Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  Lane shot off a quick text to Chloe asking her to make nice with Ashton’s assistant and buy her a few more days. Marshall didn’t need to dictate everything, did he?

  She put the phone back in her pocket. She didn’t want to think about it right now, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. That buzzy, anxious feeling stirred inside her. She’d only become aware of it recently, and sometimes Lane thought she was on the verge of spinning out of control. It was ridiculous. She was a professional. She thrived on stress. She liked to be busy.

  But the timing of everything happening in her life at that moment could not have been worse. Like a perfect storm.

  Her heart was still racing after her fall, and she could barely catch her breath. She’d let her nerves take over, forgotten everything her trainer had taught her about running, like it were her first time all over again. She’d gone too hard, too fast, like a crazy lunatic with no training at all. She’d used up everything she had right at the start, and now here she was, bloodied, humiliated, and not looking forward to the walk home.

  In the distance, she could see the Cedar Grove cottages, where so many tourists had stayed over the years. Her mom found it important to call Lane at least once a month and keep her updated on all of Harbor Pointe’s latest gossip, though Lane found it important to tune out what she said. Often these updates were left on her voice mail because sometimes Lane simply could not work up the energy to answer the phone.

  She vaguely remembered that the former owner of Cedar Grove had died and someone else had purchased the place. Apparently the cottages were going to be completely remodeled, and “Oh, Lane, you could be the decorator. Come back here for a few weeks; work your magic at Cedar Grove. This is going to be quite the project. This little cottage community could bring more tourists to Harbor Pointe, and I know you haven’t heard about all this, but we could really use that right now. We have our regulars, but the vacation homes have all been bought. There’s nowhere for anyone new. Besides, it would give you a chance to do something nice for the town, and—”

  Lane hadn’t listened to the message all the way through.

  She’d stopped listening to most of what Dottie said the day her sister stole her fiancé and her mother looked the other way.

  CHAPTER

  12

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, Ryan woke up before the sun. He’d called every single name on the list Barb gave him, but all five of them were too booked to take on such a large project with a tight deadline.

  His head throbbed from the worry of it. He hadn’t come this far to fail. He had so much work to do, but it would have to wait.

  He’d told Frank and Dottie he’d man the table at the midweek farmers’ market for them so they could stay at the hospital. As soon as he had the thought, the image of Lane and her bright-blue eyes raced across his mind.

  It was stupid that he wasted any time thinking about someone who was so obviously just counting the days until she could get back to her real life and forget she’d ever made this pit stop in Harbor Pointe.

  Yesterday afternoon at the hospital, he’d found her in that same corner in the lobby, earbuds warning passersby to keep on walking. He disregarded messages like that, choosing instead to break the rules of social engagement as often as he could. He liked messing up her perfectly constructed world—a world he had obviously never fit into.

  He’d pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and turned it around and straddled it, then stared at her for a full ten seconds until finally she glanced up and yanked the earbuds from her ears.

  “What are you doing?” She sounded part flustered and part irritated, but there was also a hint of amusement. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself living for that hint.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Working.” She flipped her hands out over the mess of papers on the table.

  “You do seem very busy.”

  “Are you going to tell me I should be up there in that zoo of a waiting room with the rest of them?”

  “Instead of down here, hiding in this corner so no one can find you?”

  “You found me.” She met his eyes. He couldn’t turn away.

  “I knew where to look.” He grinned at her.

  “Does that mean you found me on purpose?”

  “Would you think I was flirting if I said yes?”

  “Of course not.” Her eyes had widened.

  “Oh.” He frowned. “I must be off my game. I’m definitely flirting with you.” He grinned at her and her cheeks turned pink.

  “You’re insane.” She shook her head, and yet the twinkle of amusement hung around. It was all the encouragement he needed.

  They talked about Nate for a few minutes. She hadn’t seen him yet, but her turn was in about an hour. She hung out in the lobby because it was less distracting. That’s what she said, anyway, but he didn’t buy it. He knew she had other reasons for not wanting to be around her family; he just didn’t want to bring those up.

  “We should get coffee on purpose sometime.” He glanced at the table where they were both sitting—separate but together—with their to-go cups.

  Her shoulders stiffened. Uh-oh. He’d made it awkward. He talked too much.

  “Or maybe we’ll just keep running into each other.” He was careful to keep his smile in place, though inside, he fought the humiliating feelings of rejection like everyone else. “Probably more exciting that way.”

  Her phone buzzed. She read the message and her fingers flew over the screen as she tapped out a reply.

  “Work?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She kept typing. “This is terrible.” She’d muttered the words so quietly he knew they weren’t intended for him.

  He’d sat down quickly, but he slowly wandered away, leaving her with her phone, her thoughts, and her mumbling.

  And now, a whole day later, he found himself still thinking about her and when he might get a chance to see her again. Stupid, really. He should take the hint.

  Yet something told him Lane required persistence. It was like that with people who’d convinced themselves they didn’t need anyone.

  Besides, there was something dancing in those big blue eyes of hers that told him it was worth it not to let one little rejection make him give up for good.

  He showered, dressed, and headed over to Hazel’s for his usual morning meal. He parked his bike—the nonmotorized kind—outside, and as he walked in, he caught Betsy’s eye. She nodded toward his usual booth, and he strolled over to it and sat down. The place was even fuller than usual, but he had the distinct feeling Betsy had saved his table for him.

  He didn’t need the menu and she didn’t need to take his order. Another reason he loved this place.

  “You’re busy today,” he said when she arrived at his table with a pot of coffee.

  “Maybe tourist season is starting early this year.” She filled his mug and he took a drink. “Let’s hope so, anyway. How are the cottages coming along?”

  He told her the good stuff first and then filled her in about Barb. Betsy was well connected—maybe she knew someone who could help him.

  “Do you have your phone?” she asked when he finished.

  He slid his old flip phone from his pocket, aware of the grimace on her face. “It makes phone calls same as yours.”

  She smiled and walked away. When she returned a few minutes later with his food, she handed over the fancy pocket computer she called a telephone. She’d pulled up a website and apparently expected him to look at it.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “This is a pretty well-known designer out of Chicago. She has a huge following on social media.”

  “Is that a big deal?”

  Betsy sat across from him. “Yes, it means she’s good. People really like her style and she’s got great taste.”

  “It’s a tight deadline, Bets. She’s probably booked if she’s that popular.”

  “Gee, that’s the spirit.” She took her phone and started ta
pping around on it while Ryan ate his sausage, egg, and cheese on an English muffin. She set the phone back on the table and pushed it toward him. “Tell me she doesn’t have exactly the look you want.”

  He watched as she swiped through a series of photos of spaces that had a distinctly cottage feel to them. He’d worked so hard on the details in the construction and remodeling of each cottage—from the crown molding to the hand-scraped wood floors. Each detail had been carefully thought out. But now he had to throw someone in at the last minute to finish the cottages.

  But the more photos Betsy showed him, the more he thought this designer would be even better than Barb would’ve been.

  “Great, right?” Betsy grinned at him.

  “Yeah. Do you have some magical connection to this designer?”

  “No, but you do.” She took out her notepad and scribbled something on it.

  “I don’t have any connections. Why do you think I’m asking you?” He stared at her blankly.

  “This is Lane’s site, Brooks. This is what she does.”

  He scrolled through the photos again. “Seriously?”

  “Like I said—she’s kind of a big deal.”

  He glanced at Betsy. “What’s up with you two? I thought you were friends.”

  She shrugged. “We were. And now we’re not.”

  “But you’re referring me to her?”

  “I can appreciate her talent.” Betsy retrieved her phone and glanced at the image on the screen. “Besides, I have high hopes for Cedar Grove. It’s going to be good for all of us.”

  The reminder squeezed something inside him.

  “So, what, you think I should just ask her?”

  Another shrug. “You could e-mail her, but you’d probably have to go to the library to send an e-mail, so face-to-face seems like a better bet.”

  He finished off his hash browns and took another swig of his coffee. “Probably. Thanks for the info.” He handed her a ten-dollar bill and got up, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. “I have to go. I’m working at the farmers’ market today for Frank.”

  She stood. “How’s Nate?”

  “Have you been to see him?”

  Betsy shook her head and pushed her glasses up on her face—something she did when she was nervous. She could carry on a perfectly normal conversation with just about anyone who walked through her doors at the diner, but whenever Nate was around, the girl turned mute. She probably didn’t think anyone knew it, but her feelings for Nate had been obvious to Ryan almost since the day he’d moved to Harbor Pointe.

  Ryan had been eating dinner alone after a long day on a job site, when Nate and some guys from the worship team strolled into Hazel’s and sat down at a booth near the front. Betsy’s face had turned crimson and she might’ve let out a slight gasp. Ryan didn’t tease her about it—not then and especially not now. As far as he knew, Nate had no idea, but Ryan thought they’d be a great match. Betsy was cute but not exactly pretty, which might have been why she hesitated. Someone like Betsy didn’t usually end up with someone like Nate Kelley. But she didn’t realize that not all guys were completely shallow. Betsy was kind, and that trait seemed difficult to come by.

  “You should go,” he said. “He’d love knowing you were there.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s got a waiting room full of people.” She smiled even though her eyes had filled with tears. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Ryan’s heart dropped. He hoped so. He prayed so. His silent prayers seemed to be on a continuous loop in the back of his mind. Please let him be okay, God.

  “I hope so, Bets.” Ryan reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “But regardless, you should go see him.”

  “I don’t want to be in the way.”

  “But you guys are friends. I’m sure it’d mean a lot to him to know you came by.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She sniffled.

  Ryan gave her one last nod of encouragement and walked out. He rode toward the parking lot near the bike path where the farmers’ market was set up each Wednesday and Saturday. The Harbor Market was a huge attraction during the summer, but locals enjoyed it as early as April.

  He arrived at the Summers Cheese booth at six thirty and found Jeremy standing alone, typing something on his phone.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?” Ryan parked his bike behind the booth.

  “Hey. Nothing, just waiting on Lane.”

  Ryan didn’t like the visceral reaction he had at the mention of her name. “Lane?” Was she on the schedule for today?

  “Yeah, I was just texting her. She’s in the cheese truck.”

  “Lane is driving the cheese truck?” This he had to see. Lane had always hated working for the cheese shop, even at the farmers’ market. She found the family business embarrassing. He’d assumed what little she knew about his family had colored her impression of him, too. After all, if a perfectly acceptable cheese shop was embarrassing, what did she think of someone with a drunk for a father?

  A few seconds later, a shiny red refrigerated truck with a 3-D block of cheese on its roof drove into the alley behind the parking lot.

  “Here she is.” Jeremy moved toward the alley and guided Lane in as Ryan watched. He considered taking his phone out to catch a photo of her in that ridiculous vehicle but thought better of it.

  She parked, got out, and glared at the two of them. When they didn’t move, she opened the back doors of the van and motioned toward its contents.

  “I loaded it all by myself, so you two can unload it.” She pulled out her phone and once again she was in her own world.

  “Should’ve called me. I would’ve come help.” Jeremy moved past her, leaving Ryan staring at her for too many seconds.

  “Should I have called you too?” She sounded wholly irritated.

  “No. I don’t even have my phone turned on.”

  She finally met his eyes.

  He took a step closer to her, holding on to every bit of attention she gave him. “I prefer to look at people when I’m talking to them.”

  He let his gaze wander to her lips, then back up.

  “Quit flirting with my sister and help me.” Jer walked past him with a stack of cheeses.

  Her cheeks reddened and she looked down. He watched for her smile, content that he would’ve found it if she hadn’t turned away.

  Ryan and Jeremy hauled numerous cheeses in a variety of sizes from the truck to the tables, one load after another, while Lane typed frantically on her phone.

  As they worked, a number of local merchants stopped by to say hello, check on Nate, and buy their favorite kind of cheese “before the crowds.”

  Tilly Humphrey, the candle lady, waved from across the aisle. “Looks like we’re neighbors today!”

  Ryan and Jer both waved hello, but Lane didn’t respond.

  “Pudge, you should walk around with samples.”

  “What?” She looked horrified at Jeremy’s suggestion.

  “Dad always goes around, chatting up the other sellers. Gives them samples, checks out their products.”

  “I’m not doing that.” She finally put her phone away.

  “Why? You’re a businesswoman now. Don’t you have to talk to people on a daily basis?”

  “That’s different.” She dug in her heels, more stubborn than anyone Ryan had ever seen.

  “How? You’re an adult—you should be over all that social anxiety garbage.” Jeremy squinted at Ryan, who was trying—and failing—to pretend he couldn’t hear the conversation going on right beside him. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

  Ryan glanced at Lane, whose face had turned pink and whose eyes were once again pointed at the ground.

  “It could be a thing,” Ryan said with a shrug.

  Lane’s eyes found his, but only for a moment.

  “I’ll keep unpacking. Jer, you go be Dad.” Lane took a box from Jer’s arms. “You’re much better at it than I am.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You know it’s a won
der you’ve gotten as far as you have at that fancy job of yours. Do you hire people to talk for you?”

  “Go away, Jer.”

  Jeremy gave Lane a shove, then grabbed a box marked Samples and headed across the aisle to Tilly, who wrapped her short arms around him in a welcoming, if invasive, hug. Jeremy didn’t seem to mind. He’d inherited his father’s charm and love for people.

  Lane evidently had not. At least not for Harbor Pointe people.

  She started unpacking the box she’d taken from Jer in silence and with so much force it was clear her brother’s teasing had gotten under her skin.

  “Talking is overrated.” How did he break the ice with someone who seemed to be encased in it?

  She lifted more cheese out of the box and dropped it on the table as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “Come on, do you really think your big, fancy job can compete with all of this?” His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

  “I shouldn’t be here.” She’d mumbled the words. They were so quiet, he almost didn’t hear her.

  “At the market?”

  “Here. In Harbor Pointe.” She continued positioning packages on the table, roughly.

  “What’s going on, Lane?”

  “Everything is a disaster. I need more time. I need to overhaul a design I thought was perfect, and I was hoping I’d get a few more days, but I just heard from my assistant and my boss says it’s Monday or never. Monday! I can’t even get a decent Wi-Fi signal here, and they want a new design by Monday.” She slammed a block of cheese on the table, winding herself up with each word she spoke. “And I can’t go work on it because I have to sell cheese—” she said it like a swearword—“at the farmers’ market because my mother’s guilt trips make me feel like I’m a ten-year-old who has no voice of her own.”

  Ryan half sat on the table and watched her, marveling at how quickly she spoke.

  “And I swear, if one more person calls me Pudge, I am going to completely lose my mind. How much weight do I have to lose to make everyone forget I was ever fat in the first place?” She whisked her hands from her shoulders to her hips in one fluid motion as she said it, all the while holding a block of cheese. She plopped it on the table, then positioned it next to the others. “And this account—I can’t lose this account. It could mean huge things for my career. Have you ever had an impossible deadline like this?” She gave him a look. “Of course you haven’t. You’re a contractor.” He didn’t correct her. “You build things and take your time doing it because that is what contractors do. I should know—I had to hire one when I renovated my loft. And it was sweet of you to ask me to coffee, but I have a boyfriend, and even though I don’t love him, I don’t think it would be right for me to go out to coffee with you when I’m supposed to be dating him, and I know you and I are only ever going to be just friends, but do you know what I mean?” She stopped talking as quickly as she’d started and stood completely still, staring at the blocks of cheese lined up on the table.