"Nope." Hannah climbed the steps to the deck, her slim, sturdy legs still brown from summer. "Shannie says I'm a butterfly."
"A sticky, little butterfly." MaryJo set a tray of condiments on the table before adjusting the umbrella to block the sun while they ate.
"Lemme see your hands, Uncle Curt."
Intrigued by her sudden curiosity, he displayed them. "Mine aren't dirty yet."
She examined them closely, particularly interested in his calluses. "Do these hurt?"
"Not too bad." Glancing at MaryJo, he shrugged.
"Shannie says if I kiss these booboos, your hands will feel like . . . a gazillion times better. She says your crutches aren't for fun and that I can't play with them until you're all better." Hannah's determined gaze met his. "So I hafta kiss 'em like I'm a butterfly."
Willing back the bubble of laughter, Curt nodded. "I think she might be right. But what's a butterfly kiss like?"
"Yeah, how do butterflies kiss, Han?" His sister-in-law paused as she arranged plates and silverware. "Does it sting?"
She shook her head vigorously, her tiny fingers still examining the red marks on his palms. "Very, very soft," she whispered. "And very, very gentle. That's how a butterfly kisses you." Tilting her head back, he was met with a rare, solemn stare from the big, brown eyes. "Are you ready?"
His throat tightened. "I'm ready." He could feel her mouth smiling when she made soft smacking noises into first one palm, then the other. "Wow. That's amazing. They already feel so much better."
Her blonde head bolted up. "Really?"
Curt's grin matched hers. "Yeah. They feel great. Thanks, Han."
"It worked, Shannie," she cried. Arms outstretched, she skipped down the steps, making a crazed butterfly run for Shannon, who was crossing the yard with little Curt, her finger clutched in his hand as he toddled toward his sister. The sight of her with his brother's blond babies did strange things to his heart . . . making it feel both twisted up and wide open at the same time.
He sensed MaryJo's presence beside him at the grill before she slung an arm around him. "I really like this one, Curtis." Her exaggerated whisper matched her smile. "I want another sister—sooner rather than later." Before he could come up with a joking reply, she drifted away. Instead, he watched Shannon draw closer, releasing a satisfied breath when her laughter reached his ears. Heaping the platter with hamburgers and steaks, he paused. Damn. He liked this one, too.
"ARE YOU SURE YOU DON't mind?"Shannon waited while Curt hoisted himself into the truck for the ride home.
"Why would I mind? I'm happy they invited you back."
Curtis looked tired from the long afternoon, but, happy, too. To get out—be outside, surrounded by the family he loved. "I don't want you to think I'm crashing your family's events-"
His expression bewildered, he pulled the door shut. "Babe, it's a bunch of kindergarteners in pink tutus."
They had spent the last thirty minutes admiring his niece's sparkly costume. "I just—Hannah asked me to her dance recital and MaryJo overheard, so she extended the invitation but . . . if you'd prefer to keep it family, I understand-"
His eyes lit with amusement. "Okay—is this one of those female things where I'm supposed to read between the lines? Like . . . I get it if you don't want to waste a Saturday watching a herd of sugared-up ballerinas bounce around an elementary school gym."
She playfully thumped his arm. "Of course I want to see her dance." What she didn't want was Curt feeling she was infiltrating where she didn't belong. Especially now. When their relationship was so new. When she still wasn't sure how it would play out once he returned to work. Would their dynamic change when she wasn't living in his house, playing nurse?
His beautiful eyes smiled at her as the breeze ruffled his hair. "I just . . . know you're very private . . . I don't want to impose-"
"If you're there, it takes the pressure off me. Trav and I can sneak a couple beers in and drink 'em in the boys bathroom."
She cracked up over his hopeful expression. "Well, that's settled. You can count on me for two weeks from Saturday." As hopeful as she was that their relationship would continue, the joy was muted by her undercurrent of anxiety. The damned secret was growing like a tumor. And until she finally excised it, she would continue to worry over Curt's reaction.
"My first physical therapy session is Monday morning."
She glanced at him. "Yeah, I'll drive you there and then to work, if you're still up for it."
"I definitely want to get to work," he insisted. "I'll be fine."
"Just remember . . . those first few sessions will be rough," she cautioned. He was going to be exhausted. But, he would likely power through them, rather than admit it. "Whatever you decide."
"Shan—I should probably tell you . . ."
Here comes something bad. She slid him a cautious glance.
"So, the doctor actually said . . . I could probably be on my own now. I didn't tell you right away . . . because I still felt a little shaky and I was so tired after the smallest amount of movement."
Heat flared in her cheeks. God—he was telling her to get out? Why hadn't she suggested it first? How humiliating—to have to be nudged to leave. "I—of course. I can . . . move out tonight. After . . . after I drop you off, I’ll-"
"Shan—no. That's not what I meant." His voice insistent, he tugged her free hand into his. "Hell—that's not what I meant at all."
She risked a glance. "I don't understand. Do you want-"
"I should've told you what the doctor said . . . but, I didn't really want to tell you."
"Why?"
"Because . . . I didn't like the thought of you . . . leaving." Despite his hesitancy, Curt's voice seemed to strengthen as he plowed ahead. "But . . . then Travis suggested I was taking advantage of you . . . and I would never want to do that."
"You're not-"
"I realized he was right," he interrupted, stroking her hand as he stumbled through his explanation. "I like having you with me . . . but you probably need to get ready for your move. If you need to pack . . . then you shouldn't have to be stuck with me."
Her heart in her throat, Shannon slowed for the red light before turning to him. "I like staying with you, too. I never really unpacked at Kerry's place, so I don't need much time to pack for the move. And . . . you shouldn't be driving yet."
"No. You're right . . . I can't," he repeated, almost surprising himself. "I guess I could have one of the guys swing by to pick me up . . . if you don't want to-"
"I don't mind at all." Relief poured through her. If she were smart, she should be analyzing why she suddenly felt so desperate at the thought of leaving him. Instead, she was thrilled to hear Curt admit he'd like her to stay.
Her breath caught when he raised her hand to his lips. "Okay—so we're settled then? If it works for you, I'm fine with you staying with me until your apartment is ready."
Shannon smiled. "Yeah. We're . . . settled."
He leaned over as the light turned, a glint in his eyes. "I think we should celebrate with our favorite board game. I'm feeling pretty lucky tonight."
Chapter 11
"So, I guess you're dreading coming back to work?" Shannon teased him two days later as they drove from the physical therapist to the office. Curt's first day back in nearly four weeks. He was practically bouncing on the seat beside her.
Despite the grueling therapy session he'd just endured, he couldn't seem to sit still. "Dread is a word I will never use about Four Seasons."
Though he hadn't spoken much about it, she understood his rationale. Four Seasons represented so much more to Curtis than just a business. It was the place he'd started over. After prison. After the accident and all the surgeries. "How long did you work for Felix?"
"Four years. I apprenticed under him." Curt's gaze was on the scenery. "But, he was more like a father to me than a boss. When he decided to sell, he offered me the chance to buy it."
"And now he works for you."
&n
bsp; "Not really for me." His mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile. "Felix still likes to boss me around. He claimed he wanted to semi-retire . . . but he still works fifty, sixty hours a week. He just doesn't have the headache of ownership anymore."
"Is it a headache?" She wondered if owning a business ever weighed on him.
He sat back in his seat. "It's a big responsibility," he emphasized. "When guys are depending on you for their paycheck each week. For making their mortgage payment." He turned his face to the breeze drifting through the window. "During the recession? That was a headache. Worse than a headache . . . it was a knot-in-your-stomach every waking hour. Scrambling to pick up work to keep our crews going."
"Thankfully, that's not your problem now." She smiled. "The phones have been ringing off the hook while you were gone."
"That was half the reason I postponed the surgery too long," he confessed as they pulled into the parking lot. "I couldn't bear the thought of turning down work when we'd gone hungry for so long."
"Are you ready?" Dropping his truck keys in her bag, Shannon waited for him to hoist himself from the truck. Careful not to appear to be helping him, she knew he was acutely aware of the eyes that were probably watching from the windows.
Crutches in place, he smiled. "I've never been more ready."
"The guys are probably waiting for you." Now that they'd arrived, her nerves kicked in over the changes she'd made while he was gone. Hopefully . . . he would love them. And if that was too much to ask for, she prayed he wouldn't hate the new color. The curtains. Her chairs-
"Felix will want to give me a hard time."
"I made a few . . . changes while you were gone."
One brow lifted. "That sounds ominous."
"Just . . . to clean it up a little," she explained, avoiding his eyes. "I think it looks . . . but, the guys-"
"Shan—I'm sure whatever you did looks great." Curt crutched along beside her. "You didn't knock out any walls, did you?"
She bit her lip, fighting her smile. He always did that. Put her at ease when she was worried. "No. No walls."
"Then we're good."
She held the door for him, allowing him to enter first, still unsure whether she wanted to see his immediate expression.
"Holy cow." He moved into the reception area, turning to take in the space. "This . . . looks like a different place."
Releasing a deep breath, she stepped inside, her eyes scrunched shut, not wanting to see his disappointment. Or worse . . . anger.
"Shan, open your eyes." His voice was gentle.
Wincing, she opened one and heard his rich chuckle. "What do you think?"
He closed the distance between them. "I think it looks incredible." Voices from the shop grew louder as the guys approached the reception area. Leaning in so they wouldn't be overheard, he added, "I think you're incredible for doing all this. Thank you."
"The boss is back!" Billy's voice was clear above the fray of his crews. "Whaddya think about all the changes? We tried to tell Shannon you weren't big on changin' stuff, but she thought we were crazy."
"I think this finally looks like a professional office, instead of the inside of a storage unit." He grinned as the guys surrounded him.
"Well, in that case . . . it was my idea," Dave announced as the others cracked up. "We helped her with the floors."
Grateful to let Curtis take the spotlight, she crossed the room, setting her tote on her desk before starting a pot of coffee. Amidst the banter and joking, she was relieved by his response. The warm appreciation in his gaze settled pleasantly in her chest.
"And we helped with the chairs. Shannon taught us how to refinish them." She smiled over the enthusiasm in everyone's voices. Curt knew he'd been missed.
"What chairs? The wobbly, broken ones? You guys probably should've just thrown them out." The crowd parted as he crutched over to examine them.
Making herself busy, Shannon couldn't resist the impulse to steal a glance, eager to see whether Curt would understand her hidden message. If everything went south when she finally confessed her secret, she'd wanted to leave something of herself behind. Furniture was impersonal . . . probably to most people. But, not to her. Refinishing his old, rickety chairs had been a labor of love. They may have started as a project . . . one more item on the laundry list of tasks to spruce up the space. But, as their relationship deepened, as she'd realized she was falling in love with him, the chairs had taken on greater significance. She'd wanted Curt to realize. To see them as the act of someone who knew he was special. Who recognized he was worthy. Of forgiveness. And love.
His sudden stillness seemed to cast a spell over the room. "Shannon? How did you-" Realizing all eyes were on him, Curt's expression shuttered. "These are . . . stunning. I can't even believe they're the same chairs."
Taking her cue from him, she smiled from behind the safety of her desk. "I told you I like to mess around with old furniture."
Still staring at her, he finally nodded. "Thank you. They're almost too nice to be sitting here in the lobby."
"Well, you can't take 'em home with you. We've kinda gotten used to them." Felix' voice broke the spell. "Alright boys, break time's over. Let's hit the road. We've got jobs to get to." The old man stared at her, his scrutiny causing heat to rise in her face. "C'mon Curt, you've got a pile on your desk we need to review."
Nodding, he remained by the chairs while the crews emptied into the shop in preparation of heading out for the day. "I'll be right there."
When Felix scooped up a set of plans and headed through the door, Curt leaned down, running his fingers over the intricate, golden fabric and the rich, mahogany finish she'd labored to get just right. Her heart beating way too fast, Shannon waited for him to turn.
His face unguarded as he crossed the room, he hesitated before her desk. "Shan-"
Startled by the hoarse edge to his voice, she finally met his gaze, afraid of what she might be revealing in her own. "You're okay with the . . . changes?"
Reaching for her hand, he lifted her fingers to his mouth, his gaze burning into hers. "I've never . . . been given a gift like this." He released a shaky breath. "I . . . don't have the right words to thank you. For . . . everything. I'll never forget this."
The emotion in his eyes caused her heartbeat to triple. If he continued staring at her that way, she would surely faint. Her smile shaky, she knew she was dangerously close to weeping. "I'm g-glad." She gave his fingers a squeeze before he reluctantly released them.
"I—guess it's time to . . . get back to work."
Blinking back tears she knew he couldn't possibly have missed, she smiled. "Welcome back."
TWO DAYS LATER, SHANNON glanced up when she heard the door open. A woman stood hesitantly in the doorway, long, skinny legs clad in jeans and knee-high brown, suede boots she immediately envied. Her stance appeared more as though she'd prefer to run the other direction than enter the lobby. "Hi. Can I help you?"
The woman took a tentative step closer. Lank, brown hair framed a face that was likely younger than it appeared. She'd been pretty once. "Hi. I'm . . . looking for Curtis?"
The voice. Shannon had taken too many calls from this woman. The one who never gave her name. Who refused to leave her number. Who always promised to call back. "I'll see if he's available. Can I have your name, please?" Finally?
"I'm . . . an old friend. He'll know me when he sees me."
Okay—now it was getting weird. Curiosity getting the better of her, Shannon rounded the reception desk. "Alright. Can you—wait here, please? I'll see if he has a moment."
She felt the woman's gaze on her back as she walked down the hall. Felt her . . . tension? Was she—a girlfriend? Frowning over that thought, Shannon knew there was more to her than that. The vibes she was giving off suggested . . . trouble. Anxiety. Glancing back over her shoulder, she confirmed the woman was still there, staring at her. With a quick knock, she entered Curt's office.
Opening her mouth to speak, she realized he
was on the phone. Waiting while he wrapped up the conversation, she admired him as he sat behind his desk—looking as though he belonged there.
A question in his eyes, he ended the call. "Hey, what's up?"
"Sorry, but there's a woman here who won't give her name." When he frowned, she reassured him. "Remember the calls I told you about? She's been calling for at least two weeks. Sometimes, a few times a day. I thought it was a sales call." Curt rose from his desk, hoisting himself up on his crutches. "She says she's an old friend and you'll know her when you see her."
Releasing an aggravated sigh, he rounded the desk. "First week back is never a good time to catch up with old friends." When she would have moved for the door, Curt stopped her, leaning in to brush her mouth with his. "We never seem to be alone anymore. Let's take advantage of that closed door." He smiled against her mouth. "This—I always have time for."
Hooking an arm around his neck, she deepened the kiss. When he finally released her, she acknowledged the heat in his eyes. "Perhaps we can continue this meeting later, Mr. Forsythe."
ANNOYED HE COULDN'T take advantage of the lull in the shop to make out with Shannon, Curt mentally allotted ten minutes for the visitor. Until he took a step into the hallway. His startled breath echoed in the stillness. He knew Shan heard it, too. His heart pounding, he waited as the woman stiffened with recognition. Watched when her gaze traveled to his leg, before she halved the distance between them. "Cindy—what . . . what are you doing here?"
Shannon had frozen beside him, clearly sensing the violent emotions suddenly swirling around them. Before she spoke, he tightened his grip on her hand. "It's . . . okay. I'll—be . . . a little while. Can you h-hold my calls?"
With a reassuring squeeze, she nodded and headed back to the reception area.
"Hi, Curt. It's been a long time."
His heart in his throat, he tried to summon happiness that his long ago girlfriend appeared to be well. Uninjured. Instead, his chest filled with a sudden flash of dread. Why was she here? Why now? Curt waited for the woman of his nightmares to enter his office.
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