by Violet Duke
Only one eye cooperated when she forced herself to peer down at the paper.
The total circled at the bottom had her jaw dropping in disbelief. And relief. Or whatever emotion was a thousand times stronger than relief.
“That’s my rate to do the repairs here. Take it or leave it. If you don’t want to accept my bid, tell me right now. Otherwise I’ll be back at seven in the morning to start.”
Emma studied the calculations again, amazed to see figures she could actually afford. Honestly, she didn’t just feel relieved, she felt saved. It was an unnerving sensation. One she hadn’t felt in years. Needing someone like this. Counting on someone like this.
“Jake, are you sure you can—”
When she looked up, she discovered she was alone in the room.
Looking out at his retreating figure walking across the street to a beat-up work truck, she found herself worrying over what tomorrow would bring. Would she be ready to admit to Jake, and herself, that if anyone was going to help her try to repair all this damage, she wanted it to be him? What would happen if they uncovered even more problems, hidden ones, deep in the foundation? And, scariest of all, what would she do if things didn’t just bounce back afterward?
As she asked herself these impossible questions, she surveyed her bakery, turning in a slow circle to take in everything around her to help her find the answers.
It wasn’t until she’d spun full circle that she realized she wouldn’t find any answers that way. Because deep down, she knew.
The damage and the repairs she was really, truly worried about where Jake was concerned didn’t have anything to do with her bakery at all.
Chapter Five
He’s gone—you can stop staring now.
Emma pushed herself away from the front window just as Jake’s truck turned the corner and disappeared. Instantly her brain picked up the slack and began playing a highlight reel of everything Jake had said and done while he’d been here. Just hearing that deep, raspy voice of his in her head was enough to make her corneas steam up a little.
“So who’s the sexy lumberjack?”
“Holy crap!” she yelped, spinning around to find Megan standing right behind her, peering out the window, as well. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know some of the flooding on the floor is from you drooling over burly Mr. Fix It. Seriously, if not for all those authentic carpentry tools in his truck, I would’ve pegged him as an in-character stripper with a mighty big tool belt sent to cheer you up today.”
There were so many things wrong with that statement. First and foremost: “Who the heck would send me a male stripper?”
“Are you kidding? Have you not met the salacious old biddies in this town? Most of ’em would welcome any excuse to bring in a male stripper. Or have we already forgotten about the ladies’ night party they threw at the bar in celebration of the last leap year?”
Until just this very moment, yes. Emma had in fact banished the memory of the stripper show that had brought a whole new meaning to the game leapfrog. “He’s not a stripper.”
Great. Now it was all she could do to not imagine him stripping out of his tool belt.
This was so not good.
Megan picked up the business card Jake had left on the counter. “Rowan Carpentry. Huh. Why does that sound so familiar?” Then with a tickled-pink expression, she pulled out her phone to look something up. “It is the same guy! Your carpenter is going to be working on the library, too. Oh my gosh, Emma. You have to see his work. The man is a genius.” She clapped excitedly. “I already know he’s going to do an amazing job on the library remodel.”
Crap. Crapcrapcrap. “Um, Megan, did you get a good look at him before he left?”
Megan frowned. “Sort of. I walked past his truck while he was putting stuff away, but there were at least half a dozen ogling women blocking my view.”
A flash of jealousy smacked her in the face. Holy hell. What in the world? It wasn’t any of her business if women wanted to ogle the man. “Half a dozen, really?”
“Oh please, don’t pretend you didn’t notice how gorgeous he was.”
Emma blinked in surprise. Her sister had never commented on a man’s looks before.
Megan turned bright crimson. “I’m not blind. I wasn’t panting after him like the others, but he had a handsome face, though a little on the intense side. And holy cow, his eyes—”
“It’s Jake,” Emma blurted out, ripping the Band-Aid off. “You remember . . . Jake.”
“From State Farm?” Megan asked slowly, with a teasing grin. “Em, aside from that guy wearing khakis on the commercial, I don’t know any Jakes. Except—” Her eyes shot out to the street and then back at Emma. “That’s not . . .”
Unsure what to say, Emma just nodded to confirm.
Megan’s gaze flew back to the street again. “I didn’t recognize him. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come down sooner if I’d known.”
This wasn’t going at all how she’d imagined. “Why would you have come down?”
“To see how he’s doing. To thank him for saving my life. To see how his brother and sister are doing. I don’t know. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t want to see him or something?”
“Can you blame me for thinking that? He was the one responsible for your scars, Meg. Of course I thought you’d never want to see the man again for as long as you lived.”
“Well you were wrong.”
Whoa. Emma had never seen her sister this upset before. “Is this because . . . are you attracted to Jake?” Because really, that would just be the icing on a completely messed-up cake.
“What? No. He’s all yours, no worries there.”
This time Emma was the one with the Hypercolor cheeks. “That was a high school crush. He’s fair game. Honest.”
Megan raised a single eyebrow. “Really? Okay then. I’ll be sure to spread the word.”
At that now-what’re-you-going-to-do head tilt, Emma took a startled step back. And smiled. “Why hello, Miss Lioness. Never seen you here before. You just visiting, or are you planning on sticking around for good?”
Her sister’s token timidness peeked its head out again then. “Too much? I’ve been working on being bolder and more take-charge. Did I sound bitchy just now?”
Emma yanked her into a hug. “I kind of think you sounded like me. So that would be a no to the bitchy question, of course.” Grinning, she shook her head. “So what’s gotten into you? Why the fierceness—which I love, by the way—all of a sudden?”
“I want to get a tattoo.”
That was without a doubt the last thing she’d ever expected to hear out of Megan’s mouth. Emma gazed at her sweet, normally shy sister, who most thought of as a porcelain doll in both beauty and demeanor. “Any particular tattoo in mind?”
“At first I was thinking of something like the flowers on your pendants.”
Emma hand immediately rose up to touch the three different floral pendants in question.
“But,” continued Megan with a reassuring hand squeeze, “I know those have special, hidden meanings for you, so I didn’t want to muck with that.”
Even though Emma would never object to Megan adopting any of the three flowers as her own talismans of sorts in a tattoo design, a part of her breathed a sigh of relief that she’d get to keep the flowers as hers and hers alone. Not that she was surprised at Megan’s sensitivity regarding the pendants. A few years back, Megan had given Emma a floral pendant that would’ve actually grouped nicely with the other three. But Emma never wore it. At least not when she wore the others. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job of cycling the pendants so as not to hurt Megan’s feelings. But one day she looked in her jewelry box and found the pendant from Megan was no longer a pendant. Megan had taken it and turned it into a gorgeous anklet instead. They didn’t have an overly emotional conversation about it all, but Emma did essentially tackle-hug her sister for knowing exactly how to be an amazing sister. Now r
arely a day went by when Emma didn’t wear the anklet.
“So the short answer is that I don’t know yet what kind of tattoo I’m going to get. Figured I shouldn’t rush the decision.”
“That’s smart. You are going to have this on your skin forever, after all.”
Megan nodded and said softly, “I know how that goes.”
Empathy—never sympathy—prompted Emma to reach for Megan’s scar-covered hand. “So back to this new ferocious you. I take it this is a combo package with the tattoo.”
“Yep. Figured I better start being more badass to match my tattoo.”
God, she loved seeing her sister so happy. “I think you have that backward, babe. Personally, I can’t wait to see the tattoo you pick to match the badass that’s been in you all along, just itching to get out.”
Megan beamed.
Emma hopped up and headed to the only small fridge she still had plugged in. “I wasn’t able to salvage everything, but I did make sure to get your favorite cupcakes to safety.” She pulled out the box she’d had waiting for Megan all morning.
“You are too good to me.”
“Right back at you.” Emma headed over to the register. “With the flood and all, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for these flowers. How late did you drop them off last night?”
She picked up the beautiful basket of spring flowers to show Megan they’d survived the flood unharmed.
“Emma, no! Wait!”
Too late. As soon as she lifted the basket high enough, Emma got sprayed good and proper with a face full of water, thanks to a big ol’ clown squirt flower that was hidden in the arrangement.
Sputtering and wiping water from her eyes, Emma spun around and gaped at Megan.
“Erm . . . it’ll make more sense if you read the card,” whispered Megan, who looked torn between horror and laughter.
Emma flipped open the card.
APRIL FOOLS!
“Surprise,” said Megan weakly, backing away with her cupcakes. “Now I realize that in light of today’s flooding, this is just the worst practical joke ever. But, remember, I dropped the flowers off last night.”
Instead of responding, Emma studied how Megan had rigged the flower’s water pump to activate by pulling on the attached string, which was taped to the bakery counter. Nice.
Megan inched closer to the door, looking all but ready to make a run for it.
Finally Emma broke. She dropped the flowers and burst out laughing.
If possible, Megan appeared even more alarmed now. That just made Emma laugh even harder. “You actually did it. You finally did your first April Fools’ prank.”
A cautious smile twitched across Megan’s lips. “Did I do good?”
“I think the evidence speaks for itself.” Emma wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes.
Megan was in full-grin mode now, looking pretty darn proud of herself. “I can’t believe I went through with it. Last year I chickened out the day of.”
Emma shot her an affectionate smile. “I know. I actually saw you prepping for it the week before. But heck, you came out swinging this year. I just did not see this coming.”
“That’s what Dad always said was the most important part of the prank. Making sure it came straight out of left field.” Megan shook her head appreciatively. “I still remember how you and Dad used to have the most epic prank wars. My favorite was the exploding soda bottle with the Mentos candy one you did on him.”
Ah, a classic. “It was a proportionate payback for the time he refilled my entire ChapStick tube with a column of butter . . . the same day I just happened to loan my ChapStick to a friend.” If memory served correctly, they didn’t stay friends for long after that. C’est la vie.
“I actually helped him with that,” admitted Megan.
“You know what? I’m actually not surprised.” While Emma definitely inherited all the rascally rabbit genes from their dad, who used to be the king of hilarious pranks, she’d always thought there may be a few recessive traits in Megan that would’ve developed had the fire not happened. Lying dormant. Sure, Emma was the one the kids in town came to when they wanted ideas for fabulously extravagant, but totally harmless, practical jokes to do on their friends. But there had been a few occasions when Megan would shyly suggest something so awesomely crazy that the kids would be in awe. “See what I mean about the inner badass?”
Megan shook her head. “This, I didn’t actually do for me. I did it for you.”
Emma did a double take. “What do you mean?”
“After the fire”—her voice wobbled—“you and Dad never did another practical joke or April Fools’ prank again. In fact, I rarely ever heard you two laugh the way you used to, either.”
“Things were different after the fire, hon.”
“But I didn’t want things to be. Thanks to me and my stupid burned body, you two were chained to the hospital and missing out on April Fools’. I ruined the trend, and you guys never picked it back up. Neither of you ever laughed or had fun like that again. All because of me.”
Emma rushed over and wrapped her arms around Megan. “Oh my God. Is that what you’ve thought all these years? Meg, you’ve got it all wrong. Our reasons for not doing pranks anymore were because of your injuries, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. We only stopped doing them because we were waiting on you to get better so you could do them with us.”
Megan stared in disbelief. “What?”
“We didn’t give up the fun and the laughter, honey. Far from it. We’d actually talked about how, as soon as your body was strong enough, we were each going to have you be our sidekick to play an epic practical joke on the other.”
She used her sweater sleeve to wipe away Megan’s tears. “But with Dad getting sick around when you were finally healed, we just weren’t able to follow through is all. I swear your injuries didn’t ruin anything. Trust me—if the universe hadn’t gone and taken Dad from us, you would’ve seen something real special. Pranks born of years of patience and prep.” Emma looked up at the ceiling. “You’re lucky, old man. I had some doozies planned for you.”
Megan giggled.
Emma squeezed her again. “Dad would have been so impressed with that prank.”
“You think?”
“Oh, I know. Even when I was a kid, I never fell for the clown squirt flower. I bet he’s up there right now beaming with pride.”
Megan’s expression sobered a bit. “I bet Peyton is, too. He and I had made a pact to join forces and do a prank together, you know. On the next April Fools’, on both you and Dad.”
Emma’s smile fell apart altogether. “I never knew.” Yet another thing Peyton didn’t get to live to do. The list was never ending. She should know. She was constantly adding things to that list. Every day, seemed like.
“Lemon-face,” murmured Megan softly.
Instantly Emma felt the tears prickle her eyes. “Is that the face I’m making?”
“Yep. But you’re doing it wrong. Not nearly sour enough. Peyton would have a fit.”
That he would. “I have to say, of all the proverbial sayings he used to put his own funny spin on, that one was my favorite.”
Megan nodded. “Mine, too. That stepbrother of ours was a wise one. I can’t tell you how many times I’d be in the middle of a crappy day, and his little matter-of-fact voice would echo in my ears, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemon-face.’”
“And would you make the puckered face exactly how he showed us?”
Megan proceeded to make the sourest puckered face ever.
Emma chuckled. “That’s the lemon-face all right.”
And just like it always had back then, it made them laugh.
“I miss him. Every day.” The prickly tears finally broke free. “With Jake here, I think it’s going to be harder than usual. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do it, Megan.” She felt almost ashamed to say it out loud. Especially since Megan was clearly not having the same trouble with the situation
that she was. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to have Jake in here every day without dragging everything from our past in here along with him.”
Seeing the question marks in Megan’s eyes, Emma expected her to ask if she was going to go through with having Jake work on the bakery.
But instead she asked a question that collided her new uncharred world right into the one she’d thought she’d left behind with the fire.
“Do you miss him, too?” queried Megan gently. “Jake, I mean. You don’t have to tell me the answer, but at least be honest with yourself. I know you miss Peyton. But you didn’t just lose Peyton after that fire. You lost Jake, too. So the question is, do you miss Jake, as well?”
Megan nodded pointedly at Emma’s floral pendants. “I know it’s not the same thing, but it’s something most folks don’t get. Things we lose usually stay lost. Folks we miss, we typically don’t ever get a chance to stop missing. Now, Peyton’s never going to walk back into our lives again, but Jake just did. So if you miss Jake like I suspect you do, you now have a chance to close up that hole he left in your heart after the fire . . . one way or another.”
One way or another.
That was the scariest part of it all.
Because she truly didn’t know which way she wanted her heart to heal.
Chapter Six
Jake dialed Carter’s phone number and—surprise, surprise—got his voice mail.
Again.
If not for the commitment he’d made to start Emma’s repairs this morning, Jake would’ve used all the bonus miles he possessed to be on the first plane out to California . . . so he could personally deliver the guy a well-deserved ass kicking.
In the absence of that possibility, Jake had to settle for the next best thing: leaving a voice mail strapped with some terrifying verbal shrapnel. “If you don’t quit dodging my calls within the next forty-eight hours so we can discuss whatever the hell possessed you to buy Megan’s library, swear to God, I’ll sic Haley on you.”
That was a damn serious threat, and they both knew it. Haley was the baby of the family, who never hesitated to guilt her three big brothers to within an inch of their sanity whenever she deemed it necessary. Typically when one or all three of them were being stubborn asses to one another, as only brothers can. Come to think of it, if memory served, she was the one who first got Jake to start taking Carter’s bimonthly calls to begin with, way back when she’d still been a kid in high school.