by Stacey Weeks
“If there isn’t romance now, there used to be. I know what I saw.” Jeff winked and his upper lip curled, all but calling William a liar.
“I mean it,” William repeated. “We are not an item.”
“Call your relationship whatever you want, but I liked what I saw on this recording. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m willing to sign.” He tossed a DVD across his desk to William.
William caught it. He should have offered to meet the crew on Jenna’s day off, but no, he had to be a big shot and show off. The prideful part of him that he always fought against wanted Jenna to see how successful he’d become. He wanted to, ugh, impress her? His eyes slid shut for a brief moment. The Good Book warned that pride went before a fall. Maybe he deserved to lose the farm.
“I also like your idea about rebuilding homes and businesses in your neighborhood. It gives the show a nice community feel, and your area is historic enough to make it interesting.” Mr. Foxshire prattled on as if he had no idea how impossible his request was.
“Jenna is not part of the deal,” William said.
“Maybe I’m not making myself clear.” He leaned over his desk pressing his fingertips onto the surface. “Jenna makes or breaks the deal.”
Mr. Foxshire’s confident tone soured William’s stomach. Jenna’s self-imposed boundaries would not allow for a second partnership.
“I’m offering you a chance,” Mr. Foxshire continued as if the bottom hadn’t just dropped from the world. “Co-sign Jenna and show us that you can finish your current job on time and under budget, and you can have your show.”
William clung to a thin thread of hope as Mr. Foxshire outlined his demands in detail. Maybe Jenna would like to be in the show? She was certainly good with the crew. Besides, what up-and-coming artist wouldn’t love a chance at this kind of exposure? He shifted in the chair.
“I’m sure she’d love to co-star. I mean, what designer wouldn’t jump at this opportunity? But we’re not an item.” Jenna didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him. Even if he could get Jenna to sign, he couldn’t promise them romance. There was no way, after all they’d been through together, that she’d look twice at him romantically.
He tossed the DVD back across the desk and rose out of his chair. “I guess some things don’t transfer onto video.” Sin carried a high price tag, but he had hoped he wouldn’t have to pay with his brother’s farm. Please, God, let there be another way.
Jeff flapped his manicured hand with impatience. “Please sit down. Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what I see. This is an opportunity, William. Go make nice with the pretty girl and save your dead brother’s farm.”
His felt his eyes bug out of his head at the mention of Paul’s farm. His thoughts flickered back to the stack of letters threatening foreclosure. “How do you—”
“It’s my job to know.” Foxshire’s steely eyes reminded him of a predator hunting prey.
The farm. Foxshire had found his weak spot.
8
“How did it go?” Jenna suspected that showing up on William’s doorstep during off hours would further catapult their relationship from the safe and professional boundaries she set deep into personal territory, but she came anyway. He didn’t return to the church after his meeting with the television station’s producer. She had to find out what’d happened.
“Hey, Jenna.” If William was surprised to see her, he hid it well. His tired smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and he leaned against the doorjamb. Her insides twisted. Was he happy to see her? Or merely tolerant?
She shifted her weight in an attempt to dispel the butterflies dancing inside her stomach and knocked a ceramic pot with her boot. She scrambled to realign the potted plant. She had rattled it askew from the other potted sedums staggered every few feet across the length of the porch. The image of William outside with a small spade potting perennials made the corners of her lips twitch.
“What so funny?” He arched his brow, with a silly half grin sneaking across his face at her flustered attempt to calm herself.
“Would you like to borrow my pink spade the next time you need to do some gardening? You know, since you liked my pink measuring tape so much.” She wrinkled her nose and held back a giggle. Giggle? What was she? Fourteen? Get a grip.
“Only if it has a fake diamond set into the handle.”
She inhaled deep, needing the sweet scent of seasonal sedum to pull her attention from his distinct masculine smell. What did it matter if he liked to garden or not? She didn’t come here to banter. She definitely didn’t come here to flirt. She came to see if she had ruined his chance with the television studio. That was all. “Did they like you?”
“Who?” His turn to hold back a twitching smile.
She huffed and put her fists on her hips. “You know who I mean. The television people. What happened? Why didn’t you come back to work?”
William slipped his feet into a pair of boots waiting by the front door. He stepped onto the porch, and the door clicked shut as he pulled it closed behind him. He walked across to the railing, rested his forearms on the wooden support, and peered out into the inky blackness. “They made an offer. If I agree to it, I’ll get the show.”
Jenna leaned her hip against the railing and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her down jacket. That sounded great. So why did he look so sad? The moonlight shadowed his profile and she could just make out the crinkles around his eyes. Crinkles that stemmed from concern, not happiness. “But that’s good, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure I can meet their terms.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” She couldn’t imagine what kind of terms would be impossible to meet. Frankly, William seemed to be the kind of man who could do anything. Would it be rude to ask? She opened her mouth, but snapped it shut. She had pried enough for one night. Besides, he must have friends to confide in. He didn’t need her.
He finally looked at her. Really looked at her. Like he used to, all those years ago when they dated.
She squirmed.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered.
Her breath caught, turning her insides out. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that, and she certainly shouldn’t like it so much.
Was it her fault? Was that what he wasn’t saying? Did her bossy presence ruin his audition? Parker always said she made a mess of everything. Her eyes welled up and the cold air made her eyelashes stick. She blinked against the icy dampness. “Did they like anything about your audition tape?” She clung to a tiny thread of hope and folded her arms protectively around her tense body.
He stood quiet for so long, she wondered if he was going to answer. “Yeah, they liked some things. They liked you. Maybe you could stay and do the show with me and seal the deal?” His awkward laugh sounded forced.
She laughed too. He was joking, wasn’t he? “I have to be back at my desk as soon as the church is done. If I get syndicated, I’ll be busy enough. Besides, I don’t love the camera like you do.” She knew she was rambling, but something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. She softened. “I’m sorry it didn’t go the way you had planned.”
Jenna didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched. She’d really blown it.
“Want to come in?” William didn’t acknowledge her apology.
“Sure.” She casually followed him to the door as if this wasn’t the very thing she had hoped for when she pulled into his driveway. Her tense muscles protested, but she chalked it up to a hard day of work, not the throbbing anticipation of exploring the rambling dwelling that sat just outside of Bayview. For weeks, she had wanted to see inside his house. See who he was when no one was looking.
The exterior boasted all the warmth and charm of an ancient rural homestead. Did he maintain the integrity of the era inside, or did he sell out to modern convenience? It had taken all her willpower to refrain from peeping through his windows while they chatted.
“Pardon the mess. I wasn’t expectin
g company.” William scooped up a newspaper and some mail littering the hall entry table and slid some keys and miscellaneous items into a drawer.
Mess? This was nothing. He should see some of the places she was invited into. She slipped out of her jacket and handed it to William. He hung it up in the closet. Her inner decorator perked as she studied the interior and compared its style to the outside of the property.
“Want some tea or coffee?” William slipped his feet into a pair of dark brown slippers.
She grinned.
“What’s so funny now?” He looked down his front patting his body as if he expected to find a piece of clothing out of place.
“You. All you need is a smoking jacket and a pipe and you’d look like you’d stepped off the pages of some 1850s London’s gentlemen’s magazine.
He raised a brow. “London’s Gentleman? Never heard of it.”
“It’s really not your style—despite the slippers.”
“You wound my redneck pride.” He clutched his heart.
She wandered into the great room toward a set of double French doors. “May I?”
He nodded.
She poked her head into the screened-in porch. An expansive deck surrounded the house with built-in benches and storage. The entire place definitely experienced a facelift, but thankfully maintained many of the original period features.
“The kitchen is this way.” He eagerly steered her into the kitchen as if he wanted—or needed—her approval. Why would he care what she thought? It wasn’t as if she were the future lady of house.
Yikes! Where had that come from? She had no plans to be any man’s future lady. Parker had ruined her dreams of a family. She no longer believed in fairy tales or happily ever after. They weren’t meant for people like her.
Besides, he had nothing to worry about anyway. So far, she wouldn’t change a thing.
She followed him toward the kitchen, gobsmacked by the flooring. It extended throughout the entire main floor. She clicked her tongue.
“What are you clucking about?” He held a kettle under a breathtaking faucet.
“You sure grumbled about reusing that old school room floor. And here you did the same thing at home. It looks great.” She loved the weathered, wide-plank flooring, and he’d done a bang-up job installing it. If the old school floor turned out half as great, she’d consider it a win.
“If you recall, I didn’t grumble about the floor. I grumbled about how much work it would be to install an old floor.” He finished filling the kettle and set it on the burner. “This beauty was a boatload of trouble.”
Her cheeks burned like the heating element on the stovetop.
He opened a cupboard and pulled out two mugs and pointed to an assortment of tea on the shelf. “Do you have a preference?”
“Lemon, if you have it.” What kind of guy potted perennials and served herbal tea? William certainly had not grown into the man she’d envisioned he’d become. Thank goodness for that. This version was far better.
She slipped onto an island stool. Did the chunky beams support the ceiling or were they decorative? She imagined that, in the daytime, light spilled into every corner, making the place cheery and bright.
She could live here.
Her mouth went dry. There was nothing professional about the unwelcome thoughts skittering across her mind. She was so far over her boundary line she wouldn’t be able to see it if she looked back through binoculars. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.
A glance out the nearest window showed a semicircle of unlit torches around a fire pit flanked by Muskoka chairs. She saw herself, roasting marshmallows at dusk. She pushed the irrational thought aside.
Get control!
“So, I’m not London’s gentleman. I hope I’m not backwoods redneck either. What’s my style? In your professional opinion?” William interrupted her ridiculous thoughts.
She glanced at the framed art on the walls thankful for the distraction. “Let’s see. The kitchen is country, but new country. It’s very modern but has loads of character.” The sage green cupboards and butcher block countertops set off modern features that would make a professional chef drool. Chunky floating shelves filled with vintage crockery, jugs, bowls, and jars were practical as well as good looking. The wide plank flooring that continued into the kitchen from the adjacent great room was stained a warm reddish brown, finishing the look. Breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking.
William removed the whistling kettle. “Can we share a pot?”
“Sure. Whatever is easier.” She leaned her elbows onto the countertop as he tossed two teabags into a teapot and filled it with boiling water. “So tell me more about the meeting?”
“There’s nothing more to tell. I’ll work on an irresistible counter-offer.”
“So there’s still hope?”
“There is always hope.”
Jenna blushed, certain his words held a double meaning, but equally certain she didn’t want to go there. She cleared her throat. “Will you give me the full house tour?”
“Sure. But be warned. My old country won’t knock your big-city socks off.” His smile softened his teasing words.
“I said new country, not old country. And ladies wear hosiery in the big city, not socks,” she teased. She followed him toward the staircase.
“Do you ever think of coming back to Bayview for good?” William started up the stairs.
“I doubt my editor would let me work this far from the office.”
William pointed to a collection of beautiful landscape pictures that ran up the staircase. “These are all local. Do you recognize any?”
“This one.” She fingered a picture of an old dock with a canoe tied to the side of a boathouse. “That’s around here somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s my dad’s old boathouse.”
They’d spent some time in that boathouse as teens. Was it too much to hope that he hung the picture as a fond memory of their friendship? She popped her ballooning hope. It was far more likely that it was a good memory of time spent with his father.
He led her past three cozy bedrooms with double beds outfitted in various patchwork quilts much like the one in Tucker and Becky’s guest room. Then he turned into a room like William in every way. Masculine, strong, and bold. It had to be the master bedroom. Weathered barn board planks covered the high-peaked ceiling. Even the antlers on the adjacent wall hanging above the writing desk looked like they belonged. And she didn’t like antlers.
“This is stunning. Did you decorate yourself?” The thought of a former girlfriend or any woman having input into his bedroom soured her stomach.
“Yep.” His chest puffed out. “It’s all me.”
It was all him, indeed. She liked it. Too much.
A weathered bible sat opened on the end table with a pen resting in the seam. She could just make out a smattering of blue ink on the text. Was this proof that William was a changed man?
Her gaze lingered on the book longer than necessary. Once, the sight would have thrilled her, but now, she wasn’t so sure.
~*~
Why didn’t he tell her the truth? The whole truth. Not that edited version he spat out tonight over tea. He thrust his hands deeper into the soapy water and scrubbed the mug harder than necessary.
He hadn’t lied. Everything he said was true. But he let her draw false conclusions. That was just as bad. Wasn’t it?
He noticed her gaze lingering on his bible. The last thing she needed from him was half-truths. But when she showed up at his door, all worried and concerned about the show, it threw him. Threw him far from the narrow path.
He scrubbed a plate and the bubbles sloshed up to his elbows. If she could see him now, she wouldn’t think he bore any resemblance to the traditional forms of masculinity they poked fun at earlier in the evening.
During their light banter, he had the perfect moment to tell her everything, and he blew it. She even asked how she could help. I’m sorry, God.
“W
illiam? Are you home?” His dad opened the back door and poked his head around.
“In here, Dad.”
“I put your saw back in the shed. Thanks for lending it to me.” Dad strolled over to an island stool and spread his six-foot frame over it. He’d retired from the police force after William’s mom died, but still maintained his impressive strength with tri-weekly workouts with his buddies from the force. Ever since he was a kid, his Dad had been formidable. Capable. He could fix anything. The only times William had ever seen the man beat were the days Mom and Paul died.
“You’re welcome.”
“So how’d the meeting with the T.V. executive go?”
“It’s not great.” William dried his hands on a towel and tucked it over the stove handle to hang dry. “They liked Jenna. Too much.” He grabbed a bag of assorted nuts and shook some into a bowl on the island countertop.
Dad laughed. “Well what’s not to like? If I remember right, you liked Jenna once too.”
“They’ll only give me the show if she will co-star.” He sank down beside his Dad. “What am I going to do?”
“What did Jenna say when you told her?”
“I didn’t exactly tell her.” He should have. He knew it. But he couldn’t.
“Why not?” Dad reached for some nuts.
“I threw the idea out there. Sort of. But she laughed it off. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in uprooting her whole life just for me.”
“Did you explain it all to her? What this could do for her career?”
“No, I can’t. Especially now. Things are still…fragile…between us. I can tell she doesn’t quite trust me yet. It’s like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I’m pulling some big scam. Again.”
“Son, what you and Linda did was years ago. You need to do what you can to make it right, then move on.” Dad rested a gentle hand on William’s shoulder.
“It’s not that simple, Dad.” William shrugged it off and stood. He paced to the refrigerator and back. “I’ve been trying to show her I’m not the same self-serving guy I used to be. Now, she’ll think I just buttered her up to manipulate her into co-starring. That I was using her. Just like before.”