Unexpectedly You

by Lily Santana

Jack chose that moment to drop off their burgers.

  Mitch looked down at the heaping mound of greasy garlic fries and he wanted to hurl. Nestor, on the other hand, shoved the food down as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. He kept glancing at Mitch in between mouthfuls, though he kept quiet.

  Mitch picked at his burger, his appetite fled with the entrance of Emma and Bruin. A nagging suspicion that she was up to something made his head want to explode.

  “You gonna be eatin’ that?” Nestor pointed to Mitch’s fries.

  He slid his plate over. “Help yourself.”

  “No sense lettin’ it go to waste.”

  When Nestor finally wiped his mouth, Mitch took out enough bills to pay for the meals and threw his napkin on the bar. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “You headin’ back down to the site?”

  “Not yet. I’m going back to the motel to check out. Trailer’s supposed to arrive this afternoon.”

  “Right. So you don’t have to spend another night at the fleabag motel.”

  He let out a frustrated breath. Another one of Emma’s lackeys made sure his room remained mostly dirty. He’d finally threatened to give them a scorching review if they didn’t get their act straight.

  “I’ll meet you outside. Got to use the little boys’ room,” Nestor said.

  Mitch hopped off the stool, his eyes still glued to Emma, who hadn’t seen him. How could she? Her face was so close to David Bruin’s. Were they sharing a meal?

  Bruin must have said something funny, because she threw her head back and laughed. Her lilting voice sounded like grinding gears to Mitch’s ears.

  With his gaze still glued on Emma, he sauntered toward their table. Not that she noticed him approach at all; she was so engrossed in the conversation. He would bet money Bruin’s glasses were fogged up from her breath.

  Mitch’s arrival halted their conversation. Emma’s eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. Bruin frowned.

  Mitch leaned forward, his hands braced on the table, his gaze focused on Emma. “If it isn’t my favorite neighbor. Aren’t I lucky—running into you twice in one morning?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “You two having a nice lunch?” Mitch’s voice dripped with innuendo.

  Bruin wiped his lips with his napkin. “McKenna, I see you’ve got your equipment up this morning. I don’t have to remind you that you can’t actually break ground until you have the final permit.”

  Mitch slid into the booth next to Emma, scooting over until his leg brushed up against her. She flinched. Good. He focused his gaze on her face. “And I’m expecting that permit first thing Monday morning with zero delays. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

  David Bruin cleared his throat. “I’m sure Emma would rather not have to listen to work stuff. We’re not here to talk business.”

  She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were tightly clasped on the table, before looking to Bruin. “I can walk back. It sounds like you two have business to discuss.” She grabbed her purse and coat and shot Mitch a look that would melt an iceberg. “Will you get up so I can get out?”

  “Well now, wait a minute. I didn’t realize this was a pleasure lunch.”

  Her cheeks turned as red as the tomato on her salad. She sighed, scooted over as far away from him as the booth would allow, but refused to meet his gaze.

  And just because he got a perverse pleasure from teasing her, he picked up her glass of red wine. “May I?” Before she could reply, he took a long, slow sip. “Tasty.”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Should we perhaps order you your own glass?”

  He winked. “Nah. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of a little afternoon delight.”

  David Bruin’s confused gaze bounced between him and Emma. An angry blotch marked his cheeks. “Make an appointment with my secretary, Mitch. I’m sure we can have time to talk later.”

  Mitch grinned. “You bet I will.” He turned to Emma. “Have a good afternoon, neighbor,” he said before sliding out of their booth.

  Instead of acknowledging, Emma turned her back, rudely ignoring him. She whispered something to Bruin and then giggled like a schoolgirl.

  Mitch grunted as he headed toward the exit. Where was her poor-old-me act now? It was like he was seeing a completely different woman. He’d never seen her so animated, the way her body seemed soft and pliant, the way her face was lit up.

  Damn her.

  Nestor was waiting by the exit door. “What was all that about?”

  “Fuck if I know,” he snarled. Adrenaline pumped in his veins as he yanked at the exit door and welcomed the icy drizzle on his heated face.

  Chapter Three

  Emma’s clammy fingers stuck to the magazine she was pretending to read while she waited for Tim Brooks to call her into his office. The pretty brunette receptionist kept checking on her every few minutes. Emma forced a smile to reassure the girl she was fine.

  Although the reality was she’d been on pins and needles since seeing McKenna over at the tavern during lunch. Why hadn’t she asked David to go someplace outside of town? Now McKenna would put two and two together and have a conniption. She’d felt his angry gaze on her back, even though she’d pretended to not notice.

  Poor David. He probably thought she was drunk, the way she kept giggling and waving her hands and looking deeply into his eyes.

  She cringed inside now at how ridiculous she must have appeared to her cousin’s ex-husband. But she couldn’t help herself. Knowing McKenna was boldly watching them made her want to prove his earlier words wrong. How dare he imply she was a pitiful widow who was stuck in the past?

  Jerk.

  Giving up on the magazine, she rummaged through her bag for the manila folder containing the stack of papers she’d printed of potential customers. She was sure once Tim saw the long list, he’d see the viability of Paws on the Beach.

  “Emma, come on in,” Tim Brooks invited from his office doorway.

  Emma stood, her legs wobbly and the heels of her boots sinking into the plush carpet. She thanked the receptionist and followed Tim inside his expansive office. Wall-to-ceiling windows offered an enviable view of the rugged Neahkahnie Mountain as it plunged down sixteen hundred feet to the sea.

  Tim motioned to the wing chair, and she gladly plopped down and straightened her skirt. He came around and sat across from her, his five-foot-five frame instantly swallowed by the massive oak desk. “We’ve been playing phone tag for a while. It’s nice to finally see you.”

  She squirmed in her seat. “I’m hoping you wanted to see me because you have good news?”

  Tim tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’ll get right to the point. We’ve decided to pass on your loan.”

  Emma swallowed hard. “By we, do you mean you?”

  Now it was his turn to squirm. “I have a board of directors, Emma.”

  “Fine. I’m here to change their mind,” she declared.

  Tim leaned back in his chair. His lips pursed.

  She ignored his look of—was that pity? “I have a list of customers, Tim. Customers who promised me they’d patronize my business. Really, I have it right here.” She reached for the folder and ended up spilling its contents on the carpet.

  “Mrs. LeFleur, there’s no need, really.” Calling her by her married name was never a good sign. He came around the desk and helped her gather the scattered papers before leading her back to her seat.

  Tears welled in her eyes but she refused to give in to the reality of his words. Tim was a nice enough guy. He wouldn’t hold a grudge against her, would he? Not after one lousy date. She couldn’t help it if she’d felt no spark. Hard as she might, she couldn’t recall a single thing that happened during their date, other than being
relieved when it was over. Could this be Tim’s way of getting back at her for not accepting any more of his advances?

  Fear constricted her throat, cutting off her airway. She struggled to draw in a breath. “Tim, you don’t understand how important this loan is to me. To Bella Del Mar. You’re supposed to help people like me. I’m a small business.”

  Tim, back at his seat now, merely lifted a brow. “We are in the business of providing loans that are low risk. Businesses that offer a solid financial plan. We look for people who have a proven track record of turning a profit. Do you see yourself fitting that description?”

  Her face heated up. “I know I can make it work. It’s not like I don’t have experience. I’ve done my homework, plus I have a list of customers right here who—”

  “The problem is you don’t have enough collateral to use to minimize some of the risk involved in financing your business,” he rudely interrupted.

  “But what about my house?”

  Tim shifted in his seat before leaning forward and shuffling some papers on his desk. “Emma, I’m glad you brought that up.”

  “What?”

  “Your home.”

  “What about it?”

  “Your husband refinanced almost three years ago in December, and I wanted to remind you that the type of financing your husband selected, though it had offered the most cash with very low interest rates, came with risks.”

  Her ears tingled as Tim’s words wormed their way into her brain. “What sort of risks?”

  “In December your balloon payment will be due. That is, unless you can obtain another financing, of course.”

  December was two months away. Fear gnawed in her gut. “Why couldn’t we just roll over the current loan and extend the terms?”

  “Because your financial situation isn’t the same as it was three years ago. I don’t mean to state the obvious, but you no longer have Stefan’s salary. With the crackdown on no-credit and no-doc loans, I’m sorry to say we no longer even offer a similar loan instrument. And, sadly, you don’t qualify for a traditional loan with your current income.”

  Her head was spinning from the financial jargon. She leaned forward, her eyes glued on Tim’s face. “Are you saying I could lose my home?”

  “I’m saying you need to come up with a substantial sum of cash or alternate financing.”

  “And if I don’t?” The acidity from the salad she’d had for lunch rose up to gag her.

  He shrugged.

  She blinked hard. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Why did she ever think he was a nice guy? He was unreasonable. A bean counter without vision. “How much do I owe?”

  Tim named the amount, and Emma reeled back. Stunned. Even if she sold what inventory she had in the store, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the loan amount. She swiped angrily at the tears that moistened her cheeks before digging in her bag for a crumpled tissue. She blew her nose.

  “I’m sorry, Emma.” He stood and came around to offer his hand.

  Her gaze landed on the yellow rubber Support Our Troops wristlet he wore. No wonder he felt the need to advertise to the world that he donated to charity. No one who knew him would believe it otherwise.

  Oh, Stefan, why didn’t you tell me about the risky loan? Guilt pressed in on her at the worry and stress this had caused her husband during a time he should have only worried about getting better. She smothered a sob. “I don’t understand. There has to be something that you can do. Isn’t there, Tim?”

  He sighed, his expression strained. “Let me do this. Let me look to see if any of the FHA or modification programs might work for you. I’m not really too familiar with them. We haven’t had to use any for our customers. But I’ll look into it for you. I’m not promising anything. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “I won’t,” she lied.

  He nodded. “I’ll call you as soon as I learn anything.”

  She clung to Tim’s words like a drowning person to a buoy. She didn’t remember thanking him for his time or walking back to her car. It was as if someone had ripped open her chest, leaving her heart exposed and pulsing with pain.

  She was going to lose her family home. Sammy’s home. Her link to the past. Every good memory she had happened in that house. She was not going to lose it. It wasn’t just her business, her dream that was in jeopardy. It was her life.

  She should have listened to Dorinda and shopped around with larger banks in the bigger cities. She buried her face in her hands and gave in to the feeling of panic that gripped her. Spent, she lifted her head and stared at the little green numbers on the dashboard. Her heart knocked against her chest.

  Brooks Savings wasn’t the only game in town. If she hurried, she could be in Seaside in a half hour. There were at least two larger, national banks there and they would still be open.

  She drew in a steady breath. When her fingers stopped trembling, she called Dorinda to close up the store for her and then called Sammy to tell her she wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.

  * * *

  Mitch pulled in to the gravel road that led to the project site and breathed a sigh of relief that the trailer he’d ordered had arrived. But his relief was short-lived when he saw the grassy area still intact.

  “What the hell?” He jumped out of the truck and headed to the six-foot project table filled with trays of muffins, chocolate chip cookies and a carafe of coffee. “We having a party?” he asked his men, who were busy standing around rather than tearing up the grassy area.

  Nestor, who was talking to Officer Landis, was the first to see him and his shoulders noticeably hunched over. “Boss, you ain’t gonna like this,” he said, his voice full of regret. He reached into his jacket and handed Mitch a letter with smudges of chocolate around the edges.

  Mitch rolled his eyes and then read the words ordering him to halt all digging or any other infrastructure-related work until the final approval of his plan had gone through. The letter was signed by David Bruin, Building Official, and dated today.

  “Sorry to hear about this, Mr. McKenna,” Officer Landis said.

  Mitch rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands in frustration. She’d done it again. She’d managed to entice Bruin into delaying his project for a couple of days. She even managed to ensure the rookie cop was assigned to monitor his actions. He should have realized her little lunch date this afternoon had been strategic.

  His anger deflated, however, as he hadn’t planned on his men working over the weekend. She really only managed to delay the project by a few hours. But still, his fingers itched to wrap themselves around her slender neck.

  “Is that why you’re here, Officer? To make sure we don’t perpetrate the heinous crime of making a living?”

  “Nah. You know that reporter from Coastal News? He’d been snooping around earlier. Nestor called me to help keep him off your property.”

  Nestor smiled. “Yeah, when I told the good officer we had muffins, he shot right over.”

  Mitch shook his head at the absurdity of his situation. He’d laugh if his business didn’t hinge on meeting the tight schedule. “What the hell? It’s Friday, we’ll just call it a day and get started early Monday.”

  “Boss, there’s more,” Nestor said with foreboding.

  He arched his brow. “What the hell else is there?” A growing sense of doom latched on to his heart.

  “They’d changed the schedule. They pushed back our meeting until next month. Almost three weeks where we can’t do crap.”

  Like a rocket, Mitch’s gaze launched toward Emma LeFleur’s house. This long delay would cost him everything—his business, his reputation and, more importantly, his employees their much-needed income.

  He dug his fingers into his hair. Fury roiled in his gut and he slowly paced up and down, allowing the energy
inside him to swirl. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to lash out and ram his fist into something.

  “Now, Mitch, you just take it easy. We’ll get this taken care of, no problem. I’ll go over to the courthouse when they open first thing Monday morning and explain why we can’t afford to wait. This’ll get fixed,” Nestor assured him.

  Mitch waited a few beats, hoping his foreman’s reasonableness would rub off on him, but no such luck. “Hell, no. Not this time. She won’t get what she wants,” he snarled.

  Nestor only shook his head. “Best not to get her riled up. You know she’s trouble. We know she’s trouble. Let’s just get this taken care of when the courthouse opens.”

  His lack of sleep these last few weeks, mixed with his unexplainable bad mood at seeing Bruin and Emma sharing an intimate lunch, was a lethal combination he couldn’t dilute with reason. “Not this time.”

  Ignoring Nestor’s waning voice behind him warning him to cool down, Mitch strode over to Emma’s house, taking her porch steps two at a time. He pounded on the door and winced as pain shot through his arm.

  When she didn’t come to the door, he used his boot to pound even harder. He heard a pitiful bark on the other side.

  When the door finally cracked open, he was surprised to see Emma’s daughter. Samantha smiled, even though her eyebrows were raised in confusion. “I’m sorry. I was in my room packing and didn’t hear you knocking. Hi, Mitch.”

  “Is your mother home?” he asked with as much politeness as he could manage, considering he felt like steam was escaping from his ears. He tried to remind himself Emma’s daughter wasn’t responsible for the mess he was now in and that it was her mother he wanted to confront. He forced his expression into what he hoped was a pleasant one.

  “She’s not here.” She glanced behind him and her eyes widened. She moistened her lips. She waved, and Mitch turned around to see Officer Landis waving back.

  What the hell? “She down at the store?”

  “No, she’s out of town, actually. Can I help you with something? Oh, wait! Are you here to thank her for the cookies?” she suggested, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.