by Olivia Miles
“Scott!” The sound of his sister’s voice across the room as he walked through the door pulled him out of his dark mood and Scott grinned back at her, moving eagerly through the crowded tables to grab the last stool at the counter. It seemed the room went quiet as he wove his path, but he refused to give in to it.
“What can I get for you?” Lucy asked with a smile. There was something in the crinkle of her eyes, an apology perhaps, an understanding. He closed his eyes briefly, showing his gratitude.
“A Reuben with extra fries,” he said with a grin.
Lucy scribbled out a ticket and clipped it in line with the others. “Scott, this is Holly Tate. She runs The White Barn Inn down at the edge of town. Holly, this is the kid brother I’ve told you so much about.”
“So you’re the one who stuck a snake under Lucy’s pillow?” Holly’s lips curled into a sly grin, and Scott chuckled.
“The one and only.” He extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Holly. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly based on my mischievous past. I was only four when I captured that snake out at Willow Pond.”
“Are you kidding? I love that story.” Holly’s laughter was soft and pleasant, and the warmth in her eyes helped his shoulders to relax. “I’m an only child myself. I would have killed for an annoying little brother.”
“Hey, I’m the only one who’s allowed to call my brother annoying,” Lucy protested. She slid him a knowing glance as she filled his mug with coffee from a glass pot. “You were pretty annoying, but you turned out just fine.”
Scott set his jaw and forced his attention back to Holly. “I don’t think I remember you growing up in Maple Woods.”
Holly shook her head. “I only spent the summers here so you might not have seen me. My grandmother lived here in the old white house I turned into the inn—”
“I know the one.” Scott smiled at a fond memory of the stately old mansion and the kind woman who lived there. Studying Holly more closely, he had a vague recollection of a cute little granddaughter a couple years younger than himself.
Holly paused, her gaze becoming wistful. “I always loved Maple Woods. Once I inherited the house and moved back, I knew could never leave it.”
Scott gave a noncommittal grunt. “It is a charming town,” he managed. From the corner of his eye he could see Lucy watching him carefully. He fought to ignore her.
“My fiancé mentioned you were here to oversee the rebuilding of the library,” Holly continued.
Scott nodded. The anonymous donor. According to Lucy, Max Hamilton had come into town with the intention to buy out the parcel of land housing the inn and turn it into a shopping mall. George’s family owned the land, but had been leasing it to Holly’s family for years. The opportunity to sell would allow them to pay to have the library rebuilt, but when Max fell in love with Holly and decided to stay in town and keep the inn running, Lucy was spared having to make the difficult decision of taking her friend’s home out from under her in order to right her son’s wrongs.
Scott swiveled in his seat to reach for his coffee, allowing the heat to coat his throat before he answered. “With our father unwell, Lucy asked me to take over the reins for a bit. I’m just in town to make sure all the projects on the books continue to run smoothly until a replacement can be found.”
“I heard about your father,” Holly said softly, darting her gaze to Lucy. “I’m sorry.”
Scott shrugged but his stomach tightened. “Ah, well...” He lowered his eyes to his mug to avoid looking in Lucy’s direction.
“So you’re not going to oversee the library project, then?” Holly pressed. Her brow knit together. “I thought Max said you were.”
Scott cursed to himself for being so careless with his words. He sensed her concern and he understood it—her fiancé was financing the project in exchange for George’s land; they wanted to make sure the project would be built to their satisfaction. He knew he should just tell her the truth—that he would find a replacement, a project manager for the job, and that it wouldn’t be him overseeing a minute of that project or any project having to do with his father’s company—but for some reason, he couldn’t. Not in front of Lucy. He couldn’t let her down just yet. “I still have to get over to the office and sort through some things. We want to make sure the most qualified person oversees that job.”
He scrolled through some work emails on his phone while Lucy began chatting with Holly about her various guests at the inn, and when his food arrived, he was grateful to have something positive to focus on. Within a few minutes, Holly left and Scott felt the heat of Lucy’s gaze on him. There was a change in her expression, one he was familiar with; she had something on her mind. He took another bite of his sandwich, trying to avoid her stare.
Please don’t talk about Dad. Not now. He knew he should offer her comfort, lessen the burden of the pain for her, share in the fear, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He’d been doing his damned best not to think about his parents since last night. He’d gone there for Lucy but he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry for the things I said last night,” Lucy said.
Scott relaxed. “I know what you were trying to do. I’m just sorry you were disappointed with the outcome.”
Lucy nodded, her lips thin. It was clear she had a lot more to say on the matter, but was refraining. “I could use a favor from you, if you don’t mind picking up a hammer.”
Well, this was a pleasant surprise. “You name it!” Scott said, smiling.
“The last of the cabinet doors for Sweetie Pie just arrived this morning. George is too busy to get to it this week, so I hoped you might be up for the job.”
Scott stifled a frown. The prospect of yet another painful encounter with Emily didn’t appeal to him. “Today?” he asked, his tone conveying his sudden shift in enthusiasm.
Lucy shrugged. “Or tomorrow.” Her voice was pleasant and light but it was clear she wasn’t going to let it drop.
“Isn’t there someone else you could ask?” He asked before he could stop himself. Lucy’s face had already folded in confusion and before she could say anything he blurted, “Don’t worry. Of course I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll do it today, as soon as I’m done here.”
Lucy regarded him, unconvinced. “If you’re sure...”
Scott forced a grin. “You can always count on me, Lucy, and you know that. Now, where’s the toolbox?”
He tried to tell himself it was a simple favor, and the least he could do for her after his outburst last night. After all, she didn’t realize what she was asking of him. She didn’t know what had happened to make him leave town and stay away—why he and their parents had severed all communication when he left. She wouldn’t understand why Emily Porter was the last person in Maple Woods he had any desire to spend time with, much as he wished the circumstances were different.
* * *
Emily saw Scott coming across the street and felt the air lock in her chest. She quickly ran into the kitchen and fumbled in her handbag for a tube of lipstick, using the side of the toaster for a makeshift mirror. Frivolous nonsense! But she couldn’t help herself—the image of that sheepish grin and apologetic shadow in his deep blue eyes made her hands shake, and she hastily swiped at her mouth to repair the damage. If only he wasn’t so damn cute!
The chime of the bells above the door kick-started her pulse, despite her effort to remain calm. With one last deep breath, she squared her shoulders and sailed into the storefront before her nerves paralyzed her completely. If the way they’d left things last night was any indicator, today’s forecast had awkward written all over it.
Scott stood behind the glass display case, idly perusing the pies. Smiling for courage, Emily said with forced cheer, “Back for more already?” Maybe he’s here to apologize, she thought. To finish the conversation they’d started
last night. Something told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say to her, though, and if he was going to let her down gently for something that had happened half a lifetime ago, then she’d rather be spared the further humiliation.
“My mouth says yes, but my stomach says no.” He rubbed his rock-hard abdomen.
Even through his lightweight polo, Emily could make out the chiseled contours of his corded muscles. Heat pooled in her belly as she traced her eyes up the hard plane of his chest to the broad shoulders that filled his shirt, causing the material to go taut in all the right places.
“Actually, I’m at your service for once. Lucy asked me to install a couple of cabinet doors.”
Well, that was interesting. Emily studied him through narrowed eyes.
She glanced around the shop to make sure no one needed her attention, but it was nearing two o’clock and there wouldn’t be another surge of traffic until after dinner. “Sure, right this way.”
Scott crossed behind the counter and she led him into the kitchen, a blush heating her cheeks at the awareness of his eyes on her. Her stomach tightened as she worried she might have somehow gotten some flour on the seat of her skirt when she’d leaned on the counter earlier. An uncomfortable silence hung heavy in her footsteps and she racked her brain for something to say to lighten the mood, or at least an excuse to get him to walk in front of her.
Finally, they were in the kitchen and she heard him place a toolbox down on the marble-topped island with a heavy thud before she came to a halt. Without daring to look at him, she stopped where a large flat box was propped against the wall.
“It arrived this morning. Back order,” she explained, stealing a quick glance and then immediately looking away. She motioned to the empty space above the range. “Just up there, if you don’t mind.”
She caught another glimpse of his well-muscled form as he bent down to pop the box, her heart tightening with longing, recalling the way they used to be. The way he’d hold her hand when they walked home from school, the way he’d shout out to her when she sat in the stands, watching his football games, and the way she swelled with pride that he was hers and that he cared that she was there to cheer him on.
Yes, he’d cared. Once. She could still feel the sweetness of his first kiss that cool fall day of her freshman year—the gentle, almost hesitant way he had grazed her lips behind the old maple tree in the park next to their school. The way over time his body had become one with hers. She knew every contour, every slope—he was a constant in her life she had come to rely on, when she hadn’t dared to take anything as a given since her father died. And then...poof! Gone.
She forced back the aching sensation in her chest. Did he have any idea how much he’d let her down? Did he even care?
From the looks of it, he didn’t.
Without a word, Scott stepped closer and Emily felt her body warm on reflex. The musk of his aftershave caused her thoughts to revert to something primal and instinctive, stirring a part of her than had been dormant for too long. She shifted her eyes to her left, and dropped an arm as Scott reached up to take a measurement. He was absorbed in the task, his brow furrowing in concentration as he studied the small numbers. Emily dared to regard him a little more closely, noticing the fine lines around his deep set eyes, the way his strong, chiseled jaw was laced with the faintest bit of stubble, the way his biceps flexed as he pulled the measuring tape taut.
She pulled her gaze away. She was only indulging in a fantasy by standing here, only wishing for things that could never be. Somehow she had thought when she was nearing thirty she would be more reasonable when it came to matters of the heart, that she would know how to reserve her feelings for a man who could return them, not run from them.
Leave it to Scott Collins to have her feeling like a teenager all over again.
“I’ll get out of your way and let you work,” she said, unfolding herself from his proximity.
She barely made it to the kitchen island when she heard his husky voice behind her. “Wait.”
Her pulse lurched as she turned to face him. Was he going to explain? Finish the conversation they had started last night?
He stood where she had left him, arms at his sides, staring at her with an intensity that closed the gap between their bodies. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked with his. Did he regret the way things had left off last night? Or was he going to tell her he never loved her at all—that he was wrong to have ever let her believe otherwise? She didn’t think she could bear it—in fact, she knew she couldn’t—and suddenly she felt choked for air, dizzy with anticipation. She wanted to run out into the storefront, escape the magnificence of his raw, masculine energy and his heated gaze. She wanted to get on with life. Forget him. The way she should have forgotten him a long, long time ago.
“Mind passing me the flathead?”
Her eyes widened. After a pause, she clarified through a choked breath, “The flathead?”
His mouth twitched into a smirk. “The screwdriver.”
Oh. So he just needed her help. She bit back a twinge of disappointment and the weight of it rested firmly in her gut. After a pause, she studied the contents of the toolbox impassively, aware of his watchful gaze as she searched for the specific tool. Finally, she plucked it from the box and handed it to him. “Here you go,” she said in what she hoped was a breezy tone. The heat of the kitchen was beginning to feel stifling, and the penetrating gaze of Scott’s misty blue eyes left her rattled and confused.
“This isn’t the flathead,” he said, flashing a set of straight, even teeth.
Her stomach tightened. “Oh.” She paused and studied it in his hands. “It’s not?”
“Nope.” He strode by her and plunked it back in the box, swiftly retrieving another red-handled tool. “See the flat edge to the tip?” he asked, running his finger over the metal. “That’s how it earned its name.”
“Oh,” Emily managed weakly. She shifted the weight on her feet, eager to get away from him, from those hooded blue eyes with their bright green flecks around the center. From the way they gleamed at her with a certain level of mischief that could only be born from intimacy.
Scott tipped his head toward the cabinet. “Do you have a few minutes to give me a hand?”
Emily glanced desperately through the kitchen doorway and into the empty bakery. There was no excuse she could give. “Sure,” she said on a heavy sigh.
Scott pulled a chair over to the counter and stepped up, and Emily bit down on her lower lip as she gazed up at his form, mentally chastising herself for the ridiculous notions that began to spring to mind, unfiltered in their unabashed desire. She raked her eyes up the length of his legs, nearly groaning as she absorbed the curve of his hard thighs. She looked sharply away. She really needed to get out more. Or stop watching those damn soap operas!
Clenching her teeth, she handed him the screwdriver and watched him set the hinge. Something in his competent attitude elicited a swell of attraction deep within her, and she imagined what it must feel like to have a man in the home—a strong, capable, take-charge man. A man who could fix what was broken, and set things right. She was being silly and naive, she supposed, idealizing the missing piece in her life.
Her dad had died when she was only eight, but she still had the dollhouse he made for her for that last birthday he was with them, and she often admired the handiwork—the pride he took in the task. After he died, her mother had never remarried or even dated. She didn’t have time, Emily reflected, thinking back on the two jobs her mother maintained to pay the bills. It was a fearful time, Emily recalled, and although her mother hid her grief and money concerns as best she could, Emily was old enough to be aware of their situation, and perceptive enough to know that she was helpless to make it much better.
Emily handed Scott the level he asked for and smiled sadly. If her dad were still alive, h
e would have probably built this whole kitchen himself. But then, if her dad were still alive a lot of things would have been different.
* * *
Scott opened and closed the cabinet door and smiled proudly at Emily, who stood below and granted him a small applause. “How about that?” he bantered, unable to resist flashing a grin at the beautiful woman whose company he just couldn’t seem to get enough of, even if he was desperate to avoid her.
“Perfect,” she said, sliding the chair back into place after he stepped down. “Lucy will be pleased. I know she’s really glad you’re back in town.”
Scott loaded up the toolbox and closed it tight. Turning to face her, his eyes locked with hers and a shadow fell over her soft gray irises. Just tell her. Tell her now. It’s just you and her. Get it over with. He cleared his throat. “Emily, I wanted to say—”
“If it’s about last night, Scott, please...let’s forget it.” A flush had crept up her cheeks and she traced a path on the tile floor with the toe of her shoe.
“But that’s just the thing, Emily. I can’t forget it.” Any of it. “Did you mean it when you said you moved on after I left?”
She looked up at him. “Would it matter if I had?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it wouldn’t. If it made you happy.”
Emily snorted. “Since when do you care if I’m happy, Scott?”
“Since always,” he said firmly, searching her face. “You know how much I cared about you.”
She held his stare, her lips growing thin. “No, I don’t know that. I thought you did once, but then—”
“I’m sorry the way things ended between us, Emily. Please believe me when I say it because it’s the truth.”
“That’s not exactly the way I remember things, Scott. The way I remember it, nothing ever ended with us, you just disappeared.”
His jaw flinched. “I had my reasons,” he said.
“Enlighten me.” She tipped her head, locking her gaze on him.