by Kait Nolan
“That’s easy enough,” Uncle Pete said. “Got all the information on that right here.” He tapped a manila envelope on the end table.
Before she could even ask why he had all that pulled together, Mitch jumped in. “You’d need office space. I’ve been giving some thought to that, actually.” Pulling out his digital tablet, he opened some files and handed it over.
The image on the screen was dark, dusty, and loaded with boxes.
“What am I looking at?”
“Is that the old train depot?” Cam asked.
“Yep. It hasn’t been used for anything but storage for…man, I don’t know. Twenty years. But—” Mitch leaned over and swiped to the next image. “—it has potential.”
The concept was fabulous. It retained the historic character of the exposed brick, the struts and beams. But he’d opened the walls, replaced some of the windows to let in the light. There were offices, three of them, divided by glass walls, so as not to block the light, and a small conference room, in addition to a comfortable waiting area for greeting clients. Another swipe revealed the interior of the largest office. Of all of them, Mitch was the only one who’d seen that corner office she’d left behind. He knew how she liked to work and had taken that into account, adding a massive corkboard wall on one side and a giant freestanding glass board on the other for brainstorming. The third wall opened up into a huge picture window overlooking the town green.
Her stomach tied itself in knots of slippery, professional lust. She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, Mitch.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m not going to change my mind and marry you just because you designed my dream office. It was a valiant effort, though.”
Mitch laughed. “Hard to compete when I know it was never really a contest.”
“We put together a list of potential clients.” Anita handed over yet another manila envelope.
Frowning Norah took it, sliding out a thick stack of what turned out to be signed letters of intention.
“It’s more or less everyone you’ve worked with since you got here,” Grammy said. “Plus a few others.”
Norah said nothing, eyes moving from one Campbell to the next.
Mitch had sobered. “We felt bad about how we reacted, and we really wanted to show you that we’re behind you a hundred percent.”
Cam bristled. “So you decided to make the decision for her and back her into a corner?”
Of course he would understand her hesitation. Her parents had been doing the same thing for years, trying to force her hand, albeit with far less consideration of her own wants and preferences. Cam himself had gone out of his way to avoid talking about the future, to keep her from feeling pressured.
“I’m sure that wasn’t their intention.”
Aunt Liz looked stricken. “No! We just wanted to be supportive. To try to make it an easier decision.”
“Oh, no we absolutely colluded to railroad you,” Miranda said. “Because we love you and that’s what we do in this family. You love us, so you’ll forgive us for essentially beating you over the head with this after you’ve put in a full day’s work on three hours of sleep.”
Norah felt her cheeks heat. She didn’t dare look at Cam to see if he was blushing or otherwise looked incriminating. Miranda knew she’d slept at his place. Norah didn’t know if the rest of the family did and wasn’t quite ready to look them in the eye to find out. So she kept her eyes on her friend. “The fact that you pull no punches is one of the things I love most about you.”
“You’ve been too busy busting your ass trying to outflank GrandGoods to give much consideration to a real job. I know you. It never occurred to you to create one for yourself.”
“You’re right. It didn’t. I’ve deliberately kept myself too busy to think about it because, I guess I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t be able to think of a viable way I could stay.” She looked down at the stack of letters and smiled. “So thank you for opening my eyes to the possibility.”
Picking up Mitch’s tablet, she opened up the concept sketches again. “Who owns this property?”
“The city,” Sandra said. “As Mitch said, it’s not been used for anything but storage in ages. I don’t think there’d be any fuss over selling.”
Norah looked to Cam. “Can you get the keys?”
He angled his head, a faint curve to the corners of his mouth that was just enough to make his dimples wink. “That can be arranged.”
~*~
The old train depot was, as advertised, a glorified storage unit. File cabinets and boxes of who knew what from decades of running a town were stacked cheek by jowl around an assortment of discarded office furniture all through the space. But what Norah saw as she looked through it a few days later was the vision Mitch had planted in her head.
“It was really smart of Mitch to do this.”
“Do what?” Cam asked.
“Make me lust over what this space could be. It was smart of all of them to give me the pitch for what my own firm here could be like.”
He scowled. “They shouldn’t have pressured you.”
“It means a lot to me that you don’t. That you’re giving me time to figure things out. I know it has to be hard on you to stay in the here and now without talking about the future. You’re just as much a planner as I am.”
“I don’t have to talk about it to believe in it. I’m a patient guy. I know you’ll get there in your own time.”
This was where he put his faith, his hope, and it humbled her.
“Maybe a little less time, thanks to your very nosy family.” She leaned back against a desk. “I want to stay, Cam.”
It wasn’t the declaration she wanted to make. Or, at least, not the only one. But it was enough to make his eyes light.
“I’ve been afraid to admit to myself how badly I want that because I couldn’t see how I could make it work. They gave me an option I hadn’t considered. I don’t know if it’s actually what I’ll end up doing, but they showed me a way I could maybe legitimately have my cake and eat it too. That makes up for the pushy.”
“The idea of opening your own firm really hadn’t occurred to you?”
“It really hadn’t. I mean, maybe down the road in another decade or so, when I had more experience, more awards, a more solid reputation to base a firm around. But those things don’t matter so much here. And I’ve discovered through my work with the coalition that I really like running stuff.”
“You’re good at it. And I believe we’ve discussed the benefits of being your own boss.”
Norah could think of a lot more inventive ways to play hooky now than what they’d managed so far. The sparkle in Cam’s eye said he could, too. Because that glint was dangerous, she turned her mind to the details of the firm she hadn’t yet decided to open. “I’d need to come up with a name. And a logo. And a business plan. That should actually come first.” Her fingers began to clench, and she automatically started looking around for pen and paper.
Cam reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and produced a small notepad. At her start of surprise, he said, “I started carrying it weeks ago after watching you write all the way up to your elbow when you couldn’t find paper.” He dug back in the pocket and came up with a pen. “Here. Purple for brainstorming.”
Her chest went tight, her throat thick.
“It is purple, right? I thought the blue was for action items.”
“It is.”
He looked vaguely uncertain. “What is this look?”
“This is me going completely gooey. Like homemade marshmallow fluff gooey.”
“My family handed you half a business concept and a pen makes you gooey?”
“The fact that you know my color coding system, what it’s for, and that you have—” She tugged open the pocket to check. “—all the major colors in your pocket just in case I need them makes me gooey.”
“You have them organized in at least four places at my apartment. It isn’t hard to grab
a handful and go.”
Norah leaned in to brush her mouth over his. “It’s observant and thoughtful. You’re always doing stuff like this, all these little signs that show you’re paying attention. That you see me. You just…undo me.”
He stepped close, crowding her back against a desk until he’d caged her between it and his body. “I like seeing you undone. It’s those business suits.”
“What?” She couldn’t breathe with him this close. Not when she could feel the heat of him and her hands itched to tug at his shirt until she found skin.
“You’re always so neat and tidy. Put together. It makes me want to muss you up. Even more now that I know how gorgeous you are when you come apart from my hands. My mouth.”
The gravel in his voice, the memories he evoked, had her going hot and wet.
“Cam.”
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“We’re done with business for the day. And I’ve got my mind on pleasure.” Cam dipped his head to kiss a trail along the column of her throat. She dropped her pen.
God. “I can see that.” He found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shudder and fist a hand in his shirt. “Cam.”
“Mmm?” He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her sweater, skimming along her spine in a stroke that made her arch like a cat.
“You’re distracting me.”
She felt his lips curve against her throat. “That’s the idea.”
Those hands. How was she supposed to think with them on her?
There were really good, rational reasons hanging out at the periphery of her mind about why this wasn’t a good idea. She came close to grasping at them, then he slid his hands around her ribcage, up to cradle her breasts. His thumbs brushed the stiffened peaks through her bra and a bolt of heat shot straight to her center. Norah dragged his head down and took his mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The taste of him punched into her and fried what remained of her synapses, leaving her desperate and wanting.
As he gripped her hips and lifted her onto the desk, she was already tugging his shirt free. Stepping between the V of her thighs, Cam dragged her forward until they were pressed, center to center, separated only by a few inconvenient layers.
The slap of the door had them both freezing.
“Well, this is awkward.”
Tucker. Norah didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning.
Cam slid his hands free of her sweater and tugged it down. He eased back, just a bit for decency—as if it wasn’t too late for that—but continued to block her with his body.
“Christ, McGee, could you possibly have worse timing?”
“I’m pretty sure five minutes later would’ve been worse.”
“Oh God, I’m just going to die now.” Norah buried her face in Cam’s chest and willed them both to sink through the floor.
Cam swore.
“Come on man, you didn’t put a sock on the door or anything.”
“You’re going to turn around and leave, right now, without another word, or you’re going to end up with my fist in your face.”
“No can do, buddy boy. I’ve been dispatched by Violet to drag you in by your hair if necessary. She’s been trying to get you for an hour. She said there’s some problem with the Keaney job for tomorrow.”
“Damn it. Fine. I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh no, I’m supposed to make sure your ass actually gets to the nursery. I have been threatened with having my pie privileges revoked at Dinner Belles. You know she could talk her mama into it. I’m not willing to risk it. Happy to give you time to compose yourself, though. I’ll just be outside.”
The door thumped shut behind them.
Cam dropped his forehead to hers. “That’s not how I saw that going.”
“I officially cannot show my face in town, ever again. I should sneak out under cover of darkness, while I still can.”
“It was just Tucker. He’ll give me shit about it, but it’s nothing to worry about. And it’s not like people don’t know we’re involved.”
“Knowing we’re involved and knowing we almost…on a desk, in a public building are totally different things.”
“Only semi-public. It’s not usually open.”
“So not the point. This is not the place for a quickie.”
He cupped her cheek, rubbed a thumb across her lips. “A quickie wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Norah closed her eyes, absorbing the touch. “Then it’s a good thing we got interrupted.”
“I can be done with this in forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.”
And if she was lucky, she wouldn’t spontaneously combust in the meantime. “Meet you at your place.”
Norah waited until she was sure Cam and Tucker would be gone, until she was sure she could walk without the friction of her slacks making her blush. Then she locked the door to the depot and crossed the green toward her car, parked at the opposite end, near the fountain. The evening air was cool, and she was grateful for the dark. Nobody who saw her in the glow of the street lamps would notice anything amiss. Probably. The few souls she saw were headed for Dinner Belles or Speakeasy, or slipping into the Mudcat for a beer. All save one who stood very still beside the fountain. Something in his posture was unbearably sad.
She almost didn’t stop. In Chicago, she’d have gone straight for her car without giving the guy more than a passing glance. But this wasn’t Chicago, so she slowed, stepping quietly up beside him. Dressed in jeans and a black pea coat, Norah pegged him to be in his late forties, a bit younger and a lot fitter than her father. And he looked…lost. Not like he needed directions somewhere local, but direction for his life.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Always was,” the stranger agreed. “Though it still ran the last time I was here.”
“Been away a while?”
“Almost thirty years.”
“Long time. Was this home?”
He shook his head, not taking his eyes off the fountain. “I loved a girl from here once.”
And clearly he’d lost her somehow. Still caught up in the heady promise of a future with Cam, the thought made her ache for whatever put that look of heartbreak on this man’s face.
“Is she what brought you back?” Norah asked gently.
“The memory of her.” He finally shifted his attention to Norah, expression sharpening with recognition. “And you, actually. I was in Jackson on business and saw you on the news last night. Norah Burke, right?”
She suppressed her instinctive whoop at the fact that they’d made it outside the regional news. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“Gerald Peyton.” He offered his hand.
She took it, appreciating the quick, businesslike shake before he released her.
“So indulge my curiosity,” she said, knowing she’d already asked him a more personal question than this, “what about the interview made you come back to Wishful?”
Gerald lifted a brow.
“I’m in marketing, so I’m always working on refining my campaigns, seeing what works, what doesn’t.”
“And you’re marketing the town?”
“Something like that,” she said, and waited.
“The reminder of my personal connection was part of it. I was nostalgic. But it was the fountain. This place always reminds me that hope springs eternal.”
The familiar phrase circled around in her head. “I expect everybody could use a little reminder of that from time to time,” she said. “It’s certainly why I came.”
“Yeah? Where’d you blow in from?”
“The Windy City, as it happens. I came for family and got caught up in the cause.”
“And a relationship, apparently,” he noted with amusement. “Or was that dip staged?”
“Nope, not staged. Just a very unexpected side effect of a wish.”
His look was more one of curiosity than contempt. “You believe in t
hat stuff?”
“I didn’t when I got here, but I think I’m changing my mind.”
They both looked back at the fountain.
“Are you going to make one?” she asked.
“That didn’t turn out so well for me last time.”
“Cam told me you have to be really careful what you wish for. It can rebound badly.”
“Cam? Mr. Dip?”
Norah smiled. “Campbell Crawford. He’s one of the City Councilmen.”
“Crawford?” Gerald went still.
“His mom Sandra is mayor. Did you know her?”
Something flickered across his face and was gone. “No. No, I didn’t know her. Just recognized the name.”
“It might’ve been somebody from Cam’s dad’s side that you knew. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Crawford side. His dad left years ago, and I don’t think there are any relatives still here from that branch.” She laughed at herself. “Sorry. They’re rubbing off on me. Can’t seem to have a conversation without talking about who’s related to who anymore.”
“It’s the way of the south. Listen, it was nice to meet you. Good luck with your campaign. It’s not often in life you get a second chance at something, and this town really deserves one.”
He turned to walk away.
“Mr. Peyton?” Gerald glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“So do I.”
Chapter 16
Cam dug the blade of his sharp shooter shovel into the earth and blessed the groundhog for having given the middle finger to winter. The rising, early spring temperatures had landscaping clients coming out of the woodwork, which meant he could finally get his hands dirty with something other than political bullshit. The weeping cherry trees that hadn’t arrived in yesterday’s shipment were easily traded out for Japanese magnolias, so, with the exception of Dewey May, who hadn’t shown, he and his crew were going full-tilt on the demolition of Moriah Keaney’s dated, overgrown front flowerbeds.