“Mom again? I told her to leave you alone about that stupid newspaper article.” Kat whiffed at a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“What’d she do this time?” Lucas suddenly appeared from the kitchen doorway, flour streaked across the front of his hunter green T-shirt.
“Where’d you come from? Who else do you have stashed back there?” Stella peered over her sister’s shoulder toward the industrial kitchen.
Lucas slipped one arm around Kat’s widening waist and winked. “Love begins in the kitchen, Stella.”
“Gag me.”
He slid a wooden spoon across the counter to her.
“Very funny.”
Kat shook her head at them both. “He’s helping me today since my part-timer is on vacation.”
“That, and I don’t want her to pop.” Lucas poked Kat in the side. “Not while she’s here by herself, anyway.”
“Hush. I still have two months to go and you know it. Now, what did Mom do?” Kat leaned into Lucas’s side and Stella bit back a pang of longing at their closeness. No time for any of that. Not that Dillon had been all that affectionate, anyway.
Chase had, though . . .
Don’t go there. Just say it and get it over with.
“That bad?” Kat frowned, and even Lucas’s joking demeanor turned stoic. “Was it about the shelter?”
“No, it’s not Mom. She actually tried to help.” Stella unwrapped her cupcake with trembling fingers, pausing to lick lemonade-flavored icing off her thumb. It did little to ease the sting of what was to come. Her sister was going to flip. Hopefully not faint, as Stella had done onstage. Of all the times for her anxiety to get the best of her.
Chase better not have tried mouth-to-mouth.
“Really?” Kat closed the display case and then leaned forward against the glass countertop, propping on her elbows. “Mom trying to help usually ends up in disaster.”
“Well, yeah, there’s that.”
“What happened, Stella?” Lucas’s calm voice steadied her nerves as he mimicked Kat’s position and leaned over the counter, focusing his full attention on her. Best brother-in-law ever. Kat had done good.
And she deserved it, after what Chase had done to her. To both of them. The way he played them against each other.
Then bailed.
She drew a ragged breath and blew it out. Then took a bite of cupcake. “I got a job.” She mumbled around the cake. Kat squinted and figured it out.
“You got a job.”
Stella nodded.
“It was either that, or ‘I bought a Bob.’ I went with the most likely.”
She almost choked on her cupcake. “There is a Bob, actually. The Downtown Development Director.”
Lucas tilted his head. “Bayou Bend has one of those?”
“Apparently. And he wears cowboy boots.”
“There’s a committee your mother isn’t on?”
“See!” Stella accidentally sprayed crumbs across the counter with the outburst, and hastily swiped them onto the floor with her sleeve. “That’s what I said.”
“This is what you needed to talk about?” Kat raised one eyebrow at Stella in that intimidating way she always had growing up. Her favorite party trick that Stella could never match. “I’m so confused.”
“No. I mean, partially, yes.” She tried again. “I got a job as the interior designer on the renovation of the Ninth Cameo Theater.”
Kat brightened. “That’s great! I always loved that old theater. Congrats. And hooray for Mom doing something helpful.”
“Well . . .” Her voice trailed off. How to even say this? “Sort of.”
“Sort of helpful?”
“More like she didn’t know all the details before getting me hired.” To put it mildly. Claire Varland would never have allowed Stella anywhere near Chase. In fact, she might even try to put a kink in the entire gig once she found out about it. Looked like Stella had a second stop to make before meeting Chase back at the theater later that afternoon.
If she didn’t need this job so badly . . .
Kat shook her head as if trying to catch on. “Wait. Mom missed details? That’s odd.”
Even Lucas murmured his agreement on that one.
Stella pinched a piece of cake off the wrapper with her fingers, wishing the sugar had numbing powers. “You know how I said there’s a Bob?”
They both nodded at her.
“There’s someone else too.”
“You’re not making sense, Stella. Just spit it out.” Kat held up both hands. “Without spraying cupcake on me, ideally.”
Stella took a bigger bite than before, stalling, her mumble unintelligible even to her own ears.
“You’ve been invited to a foot race?”
She tried again, wincing.
“Someone sprayed you with mace?”
Oh, for crying out loud. Stella swallowed her cake. “I said . . . there’s also a Chase.”
“Chase.” Kat’s voice was so monotone, Stella was tempted to look behind her for a robot. “As in, Chase.”
“Chase-Chase?” Lucas’s eyes widened. “You mean, the Chase?” He looked torn between wanting to punch a wall and hug Kat.
“The one and only.” Stella shoved her cupcake away from her, any remnant of appetite or sugar craving long evaporated.
“Where is he?” Violence won the battle, apparently. Lucas started around the counter.
“Stop.” Kat’s voice, only slightly more lively than before, halted Lucas in his tracks. Probably the only thing that could have, judging by the lightning storm of anger in his eyes.
“Stay.”
Lucas turned a half circle at the end of the counter, chest heaving.
“Let’s hear the rest of the story.” Kat patted the glass top, and Lucas released a large breath before sidling back up next to her.
“I don’t know the story,” Stella said. “He just turned up as the contractor on the job.” She wiped her fingers with her napkin, digging the bits of cake from her nails and wishing she could rid herself of Chase’s memory as neatly. But those were embedded much deeper. “And apparently the foreman, as well.”
She stumbled over the word. Great. That hadn’t fully sunk in before. That meant she’d be in contact with Chase even more closely than with a typical contractor, because as foreman, he’d actually be on-scene managing the construction around the clock. “I’m working with him on the project.”
“You have to work with Chase?” Now Kat’s tone held more sympathy than shock. “Stella. How are you going—”
“I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know. I’ve already had one anxiety attack.” Stella slapped the counter with both hands. “But I need the job.”
Lucas bowed up again. “I’ll pay your rent before I’ll let any sister of mine work with that—”
“Yeah, Mr. I-Have-a-Mortgage and Mrs. Baby-on-the-Way, thanks but no thanks.” Stella shook her head. “There’s no way you guys can afford that, and there’s no way I’m letting you.” She could do this. It would help if they would stop freaking out. Then she could convince herself this wasn’t nearly as big a deal as it clearly was.
“But it’s Chase.” Kat rolled in her lower lip, leaving the rest of her sentence unspoken. Isn’t being homeless better than dealing with him?
Maybe.
Well, no, not after Stella rendered the shelter useless.
She’d managed to forget about that for all of two hours. She buried her face in her hands.
“Maybe we’re overreacting?” Her sister was trying, bless her heart.
Stella peered up at her. “I passed out, Kat. In front of him. On the middle of the theater stage. I think we’re past overreaction.”
“Don’t give him that power over you.” Lucas looked even more ticked than before, though it seemed to be carefully under control for the moment. Probably because of Kat’s condition. Not much else would keep him inside the bakery right now. Chase’s betrayal to Kat hit Lucas almost as personally as it
did her sister, because he’d had to pick up Kat’s pieces over the years. The memories had almost destroyed their budding relationship.
Needless to say, Chase knew how to leave a mark. “No one gives Chase anything.” Stella leveled her gaze at her brother-in-law. “He takes it.” Takes it, to the point where you didn’t even realize it was gone until you looked up and suddenly wondered why there was a hole in your heart.
“That’s ridiculous. What kind of superpower does this guy have?” Lucas picked up Stella’s discarded cupcake and tossed it into the trash. What was he doing? Trying to channel his frust—
Yep. He went for the rag next and began wiping the already clean counter.
“It’s not a superpower, really.” Stella looked at Kat for help explaining the enigma that was Chase. “More like . . .” Where to even begin? How did one even start to describe the effect one guy—one jerk—could have on not just women, but sisters?
Kat chimed in. “More like a cancer than a superpower. He does damage in one area and the effects take over. Consume.”
Cancer. Aunt Maggie. Stella couldn’t hear that word without instantly going back to her great aunt’s death in hospice. She squeezed her eyes shut. What would Maggie advise her to do in this situation? Her head thrummed too loudly, with too many voices. She couldn’t hear her aunt’s voice as clearly as she did a few months ago. The voice that always pointed Stella in the right direction. Away from the façade. Away from striving. And always toward Jesus.
The voice was fading.
Stella opened her eyes. She couldn’t depend on anyone else—not even family—to do this for her. She had to go it alone.
And maybe proving to herself she could handle it was just what she’d been needing this past year. She’d survived divorce. An ex-boyfriend should be a piece of . . . well, cake.
Except Chase wasn’t just an ex. An ex was someone you dated and broke up with and moved on from. Someone you occasionally sent a Christmas card to or avoided eye contact with in a small-town grocery store or searched on various social media sites in secret hopes they’d gotten really unattractive. Exes were about as confusing as the maze on the back of the kid’s meal menu at the local diner.
Chase was a labyrinth.
Lucas set his jaw. “Maybe one day someone can teach him to use his powers for good instead of evil.” His fist clenched as if he was itching to be the one to invoke such a lesson.
Kat snorted. “How was he this morning? You know, during the parts of your interaction where you were conscious.”
Ha ha. “He was . . . professional.” Until they got into that near fight on the stage, before she dropped dead away. But for some reason, she didn’t want to tell her sister everything. Harping on Chase didn’t feel productive. She had to hitch up her big-girl trousers and do this thing, and really, she should do it with as much grace as possible. Her livelihood depended on it.
And besides, wasn’t living well the best revenge?
It’d be a lot easier to do if he didn’t bring out the most annoying childish instincts in her. The kind that still wanted to wear Disney Princess panties under said big-girl trousers. The kind of instincts she had battled, against all odds, and stuffed into a box much like Pandora’s, and buried the key.
Instincts that needed to stay far beneath the surface.
That wasn’t her anymore.
Dillon had seen to that. And it was too dangerous—far, far too dangerous—to go anywhere near that box.
Enough. “I need to go.” Stella grabbed her purse from the table where she’d abandoned it earlier, and scooted the chair back into place. “I have to meet with him and the construction crew for some pre-demolition planning.”
“You’re really going to do this?” Kat crossed her arms over her chest, her apron pulled tight across her belly. “You’re really going to work with him?”
“I don’t have a choice, Kat. As bad as it is, it beats living with Mom and Dad.” Stella hiked her purse on her shoulder and turned at the door. “Maybe. Guess I’ll find out.”
Her sister started to respond, then stopped, lips pressed into a thin line. When she finally opened her mouth again, her tone was final. Resigned. “Just—just be careful.”
There was so much more she obviously wanted to say, and didn’t even need to. Stella knew.
She was headed straight into the labyrinth.
Twenty bucks she wasn’t coming back.
Chase sat around a card table in the middle of the Ninth Cameo lobby and its long-forgotten mess, surrounded by three men in various degrees of holey T-shirts. All of them were drinking some form of energy drink except for Lyle, who spit dip into a crumpled Sprite bottle.
This was his crew.
And he really hated to think who would be their interior designer if Stella didn’t show up. The choices weren’t promising: Middle-aged, scruffy-faced Lyle, whose quality building skills and experience with Sheetrock were the only reasons Chase put up with the constant spitting. Jack, an upper-middle-aged man recommended by Lyle for his hard work ethic and “mad skills with painting.” And Tim, whose college-aged enthusiasm for his first “real” job made him perfect for grunt work, clean up, and errand running.
Stella had to come back.
Did he want her to?
He felt as if he were watching a tennis tournament. Back and forth, left and right.
Left. Sure, Bob would hire someone else if Stella bailed, but Stella’s eye for color and design would do the theater a huge favor. The theater needed her.
Right. Yet at the same time, his and Stella’s history—as messy and clouded as it was—could easily get in the way of progress and actually hinder the project.
Left. But only if they let it.
“So what’s first, Boss?” Tim leaned back on his chair, balancing on two legs, and drummed his fingers on the edge of the card table. Nothing but energy. Chase had half a mind to nudge the chair with his boot, just to see what substance the kid was actually made of.
Lyle beat him to it. “Feet on the floor, Junior.” He kicked harder than Chase would have, and Tim fell backward in a heap. “See how dangerous that is? If you’re gonna play in a construction site, boy, you better play by the rules. Safety first.” He spit in his bottle and shot Chase a wink as a red-faced Tim clambered back into his chair.
“Got anything I can beat with a sledgehammer?” Tim directed the question to Chase, but glared at Lyle. He grinned back and toasted him with his spit cup.
Chase bit back a laugh. Good. The boy had some spark. He was going to need it to survive Lyle—and probably Jack, too, though the older man so far had been a lot more reserved in comparison. It appeared respect would be hard-earned around the Cameo.
“We’re waiting on our designer to get here.” Chase checked his watch, trying to remember if he’d ever told Stella an exact time or just implied vaguely about meeting after lunch. Maybe she was still resting from whatever had come over her that morning.
Hopefully she hadn’t hit her head harder than he’d realized. In fact, wasn’t sleeping after a head injury a bad idea? Had he just sent her off into a coma? What if—
“What’s wrong?” Tim frowned at him and Chase groaned. It figured the college punk would have intuition.
“Nothing. She’ll be here.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
Because it didn’t.
Or maybe it’d be for the best if she didn’t show, anyway.
He had to quit doing that.
Tim stared as if he couldn’t believe him less. Fair enough. Chase didn’t believe himself. He cracked his neck, the sudden snap yanking Jack away from a near-snoring state at the table, and stood to his feet. “Okay, guys, listen up.” He needed to get them on the right track, here, with or without Stella. With or without a designer. There were plenty of things to do.
Then Stella walked in, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what any of those things were.
“Who. Is. That?” Tim’s eyes bugged out of his head and h
e caught himself before slipping out of his chair a second time. Even Jack sat up straight and Lyle set his dip bottle on the ground, out of sight, as Stella made her way toward the group across the sun-streaked theater lobby, her wind-tangled blonde hair streaming behind her.
Thank the Lord she didn’t have on makeup, or Tim might not have lived to see twenty-one.
Which was a little odd, now that Chase thought about it. And funny he didn’t notice that morning. Because the Stella he remembered wore full makeup even to get the mail. The pageant queen couldn’t go anywhere without personifying perfection—which in her case, wasn’t that difficult to obtain.
Stella hesitated near the table, her uncertainty also brand new to Chase. What happened to the confident girl who could easily wow a room full of strangers with a smile, and had no trouble making small talk with anyone—and he meant anyone, ranging from a homeless woman to the CEO of a thriving business?
“Guys, this is our interior designer on the project, Stella Varland.” He kept his tone intentionally professional, as a reminder to the men to keep it business, and as a reminder for his own heart to do the same. He couldn’t afford to let Stella’s accident earlier or their history together jade his mindset and conjure up some sort of ill-advised compassion. They had a deadline to meet and a theater to renovate, and it wasn’t going to happen if he kept trying to psychoanalyze Stella.
Stella tucked a thick file under one arm and held out her hand to first Lyle, then Jack. “Nice to meet you all.” Chase recognized the voice then, the pageant voice, the one that used to speak of world peace, Americana, and sugar and spice and everything nice.
That fake voice he never could stand to hear. It was how he’d always imagined Barbie would talk. And when he realized his own name wasn’t Ken, well . . .
He hadn’t been good enough for Stella. Not what she deserved. And the way he treated her sister after realizing Stella had nabbed his heart, well . . .
Neither of them deserved the likes of him.
Chase shook away the memory. No time for that. Business only.
When she got to Tim, the kid stood so fast his chair clattered to the floor behind him. He then proceeded to hang on to her hand about ten seconds longer than necessary. “A pleasure to work with you, ma’am.”
Love Arrives in Pieces Page 5