by Lynn Rae
“It felt right to me.” Emily wanted to sound sultry and certain, but she was sure she was blushing, and her voice shook. All that nervous energy, which had dissipated during their embrace, swarmed back into her body and made it hard to take a deep breath. He’d kissed her like he found her attractive, so what was wrong about it?
“We shouldn’t.” Paul cleared his throat and backed away a half a step, perilously close to some tangled astilbe and a big chunk of granite pressing into the earth.
“I’m not too young.” She was surprised she could get the words out, considering the tightness in her throat. All those good feelings she’d been building up around him crashed down like a flimsy house of cards. How silly she’d been to think he was attracted to her.
“Maybe I’m too old. And it’s not just that.” Paul held her gaze, surveying her with dark eyes as he took a deep breath. “I’m not ready.”
As he said the words, he flinched, and Emily cringed inside as she finally caught on. This was about his deceased wife. After all, he’d just told her about losing her, and a few minutes later she was kissing him. Pretty forward behavior and borderline tacky. Truly and terribly embarrassed, Emily tore her gaze from his for a second and stared up at the deep blue sky as she tried to collect her thoughts before she met his sad eyes again.
“Because of your wife.”
He tilted his head back and nodded once, his mouth tight. A mouth she was never going to kiss again.
Emily’s heart sank at his admission. Of course he still loved and missed her. He was grieving, and here she was throwing herself at him.
“I understand. I’m sorry.” She looked away and glanced around her feet to find the best way out of the garden. Not only was Paul rightfully reluctant because of his grief, she needed to keep in mind his sister would not approve of her actions. The thought of having to work with more disapproval from Shelly made her belly knot even tighter.
“We should cancel dinner then. Again.” Emily tried to smile, but her mouth kept wobbling.
Paul’s eyebrows drew together, and he nodded slowly as he kept his hands tight at his narrow hips. “I wish it wasn’t this way.”
Disappointment filled her. Not only was she failing in her professional life, she was, as usual, making a mess of any fledgling personal life she’d tried to acquire. The one man she’d met in months who made her relaxed and intrigued in equal parts was so unavailable it was as if he lived on another planet.
Emily gave him a little wave and turned toward the gate they’d used to enter the fairy-tale backyard. She swallowed hard, her eyes burned. Maybe she was having an allergic reaction to something in his garden. “I’ll just be going. See you at the next meeting.”
A dark thought intruded; would he even attend any more, or would this brief encounter spur him to resign? She’d never see him again, and she’d be left with only awful Roger and Dave for company. Both were dreadful outcomes.
“You will.”
She didn’t look back as she walked away. Better to leave and not say or do anything else to humiliate herself. Once she was home she’d make a pot of tea and work hard to convince herself not to waste the evening in anguished thoughts about what could have been as she ate chocolates and watched tear-jerker, old movies on TCM.
Chapter 5
“Oh, Mari, this is so nice; I’m glad you invited me.” Emily looked around the octagonal greenhouse filled with palms and dark teak furniture and sighed with contentment. Her friend, Mari Berryhill, director of the historic Horst House, had invited her over to help taste some new menu items from a caterer hoping to win a coveted spot on her preferred vendors list. They sat in the house’s small conservatory at a linen-draped table covered with exotic dishes on fine china. It was wonderfully civilized.
“My pleasure. It’s good to have an outside opinion. I’d have asked Nicholas, but he’d critique everything down to what sort of peppercorn they used, so it wouldn’t have been productive.” Mari’s pale cheeks colored when she spoke about her boyfriend. After some rather dramatic disruptions, Mari had recently assumed the position of director of the grand Horst House Museum and Pavilion, one of Palmer’s largest tourist attractions, so it was natural for Emily to have made her acquaintance. Emily counted herself especially lucky to have made a friend as well.
“What should we try first?” Emily surveyed the dishes. There were stuffed eggs, sliced beets with a citrus dressing, some sort of stuffed puff pastry, and tiny sandwiches filled with all sorts of ingredients.
“Mmm, dessert first, right? You never know when a killer asteroid might hit.” Mari smiled as she reached for the tray of pastries and distributed miniature pies and cake slices. Silence reigned for a few minutes as they tasted each one. Emily’s contribution to the working lunch had been to create a spreadsheet based on the menu Mari had forwarded to her. There were spaces to note impressions for each dish, and a one-to-five ranking system for criteria from appearance to level of seasoning. Mari had laughed with delight when Emily had handed over her set, and she was now frowning as she marked her responses.
“So, things are good with Nicholas?” Emily asked and watched the other woman nod enthusiastically as she scraped up the last bit of icing from her plate.
“Wonderful. Right now he’s completely wrapped up in preparations for his big Halloween blowout. So distracted, he barely looks at me lately. You’re invited of course.” She smiled sweetly at that as she divided up the stuffed eggs. “I’m in a dither over my costume. He wants me to be slave Leia, but with my extra assets, I’m not sure that’s the right direction for me.”
Emily nodded agreement. The thought of squeezing her own thirty-four double Ds into a metal bra was cringe-inducing. “You could be a zombie. Just rip up some old clothes, put on grey makeup, and shamble around.”
“My aunt would never forgive me if I wore a homemade costume. She runs the Strawberry Hill shop.”
Emily sat back in surprise. “I didn’t know she was your aunt. I met her the other day when the committee was picking out crowns for the Sugar Beet Court. She has some beautiful dresses in there.” She thought of the green lace dress again and sighed. She could probably manage it with her next paycheck, but her fiscally responsible brother would shake his head with sadness over her spending money on a dress she’d never wear, rather than investing it in a safe municipal bond. Not for the first time, she was glad her aimless career had kept her away from Toledo, out of his influence in her day-to-day life. He’d probably want to balance her checkbook if she lived any closer.
“She does. Maybe I could get a markdown one and rip it up to be zombie prom girl. Of course, Nicholas would have to give up on his Han Solo costume and destroy one of his tuxes. He’d hate that.” Mari grinned and ate some beets. Emily decided she’d go buy her pale green dress before Mari got to it, hollow checking account be damned. The idea of someone taking scissors to it made her shiver.
“What about you, any prospects on the horizon?”
“Prospects for what?”
“Someone to match your Halloween costume with, that sort of prospect. It’s a small town, so you’ve probably met all the potentials by now.”
Mari certainly had overestimated her will to socialize. Emily wondered if she should mention the flirtatious police officer but decided not to. That left Paul, who was a self-declared nonprospect. The idea of getting Mari’s opinion on the situation was appealing, however. “I thought there was, but he said no, so I struck out.”
“Not Nate Garner! You swore you wouldn’t go there, no matter how lonely you were.” Mari put on her disapproving face. Her friend knew Nate from his intermittent guest bartending at Nicholas’ restaurant and had placed him firmly and permanently in the not-ready-for-anything-serious category.
“No, not Nate. He’s always working, and when he isn’t, he’s telling me what to do or teasing me about something.”
“He’s taken on the big-brother role?” Mari laughed before she took a sip of iced tea. “That’s o
ne way to shut down those pesky hormones before they have a chance to percolate.”
Emily agreed and wished her own hormones would settle down. You’d think being rejected would have poured cold water all over her libido, but every time she thought of Paul she experienced the strangest combination of sadness and heat. Maybe Mari could help talk her out of it before she melted into a crying puddle. “There was someone I met through that statue committee I told you about. He’s so nice, but he made it clear he’s unavailable.”
Emily’s heart crumpled when she recalled their awkward parting. Other parts of her warmed up when she thought about their brief kiss. Why couldn’t things be simple? He liked her, she liked him, and that’s all that should matter. If she told Mari about it, her friend would be able to voice all the good reasons to put it behind her.
“Married?”
Emily shook her head quickly. As if she would ever consider such a thing. “Widowed.”
Mari took a spluttering sip of tea and widened her eyes. “Not Paul Ellison!”
“Why not Paul Ellison?” Emily didn’t meet her friend’s gaze as she helped herself to one of the stuffed sandwiches. It had a layer of soft cheese and some chopped olives on it, so it was sure to be delicious.
“Because, well, he’s, ahh…” Mari paused and wiped her fingers with her napkin as she furrowed her brow in thought. “He’s an unexpected candidate. Tell me what happened.”
Emily tried one of the beets before she answered. It was sweet and sour and probably too adventuresome for most folks, a fact she noted on her sheet. “We’ve talked a lot. He’s smart and interesting, and he listens too, which is a rare combination.”
“So true. Most people can’t wait for the other person to stop talking.”
“He’s driven me home and fixed my dryer.”
“Courteous and handy around the house, very good indeed.”
“And I like him. He doesn’t make me anxious.”
Mari nodded slowly as she selected one of each kind of sandwich. Emily had told her about her social anxiety early on in their friendship, because she’d sensed the other woman would understand, which she had. Mari wasn’t as shy as Emily, but it was a close call.
“So what made him say no go?”
Now it was going to get embarrassing. “We, well…I kissed him the other day and he declined, very politely of course, but still, he was quite clear we shouldn’t repeat the experience.”
“How could a guy put on the brakes after kissing you?” Mari raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “How long have you known him?”
“A couple of weeks.” God, that sounded pretty bad.
Mari’s eyebrows went up, and she smiled with satisfaction. “You do like him if you made a move that quickly. Let me guess why he backed away. His sister, the age difference, and his dead wife. Oh, and doesn’t he have a daughter? She’ll hate it too, so daughter.” She ticked each point off on fingertips and waited.
“Correct on all counts. He’s right. Just one of those is reason enough. All of them together and it’s a like there’s caution tape and construction barrels and a detour sign with a blinking orange light.”
Mari laughed out loud, and Emily joined in, only slightly bitter. She hadn’t even considered how his daughter would resent some young woman taking her father’s attention away from her. Strike four, step to the dugout please. She looked over the table for something to distract her and found some little crab cakes with swirls of spicy mayonnaise on top.
“Judging by that sad look on your face, it was a good kiss.”
“It was great. At least on my end.”
“You think he didn’t enjoy it?”
“If he’d enjoyed it, he would have kept at it.”
Emily looked up from the last bits of her crab cake to find Mari pursing her lips, skepticism on every curve.
“Okay, Miss Low-Self-Esteem. I’m sure he was so repulsed by you he went right home and washed his mouth out with soap.”
After her laughter settled into a few fitful giggles, Emily took a deep breath and shrugged. “So, there you have it, my barely there sexual escapade.”
“You know, I always did think Paul Ellison was a good-looking guy. But I have a soft spot for shy, skinny geeks.” Mari shuffled her comment sheets around, and Emily peered at her friend, wondering what she was driving at now. “Did you know his late wife was his high school sweetheart? She locked that down immediately after graduation.”
“Ah.”
“He’s been a bit of a recluse since she passed away, at least from the gossip I hear. Not that I gossip.” Mari stacked used plates out of their way as she continued. “So, I think he might have just been spooked by the whole thing, not actually turned off. A kiss from Emily Fontaine probably threw him for a loop. He’s an engineer, right? Well, there you have it, those engineer types like to follow the instructions.”
Oh. That was an interesting idea. Emily took a sip of tea and considered things from that angle. “So, if that was the case, how should I approach this situation?”
“I don’t think you have to do much, other than be friendly. Let him work through it for a few days, and then start showing him your cleavage. He’ll green-light it soon enough.”
“Mari, he’s not like that.”
“He’ll be like that, don’t worry. That’s one advantage to enjoying a dessert now and then, we have the curves to deploy when necessary.”
The Sugar Beet Festival Parade was as awful as it had always been. Paul had avoided it for the past fifteen years, ever since Courtney had outgrown the impulse to collect candy thrown from passing floats and moon over the gowns and crowns of the Queen and her court. Today, he was somehow standing on the sidewalk in front of the bank, surrounded by talking adults and squealing kids all wearing windbreakers and jackets in preparation for chilly gusts of fall air. One of Emily’s planters was next to him, and he was pleased to see the Love Lies Bleeding had adapted well to its new accommodations; the red flowers and vining green leaves were spilling out onto the pavement.
It didn’t take much self-awareness for him to admit why he was here in one of his least-favored environments. He was hoping to spot Emily somewhere in the crowd. He assumed she’d be there taking pictures to use on a website or brochure, and a random encounter might be possible. At the very least, he could see her from afar and torment himself about how she was feeling since their encounter in his garden a week ago. He’d been stupid and had been kicking himself about it every hour on the hour since.
“Hey, Paul!” his brother-in-law’s voice rang out, and Paul stopped daydreaming about how he should have kept kissing Emily despite the consequences.
Paul shook Mike’s hand, and the other man took a space at his side as they watched the Kicker Dance Academy students prancing by. The little girls and boys in bright red jackets bounced with enough energy to work up a sweat despite the chill in the air and the dark clouds overhead.
“Where’s Shelly?”
“Got waylaid by a voter in front of the bakery. I didn’t want to hear any more about the sinking curbs on Grove Avenue and wandered down here. Are you coming to the Halloween party?” Mike wriggled his eyebrows. He loved to host any sort of gathering at his house, and the opportunity to add skeletons and spooky sounds effects to a mixture of food, people, and beverages was right up his alley.
Paul shrugged. That was a couple of weeks away, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be in the mood to go to Shelly and Mike’s house to eat chili and exclaim over their new grandbaby’s first costume. He’d rather stay home and hand out candy to whoever managed to make their way past the monstrous ornamental grasses obscuring his front door.
They were both distracted by the booming arrival of the Palmer High School band, wailing out some sort of fast-paced number. Paul’s gaze wandered away from the black-and-white uniforms and gleaming instruments to spot a familiar figure across the street. It was Emily, sighting through a camera lens and taking a picture of something that made her fr
own.
As she lowered the camera, Paul stared at her without shame. She’d stopped frowning and was now pressing herself against the wall behind her to allow several people with strollers room to pass. She offered them that sweet, familiar smile, and Paul ached.
“Who’s that woman you’re staring at?” Mike missed nothing.
Paul took a moment to decide how he was going to approach this. “She’s Emily Fontaine—”
“Right, Shelly was telling me about her and that statue committee. She’s pretty,” Mike said as he peered through the band’s flag corps marching by. The red-and-silver flags fluttered, adding a bit of color to the increasingly gray day.
Paul nodded; she was pretty. Beautiful in fact. He probably shouldn’t have concurred with Mike so readily, because he would gleefully repeat it all back to Shelly. Emily adjusted the camera hanging around her neck and glanced around, probably looking for something else to use in some sort of promotional effort. In one of those unlikely coincidences, her gaze caught his through the last of the passing flags, and he watched her go still. He didn’t hear the band anymore or feel the cold breeze. He just let himself see her.
“Oops, she caught you.” There was a pain in his ribs, and he looked down to see Mike’s fingers jammed into his side. Paul pushed him away with some irritation.
A float holding a few costumed folks from the historical society pulled by a vintage Allis-Chalmers tractor rattled by, and when he glanced back to where Emily had been standing, she was gone. He repressed disappointment that all he’d gotten was a distant glance from across the street, even though that was all he deserved.
He told himself he’d see her at the next committee meeting, or he’d probably run into her at the grocery sometime soon; Paul found himself stepping off the curb and into the street, right in front of a phalanx of racing lawn tractors. The drivers maneuvered around him and advised he get the hell back on the sidewalk, which he did with a hop and murmured apologies to the people he pressed in between. She’d been wearing a rust jacket, and he scanned the crowd to his left and right, looking for anything close to that shade.