by Cheryl Wyatt
Colin pulled off his catering cap. “Thanks. You handled my mishaps with grace.”
“My fault. I forgot to explain the special diet placards. No one died of a peanut allergy or got sick from consuming gluten, though, so we’re good.”
Colin leaned on the last table to be taken to the SUV. “Thanks, but that vegetarian was livid over being served chicken in his tacos.”
She shrugged. “Poultry happens.”
He chuckled and turned the table on its side. He’d removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. She enjoyed watching his muscles bunch and flex as he folded the table’s legs.
She supposed since it was her table, she should help instead of gawk.
“I don’t think you picked up on it, Meadow, but that rodeo star was hitting on you.”
Meadow whirled. “I should hope not. He’s the bride-groom!”
“Not him. His best man brother.” His baited grin told her he was teasing.
“Oh.” Cheeks flaming, she quickly turned. She hated to blush in front of Colin. That might give away her feelings. “I didn’t realize he was a rodeo cowboy too. The groom was.”
Why was Colin bringing this up?
How would he react if he knew the guy gave her his number? Furthermore, what would Colin say if he knew she’d fed it to the garbage disposal at first opportunity?
All because she had Colin on the brain. His kindness to her waitstaff had served to soften her heart toward him even more, especially when he bolstered their confidence with kind words. Maybe he really and truly had changed. Still, a small reluctance remained that wouldn’t quite allow her to trust him fully. No question their bond had strengthened, though.
She’d seen Rodeo Guy give other women his number, too, or what she assumed to be. She detested the player type.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that Colin seemed to have eyes and winks only for her.
He’d probably only done so to encourage her at tense moments. Like when the groom’s mother danced her samba hips into the lighted punch fountain and tipped it. Colin had righted it before it crashed.
He’d also ignored the crush of curvy women trying to sidle up to him all evening.
Her insides warmed at what that could mean.
Then she remembered he’d said the only reason he wasn’t dating was because he hadn’t convinced the right one yet.
“What’s that sour look about?” Colin loosened his tie and bent to study her.
Mood dissolving, she shrugged.
“Come on. Tell me.”
“It’s silly.”
“Let me be the judge.”
“No, really. It’s dumb.”
“Try me.”
She deflated the salad bar. “Fine. You confuse me.”
“How so?”
“You send mixed signals.”
“Like what?” He helped her fold the inflatable salad bar.
“You say one thing with your mouth, opposite with your actions.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Sometimes it seems you flirt with me. But there’s obviously someone else.”
His eyebrows drew down. “Someone else?”
“As in another woman.”
“What woman?” Humor entered his eyes.
He was starting to see she was jealous. Good gravy, she was starting to see she was jealous. Colin was the absolute last man she should like—like this.
Lord, help! I am in serious stew here.
Seeming intent to stir it, Colin arched his brows while awaiting her answer.
“You denying you flirt with me, McGrath?”
He grinned. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely not what? You aren’t flirting? Or you aren’t denying it?”
His widening grin frustrated her. Especially since he didn’t appear the least bit inclined to quickly answer. Just studied her. Mutely. Intently. An entirely new level of brightness and mirth danced in his eyes. Why’d they have to be so delicious?
“You know what? Forget it.” She huffed and started to walk off.
His arm swung out like a train crossing guard, halting escape.
She lifted her chin. “What?”
His gaze roved over her face. “What, indeed.”
She gritted her teeth.
“What gave you the idea there’s another woman on my radar?”
“You said so. Earlier today.”
He nodded, seeming to know exactly the comment she referenced.
But just in case he’d grown dense all of a sudden, she’d remind him. And she wouldn’t be nice or vague about it, either. She went ahead and let the fire she felt inside flash out of her eyes. “You said very plainly you aren’t dating because you hadn’t convinced the right one.”
Peanut brittle! Blazing hot moisture sprang to her eyes. It gave Meadow her first full indication that somewhere along the line, despite having meticulously watched over all her walls, she’d betrayed herself and begun to harbor hope for Colin’s affections.
Upon seeing her tears, Colin’s face softened. His arm curled quickly, spinning her body so her cheek rested snug against his shoulder.
Holding her securely, mouth moist and hot against her ear in a heady almost-kiss, he whispered equal parts gruff and grace, “Meadow, the woman I was talking about . . . is you.”
Doubt hammered holes through Colin’s head.
It had been six tense hours this morning of working together on her roof, then prepping for this evening’s wedding reception, and she still hadn’t referenced his comment from last night.
Obviously his confession bewildered her. He’d wanted to curb what he’d perceived as insecurity on her part. Maybe he’d misread her developing feelings or misappropriated timing for the reveal of his. Only God knew. So that’s who Colin would consult.
After Colin helped Meadow carry fancy cutlery to her catering SUV, she left to run a load to the venue and he went back to work on her kitchen. Her new cabinets got delivered, and he was excited to incorporate all the special touches she’d dreamed of. That he’d made her happiness his life’s mission launched a big clue to Colin about the depth of his feelings. Ones that weren’t wavering, only growing stronger.
He was falling faster than a hammer from a ladder in love with Meadow Larson.
Her earlier silence bothered him the entire time she was gone, but when he saw how stressed she looked upon returning from the venue, he decided to wait to bring up a conversation that may add to her stress. Meadow pressed her temples, so he scrambled to think of small talk since it seemed to calm her.
“How did you segue from interior design to catering?”
She pulled a stack of server ware from one of the gazillion boxes he’d carried over from her shed. “In my catering, I do both. That’s why it’s called Havenbrook Creative Catering. I match the tables and serving décor with the bride’s theme. It saves couples from having to hire a decorator. They get two contractors for a package-deal price, and I get more business.”
She’d said Del’s encouragement had given her courage to try. For that he was glad. “What originally interested you in catering?”
She stiffened, and he felt walls go up. “Our parents never did birthdays, and our grandparents had enough expenses. So I got a job to be able to afford to make holidays and birthdays matter for my siblings. I learned to cook, bake, decorate, and sew fancy things. The idea for a catering business launched from there.” She paused. “I always loved to entertain because I enjoy serving people and bringing them together. But no one at school knew because no one ever showed up at my gatherings.”
He recalled now how he and his friends had ignored invitation after invitation. Then once Blythe fake RSVP’d on behalf of everyone, and Meadow and her grandma had prepared all that food and decorated for around fifty people—and he’d heard not a single person showed up.
It had to have been a huge financial hit for Meadow and her grandparents, who he imagined were on a very limited budget with raising the
Larson grandchildren, even if Meadow did contribute income.
Colin should’ve been there for Meadow.
“Hey, I’m sorry about that vicious prank Blythe pulled. I know I behaved badly toward you, but if I’d known about your party, one I would have recognized as that special, I’d have been there.”
“Even if that were true, you’d have been the only one.”
“Maybe not. Blythe intercepted many invitations, including mine. I didn’t even find out about it until the next day.”
“Yeah, my big walk of shame down the high school hall as Blythe and her group of friends clapped and made sarcastic birthday girl comments.” Hurt sheared across her eyes.
His heart went out to her so powerfully, he had to force himself not to reach for her. He’d confused her by his declaration yesterday. Too much too soon. He needed to tread lighter for both their sakes. Besides, he was still only marginally convinced his growing feelings for her were unrelated to guilt.
“I thought if things were decorated pretty enough, if the food tasted good enough, people would want to come. Would want to know me, maybe like me and be my friend.”
“People should’ve wanted to come because of you, Meadow, and not because of the food or decorating or even who else was there.” His mind kept going back to the Valentine decorations that had still been up on the high school walls during her humiliating walk of shame. Her devastatingly peerless party had been at the end of February, which meant Meadow had a birthday coming up soon. “I remember the hearts on the school walls, and yet I knew even then that yours was breaking. Have you ever had a birthday party?”
“No. Never have—not since that one attempt. That’s why I cater them free for underprivileged kids. Our church takes a special offering to fund it. They also waive my waitstaff’s church camp fees.”
His heart melted. “I knew I liked that church for a reason.” Meadow too.
An idea formed. He’d talk to Del, the teens, and maybe Flora and have them help him plan a big surprise party for Meadow. He knew people would show this time.
Perfect timing since her siblings were arriving soon and staying a couple of weeks.
“I’m sorry for the heartache you experienced in high school, Meadow.”
“It’s no big deal. They were all kids.”
He shook his head, not wanting her to minimize it. “No, we were young adults. The party was in your honor, yet you were horribly dishonored.” God, I am so sorry.
He was sorry for not having gotten to know her better then. For not having understood the seriousness of her family situation, the danger and neglect she and her siblings had lived under at home. Then for her to go to school only to have Blythe continue the nightmare . . .
She shrugged. “People had better things to do.”
“Not better than to be there for you. I’m sorry I never showed up for you.”
“I understand. I wasn’t on your radar.”
He couldn’t contain the compassion. He set down the buffet pan he’d been holding and placed a brotherly hand on her shoulder, giving a supportive squeeze. “Believe me, Meadow Larson, you’re on my radar now.” So strongly he couldn’t get her off if he tried.
She blinked a path across the floor and eased her shoulder from his touch, pulling away from his comfort . . . in essence rebuffing his apology and care.
She might reject it, but he was going to make sure she knew it. “That I overlooked you wasn’t a reflection on you, Meadow. It was a reflection on me, family junk, and my deep-seated selfishness. I hope you can someday believe I’m a different person now.”
She leaned against a stool and studied him carefully. “The jury’s still out on that.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. I at least appreciate you giving me the chance to change your mind for the better.” Colin wondered from where he’d gotten the audacious hope to add win her heart to his Meadow Agenda.
Lord, I may not deserve her, but I’d be so honored to be more than her friend.
Meadow carefully watched for Colin’s reaction while asking, “Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”
“Blythe?”
She nodded, unsure why she’d even asked. To torture herself?
“No.”
“Do you want to?” Meadow waved a towel as if to dissipate her question from the air. “Sorry. Not my business.”
“What if I’m starting to want it to be your business?”
Care ebbing from his eyes was doing a number on her. She hadn’t been able to sleep last night because of her unfair resistance to his gestures of comfort and affection. Her mind tormented her with its meaning, his motives. And hers.
Were his actions ruled by guilt? Was she self-sabotaging?
She wanted to be stubborn. Hold on to the hurt. But his sincerity and compassion were rendering her resentment as slippery as the Crisco he’d painted on her baking pan.
In this moment of fiercely loyal eye contact, she wanted to race to him. Embrace him for real. Things would change between them forever. Her heart would lean toward him. But then he may turn out to be the same weapon he was back then. Too big a risk.
After all, he’d been the one who’d pretended to want to strike up a friendship when his group of friends had lured her to the lake. He’d looked genuinely distressed as they were leaving her, but they’d left anyway. She didn’t know what scared her more—the possibility that he’d cared or the probability that he hadn’t. Same dilemma facing her now.
She’d end up just like that summer: hopeful for a friendship with him, then humiliated. Her heart pounded with painful memories. The assault of panic she’d felt running home from that lake resurfaced with the power of a lightning bolt to her brain. Feeling confined and short of breath, she set down the fondue pot she’d just picked up and grabbed her coat. “I should get some air.”
Her pride tried to demand she not open herself up to him more.
But were pride and fear the true bullies here?
Colin approached with concern. She waved him back with a shaky hand gesture to give her a minute. She stumbled outside onto the barn’s porch and leaned against a column, letting her face absorb refreshing coolness for many lengthy minutes. Then she moved to sit on the top step and spent several moments inhaling calming woodsy pine and clean winter air.
Hunkering down, she cleared her mind to pray and prayed to clear her mind.
“Lord, seriously, I need to get over it. The past is the past. Please help me put it back where it belongs—behind me for good. But, if I may pick a bone with you here for a minute, Lord, why does he have to be so—so—irresistibly cute? Those dimples! My goodness, they’re a bigger treat than Tex-Mex cheddar cheese. And those eyes? Way more delish than awesome Native American fry bread. And that deep voice of his could charm the rattles right off a New Mexico snake.”
Fingers webbed together, she fanned her face.
A throat cleared behind her.
She jerked upright. Couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
“Just came to let you know the oven timer’s beeping. I don’t know how to stop it.”
She realized he probably didn’t know his oven automatically shut off at the end of the cycle, even though the timer continued to beep. She nearly giggled at the endearing quirk that he had no clue how to work his own oven. Getting to it was going to be tricky.
Her face felt hotter than jalapenos over the likelihood he’d heard her honest confession. Mission: zip past him without getting caught in his gaze.
He didn’t move aside, though, which made entry awkward. In fact, she very nearly had to brush against him to get to that screeching oven. It’d help if her heart would stop thumping like a mixer with a crooked beater.
She’d almost cleared him when his arm hooked out, caging her between his chest, his minty breath, and the door frame. Caught. In every sense of the word. She dropped her chin. A strong fingertip slid beneath it.
“Please look at me?”
She twisted away. “No.�
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His thumb swept soft, wispy circles along her jawline. “Meadow, it’s okay,” he whispered. “There’s no need to look down. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed. I’m mad. I don’t want to be feeling this way.”
With gentle pressure, he lifted her face. “Not even if I feel it too?”
Now her gaze collided with his. “Not especially in that case.” Breaking the hold of his arm, she went to stab the oven display until it stopped whining.
He was behind her in four steps flat. “What’s this about, Meadow?”
She whirled. “Remember the lake? You led me on, let me believe you were my friend. Then you let them leave me, and you never once looked back.”
His jaw hardened. Emotion, swift and fierce, swirled over his face. “You’re right. All except the part about never looking back. I’ve been doing that for ten years straight. And every single second since seeing you again, I’ve looked back to that lake and drowned in its sorrow. I’ll never stop regretting what we did to you. By the way, I did go back for you.”
She blinked. “You did?”
“Yes, but not soon enough. I couldn’t find you, so I went to the police so they could look for you. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Of getting in trouble?”
“No. Of something happening to you. ‘Sorry’ seems lame, but it’s all I have, Meadow. I can’t rewind time and erase my actions. I can do my best to make it up to you, but it’s ultimately up to you to choose to forgive me. Us.”
Though rationally she knew he was right and forgiveness was biblical, emotionally she bristled at his sudden solidarity with his high school friends by his use of the word us.
“I can’t hand you the power to hurt me again.”
“Sorry you feel that way, especially after . . .” He shut his mouth.
His words, spoken and unspoken, carved through her as he turned toward the door.
She stood silent and wholly haunted by the flash of hurt he hadn’t been quick enough to hide. The look of a person left reeling by another’s words.
She didn’t know from where all this mouth venom of hers was coming, but it was vicious. She’d hate herself for it, except she knew doing so would break the Lord’s heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Jesus.