutter veiled her gaze and she shifted back from him.
Behind them someone honked. He glanced in the mirror. A car waited on the street with its blinker on, obviously wanting their spot. He wanted to wait to explain until he could look her in the eye and make sure she knew what torture the long silence had been for him as well. And, from the frosty disposition that had suddenly overtaken her, he knew it was going to be a long drive to wherever she was taking him, even if it was just down the block.
As Cannon put the car into gear Chelsea scooped her hair back from her face and studied the December sunshine weakly attempting to overcome the freezing temperatures. At least the roads would be clear. Did Cannon, who spent most of his time in Africa, even know anything about driving in slick conditions?
“Take a right up ahead and then you’ll merge onto the freeway with a left at the light.”
She held her breath waiting to see if he might offer his supposed explanation, but all he did was follow her directions and hold his silence.
As the silence stretched, her pique grew. If he thought she was going to make this easy on him by chattering a bunch of small talk, he had another think coming. She gave him clipped directions all the way to the pier and when he pulled into the parking space, she climbed out of the car before he could even remove the keys from the ignition.
“Chelsea.”
His door closed and the locks engaged with a chirp.
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. She was acting like a two-year-old. Stopping, she waited for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Instead, she studied the Christmas-light-draped marina.
“Chels.” He touched her elbow, defeat coating his tone. “I wanted to wait to explain till we could have a face to face conversation.”
She still couldn’t find her voice. She hadn’t realized exactly how hurt she’d been by his silence until he’d walked into Flo’s this morning.
He caressed short strokes against the soft material by her elbow making her all too aware of how good it felt to have him so near again. Tilting his head, he asked, “Is there someplace we can talk before we go in to eat?”
“Cannon.” She did look up at him then, hating the hurt that crept into her voice. “I don’t know if I can do this again.”
His shoulders slumped slightly and he rested his hands on his hips. He studied the pier for a moment, then tucked the corner of his lip between his teeth and lifted his gaze to her. “It’s not what you think, Chels, honest. If I could have called or emailed I would have. It was killing me not to be able to reach you.”
She quirked a brow. Did she believe him? “Tell me.”
Reaching out, he took her hand and led her to the closest bench. He sat down facing her with one arm stretched along the back of the bench. “The day after you flew home, I arrived back at my house to find that one of the puppies had chewed through the landline wiring right at the wall.”
Chelsea pressed her lips together to prevent a grin. That, she could totally believe. Levi had brought one of the pups home with him for Havyn, and Baby, as they had dubbed the puppy, had been nothing but trouble from the moment of her arrival.
“I drove into Dedza right away and let the telephone company know, but they still hadn’t fixed it when I left just a couple days ago.”
She arched a brow for him to go on. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a computer or cell phone to use.
He cringed a little as he continued. “That afternoon I had to run by the building site one last time to do a final inspection on the repairs being made after the attack.”
Chelsea shuddered at the memory of diving behind the brick wall of the school they’d just finished building to avoid the flying bullets. A local cult group, the Nyao, had been disgruntled – to put it lightly – by the Americans’ presence and had made their displeasure known with a show of force. Then had come the worry over Havyn, who’d been grazed by a bullet and knocked unconscious. She folded her arms, swallowing down a whole host of emotions the memories dredged to the surface – not the least of which was that Cannon had been by her side, comforting her, and encouraging her every step of the way.
Cannon squeezed her hand and gave her a searching look as if asking if she was okay.
She nodded and withdrew her hand from the tantalizing warmth of his grasp. If she was going to maintain her stoic composure toward the man, she had to avoid too much of that.
A low breath eased from him and he winced, giving her a you-are-never-going-to-believe-this look. “When I got back to my truck, someone had broken into it and stolen my laptop and my phone. I had all your information in them and couldn’t remember any of it except your email address, somebody’s Chelsea at flos dot com.”
Chelsea couldn’t suppress a grin. It was hard to forget an email address like hers, especially if you were at all familiar with the Reba Macintyre song by the same title. Still, she gave him props for being able to spit it out so flawlessly all these weeks later.
A little relief seemed to ease the tension in his features as he took in her grin. “It was two weeks before I was able to get back to the capitol and get to a store where I could replace the stolen items. But both had to be put on order.”
Of course. It wasn’t like he could drive over to the mall and find everything he needed. But it wasn’t like there weren’t other missionaries whose computers he could have borrowed to let her know his situation.
He shrugged. “I could have maybe borrowed someone’s computer to email you, but that night we got the word I was needed back out at the village to deal with a hitch in some supplies for the school house. And I spent three weeks sorting out and hunting down missing items we had ordered and paid for, but never received.”
Chelsea remembered how secluded the area they’d all stayed in was, and couldn’t deny that her heart went out to the man just a little. Three weeks totally alone with not another soul who spoke your language or understood your culture. He really did make a lot of sacrifices for his job.
Cannon sighed and took her hand in his once more. “Chels, the only reason I’m even able to be here is that the wife of another missio
nary took pity on me and made my reservations for me. It was killing me not to be able to contact you. My laptop and phone never did come in before I left the country and I had to cancel the order. I’ll just have to pick some up while I’m here.”
She swallowed. So maybe she’d been a little hard on him. But could they really make a relationship work? “H-how long will you be in town?”
For a long moment he simply studied her, his fingers playing with the ring on her thumb.
There was a hint of something indecisive in his expression. Did he not know when he was leaving? Hope ignited a warm sensation in her chest.
But then he said, “I leave the day after the wedding.”
Hope doused, she eased back against the bench. One week. Her jaw clenched. What was the point in dredging up all the old feelings if he was only going to be here for one week and then gone for who knew how long?
And “dredging”? Who was she kidding? If the emotions she was feeling just from having her hand clasped in his were any indication, there would be no dredging necessary. Then in a week he’d be gone, and she’d be right back to her familiar miserable self. Did she really want to go through all that again? No. She’d better put a stop to this right now.
She pulled her hand from his, curled it into a fist and shoved it into her lap to avoid the inclination to lay it against the stubble lining his angular cheek. “Cannon, listen. I get it. I know you make a lot of sacrifices for your job. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t good to see you again. It is. But” —she waved a hand toward the distance— “your job is there. And mine is here. And if this time has shown us anything, maybe it’s that a relationship between us would be too hard and isn’t meant to be.”
Cannon reached out and touched her chin, bending till their gazes locked. “Do you really believe that?”
She swallowed. She did, didn’t she?
He shook his head. “Because I don’t. If anything, this time apart showed me how important you became to me in the two short weeks you were in my life. No woman has ever occupied my thoughts like you have for the past weeks, Chels.” His fingers slid back into her hair and his palm settled against her face as his thumb caressed tantalizing strokes against her cheekbone. “Let’s give this a chance.”