He nodded. “Contractor and foreman, actually.”
“But—”
“But what?” Chase turned those lifted brows on her now, and she swallowed back everything she longed to say. Had wanted to say for years.
Not in front of Cowboy Bob.
She tried again, praying the truth wouldn’t erupt from her lips unbidden. “I was just going to say that’s quite the commute.”
“Nonsense!” Stella jerked again. Bob’s voice could have scared a pretzel straight. “He’s done up and moved back home to Bayou Bend.”
Moved. Back.
An instant headache began throbbing. Stella reached up automatically, as if she could touch it. As if she could make any of this madness just go away. How could this day have started out so normal? If the sun rose and birds chirped, Chase Taylor was not supposed to be living back in Bayou Bend. That would have called for a hurricane. Tornado. Some form of natural disaster.
Bob’s beaming smile morphed slowly into one of slight confusion. “So how do you two know each other, exactly?”
The panic in Chase’s eyes mirrored the panic in Stella’s racing heart. The truth was definitely not called for right now. At least not the entire truth. Her mouth dried and her palms grew slick.
“Old family friend.”
“He dated my sister.”
They spoke at the same time, looked at each other, and then back at Bob.
“He meant we were friends.”
“She meant I’m old friends with her sister.”
Bob’s bushy eyebrows furrowed into a caterpillar of gray. “Right, then.”
Cue crickets.
Chase broke the awkward silence by gesturing toward the double doors leading from the lobby into the theater. “Have you seen the inside of the theater yet?”
Stella shook her head. The fact that she needed this job was the only thing keeping her feet on the floor at the moment instead of racing out of the place in midair like some cartoon character.
And the vision of her mother’s face when she learned Chase Taylor was the contractor she hadn’t bothered to learn about. That would be priceless.
“Come on, then.” Bob led the way, and Stella fell in line behind him, feeling Chase’s gaze burning into her back with every step. Those eyes had always had the ability to see right through her.
Good thing there wasn’t much to look at anymore.
Bob pulled open the doors, the theater significantly cooler than the lobby. “Here she is.” He stepped out of the way by the top step so Stella could get a clear view. “Still a beauty.”
Behind her, Chase murmured an agreement in the back of his throat, and Stella’s ears burned. The theater. He was talking about the theater.
The aisle sloped slightly downward, stairs guiding the way past rows and rows of worn seats toward the stage. Stella moved slowly down as if drawn by a magnet, taking the stairs one at a time in the near dark. The hushed space around her hovered tight with expectation, of dreams unfulfilled, of potential to shine.
This theater wasn’t a ghost. It still had plenty of life yet.
She finally reached the stage, dropped her purse on the floor, and hoisted herself up. She stood and reverently walked the space, forgetting about Chase and Cowboy Bob and all the scandals of the past. Closing her eyes, she pictured the rows of seats once again full of people—of couples on first dates and children on field trips and middle-aged parents holding hands.
Yes. Plenty of life to be had.
The building hadn’t shuddered or sighed earlier.
It just needed a hug too.
“What’s she doing?” Cowboy Bob couldn’t whisper if his life depended on it.
Chase answered, softer, but his voice carried in the stillness. “Listening.”
Ignoring them, Stella opened her eyes and looked up. A giant projection screen was rolled up tight above the massive wooden platform. If it was still in working order, it would save a lot of money not to have to replace it. The stage lights, from this distance anyway, still seemed whole too. They wouldn’t know for sure until the electricity was turned back on, but at least there was hope.
Plenty of hope.
Bob pulled a flashlight from his back pocket, and he and Chase began making their way down the stairs. “We’ll see about getting the power on as soon as possible for you guys to get started. When is your crew coming?” They reached the floor by the stage under Stella.
“I’ve got a few guys supposed to meet with me this afternoon, so we can draw up a game plan. I wanted to see the space first, and of course get the designer’s ideas before we moved forward.” Chase ran a hand through his hair and shot a glance at Stella. “It’s important we’re all on the same page at this stage—pardon the pun—or else it’ll stalemate real quick.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. You guys already know each other. I’m sure it’ll be easier than pie to agree on the remodel.” Bob dismissed the concern with a snort. “Now look at that. I’ve got a hankering for some apple pie now. Anyone want to finish this little meeting over at the diner?”
Pie? At eight thirty in the morning? Now she knew how her mom must have felt when she offered her coffee in the afternoon. Stella quickly shook her head from her position atop the stage. The only thing worse than playing nice with Chase in this giant theater would be playing nice in close quarters across a breakfast table.
“I’d just as soon get started if it’s all the same to you, Bob.” Chase smiled what Stella had always secretly dubbed his own pageant smile—the one containing nothing genuine other than well-placed manners. “We’re burning daylight.”
Stella nodded. “And clearly we have a lot to discuss.”
Chase shot her a bewildered glance, and she smiled sweetly. Now who was sweating? “About the construction, of course.”
“Of course.” His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her.
Good.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Bob hitched up his jeans and gave Chase a firm nod. “I knew we made the right choice hiring the likes of you.” He turned to include Stella. “And you, little lady. I know your vision for this theater will knock us right out of our boots.”
Only those who chose to wear them.
“Well, I won’t hold you kids up any longer. We’ll get together for an update meeting in a few days.” Bob saluted them both before flicking his flashlight back on. “You two have fun.”
“Yes sir.”
“Will do.”
They waited silently until Bob disappeared back up the stairs into the dimness of the lobby, his flashlight bouncing and then fading completely away.
“Of all the contractors in all the world—”
“Of all the designers in all the world—”
They stopped at the same time they’d started. Stella crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at her ex. “Get out of my head.”
“Tried that years ago.” Chase stepped up onto the stage with minimal effort. Now she had to look up at him. She wished she had a stool.
She lifted her chin instead. “You tried a lot of things years ago.”
“And how far did that get me?”
“Great question. Why don’t we ask Kat?”
They scowled at each other again, arms crossed, chests heaving.
Then Chase slumped, arms slack at his side. “I’m not going to fight with you, Stella. We’re both adults. Different people than . . . before.”
“Before what, exactly?” She couldn’t turn off the need to challenge him, to make him face everything head-on the way she’d had to. The way she still had to when he sneaked uninvited into her dreams. But that wasn’t her anymore. She’d gotten downright mellow. No one had sparked that kind of emotion in her in years.
What was going on?
“You know what.” His voice held a warning now, and a maturity she wouldn’t have recognized. Maybe he had changed. She had no idea what he’d been up to these past . . . how many years now? Four? Five?
; And how much did he know of her past? Oh, man. The room blurred around the edges and she fought to inhale.
Definitely time to change the subject. “You’re right. Let’s just talk about the theater.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and released a sigh. Regroup. Refocus. This was a job, not a couples-counseling session. The room wasn’t shrinking—only her tolerance. She breathed again, deeper.
“It’s a little dark in here. Let’s go talk in the lobby.” Chase climbed off the stage, and held up a hand to assist her down.
Oh no. No way was she touching him. If their former chemistry was anywhere near as alive as it had been a few years ago, the entire theater would combust.
And wouldn’t that make for a great follow-up headline?
She slid her hands into her back pockets. “Let’s stay in here. I can envision things better when I’m actually in the space.” It was true. But she had another reason for suggesting it.
“Arguing already, are we?” He said it lightly, as if joking, but she sensed the undercurrent. It moved between them in a relentless wave.
“Hand me my notepad?” She pointed to the legal tablet sticking out of her purse. “Please?”
He hesitated, blue eyes calculating the cost as they stared up at her.
This was about so much more than location. This was setting the stage—great, now she was thinking in puns—for the rest of their working relationship. This was setting a precedent of who exactly was going to take how much.
The Chase she knew wouldn’t stand for it for long at all. In fact, Alpha Male Chase from her past would have already been barreling his way up the stairs, leaving her to follow—or not.
But the Chase before her hesitated a moment longer, then bent down and plucked the tablet from her purse. “As you wish.”
The room immediately shrank four sizes.
When Chase left Ethan’s apartment for work that morning, he imagined meeting with the Downtown Director, shooting the bull a bit, and then chatting vision with the interior designer on the project, all before grabbing his hastily hired crew together for donuts and some seriously hard labor. It was time to move—to go, to create. He’d been stagnant for four days in his transition from Houston, and it was almost his undoing.
Today, the plan was to be productive at all costs.
Nothing in his morning plan included fanning a lifeless ex-girlfriend back to consciousness on a deserted stage.
“Stella.” He knelt beside her and gently tapped one cheek, then the other, unable to help but notice the way her golden hair spilled around the deep wood of the stage like a halo. He nudged harder, then shook her shoulder.
Nothing.
He really didn’t think mouth-to-mouth would be appreciated at this point, and she was breathing, anyway, so it’d be pointless.
Unfortunately.
“Stella!” He shouted now, his voice reverberating around the theater, hinting at the panic beginning to build in his gut. Had she hit her head when she collapsed? What had happened, anyway? Delayed shock at their being thrown back together after all these years—or did she have some kind of illness he wasn’t aware of? It was hot in here, but she’d been fine earlier.
Either way, she needed to open those fiery eyes of hers. Now. Those eyes that had always put him in his place. The ones that he never could completely get out of his head, even after proposing to Leah and determining to move forward from the past once and for all.
What a joke. His past kept relentlessly tapping his shoulder, forcing him to look back in one form or another. And if Stella had gotten hurt . . . hurt like Leah . . .
She stirred slightly, then, just enough to curb the tightness consuming his chest. He sank into a sitting position beside her and exhaled a year’s worth of stress. Okay. She was okay. He tried to relax, tried to force calm through the adrenaline burning his veins. Another minute, and if she didn’t come all the way to, he’d call 911.
And then Stella could make the papers two days in a row.
She sat upright so fast it made his head swim.
“Whoa, slow down. You all right?” He held both hands toward her, wanting to touch her but knowing better. Knowing she’d probably punch him in the face and knowing he probably deserved it.
“What happened?” She rubbed the back of her head and flinched, pulling her fingers away as if checking for blood. Thankfully, there wasn’t any.
“Great question.” He pulled his legs up to his chest and looped his arms casually around his knees. “We were talking, and I handed you the notepad, and you peaced.”
“I what?” She squinted at him, whether in pain or confusion he couldn’t be sure.
“You know. Like peace out?” He held up two fingers in the universal sign. “Never mind. You fainted, Stella.” He dropped the jokes. “Seriously, are you okay? I almost called an ambulance, but I figured you’d kill me later.”
“You figured right. There was this incident yesterday . . . never mind.” It was her turn to stop short. A hint of red began flushing her pale cheeks.
He couldn’t resist. “I was meaning to ask you how you found time for interior design in the middle of a career as an arsonist.”
She reached over and slapped his bicep—before she thought it through, apparently, by the way she quickly pulled her hand back to her lap. The momentary spark that had lit, the spark that reminded him of the real Stella, quickly extinguished.
He missed it already.
“So you saw the newspaper.” A statement, not a question.
He nodded.
She sighed. “Welcome back to Bayou Bend.” A slight grin turned up one corner of her mouth, at least. There she was. Still in there.
There was more relief with that than there should have been.
He stood and reached down to help her. “Slowly, now.”
She paused, biting down on her bottom lip the way she always had done when debating something, and finally slid her hand into his. The contact of their palms was at once familiar and different, half memory, half dream. He let go as soon as she steadied on her feet, unable to bear her touch without a full assault on his mind.
“Thank you.” Mellow Stella was back now, this stranger he didn’t recognize, and he found himself wishing he could make her smile again.
“Do you do that often?”
“What? Say thanks?” She held her yellow notepad against her chest like a shield, and he almost envied the form of tangible protection. Could stand some armor himself right now.
“No, drop cold on the floor.”
“Oh. That.” She looked at the stage where she’d landed, as if it held an answer she didn’t have. “Sometimes.”
There was a lot more she wasn’t saying, and the lack of invitation to probe further was more than evident. Point received. “Can you drive?”
She nodded, certain.
Certain enough to make him think this wasn’t that rare for her, after all.
He frowned. “Then why don’t you go home and rest for a little while, take some medicine for that headache that’s sure to be on its way. I’ll meet with my crew here in a bit and you can join us this afternoon. We can talk vision then. There’s plenty of demolition I can get them started on that won’t interfere with our plans.”
He waited, fully expecting an argument—Stella Varland never took orders from anyone. Not even when hurt.
“Yeah, okay.” She nodded slowly and immediately sat down to slide off the edge of the stage. “I’ll see you later.”
The disappointment that lingered at her agreement was more tangible than that yellow tablet in her hand.
And the girl he used to know as Stella Varland walked out of the theater.
four
Passed out.
One look at Chase Taylor, and she had passed out cold.
Stella’s counselor told her the anxiety attacks were to be expected now and then, when circumstances triggered her memories of the past. Shaking, hyperventilating, lack of oxygen to the brain. As she healed and dealt
with the pain and trauma, they would pass.
Well, they weren’t passing fast enough.
She needed a cupcake. And a hug.
But she couldn’t get either one without telling Kat the whole story.
And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to tell Kat the whole story. Or if Kat was even ready for the whole story.
Yet Chase was in Bayou Bend, and for all appearances, it seemed he was here for good, so Kat was bound to find out through the small town gossip mill any day now. And from all the connections their mother had, more like any minute. Would it be better to hear the news from Stella, or from their mom?
Stella had to bite this bullet, and the only way it was going to go down was with a heaping spoonful of sugar. Besides, her head throbbed a rhythm that would have made Aerosmith jealous. She needed a sugar fix, stat. And maybe an emergency round on a punching bag.
She pushed open the door of Sweetie Pies, the bakery her sister had bought from their late Aunt Maggie, and immediately missed the feisty older woman. Even though the shop had been Kat’s for several years now, it still reminded Stella of Maggie and the months they spent together after her cancer diagnosis. If Aunt Maggie were here, she’d know what to say. And would probably crack them all up in saying it.
The bell over the door chimed her arrival. Kat poked her head out from the kitchen, then planted one hand on her rounded hip. “If you’re going to start a fire or play with your food, you can turn right back around.” The sass was broken by her grin.
“Hilarious.”
“Just joking. What kind do you want?”
“Vanilla.” She pulled a chair out from the table nearest the display counter, the iron legs squeaking against the black-and-white checkered floor.
Kat glared, hand still on her hip. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Duh. I know better than to order that to your face. Give me one of your raspberry lemonade torte thingies.”
Kat pulled a cupcake from the display tray, plopped it on a serving plate atop a red doily, and set it on the counter. “Come get it. You’re not pregnant, you can walk farther.”
Stella got up and met her sister at the counter. “We need to talk.”
Love Arrives in Pieces Page 4