Love Arrives in Pieces

by Betsy St. Amant

  “Good luck.” Chase lifted a hand in a wave as the nurse wheeled him to the passenger side of Tim’s truck. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jack made a face as he managed to get his crutches under his arms. “If you have a sit-down job at the Cameo, holler at me.”

  They both knew that wouldn’t happen. But it made them both feel better to say it. A man needed to work, and Jack was facing six weeks of staring at a television. While Chase faced the challenge of hiring someone who knew construction and could start, like, the very next morning. On second thought, today hadn’t been the best day to take off work after all.

  But as he and Stella climbed back into his truck—in unison, as if they did it all the time—he second-guessed his second thought.

  Maybe things happened for a reason after all.

  It didn’t hit him until he pulled up to Stella’s apartment fifteen minutes later that he hadn’t had a single flashback while at the hospital. Not one single memory of Leah’s accident or the aftermath thereof.

  Not sure what that meant, but he’d take it.

  He breathed a prayer of relief and gratitude, trying not to feel guilty, then hopped out to open Stella’s door. “Well, today turned out a little more exciting than I intended.”

  She slid out of the cab and faced him with a tired smile. “I’ll say.”

  And then he wasn’t sure if she meant the hospital trip or the kiss. Or both.

  Which did he mean?

  Both.

  He shut the door behind her, bracing one hip against the bumper of the truck, wishing he could kiss her again. “I’m glad Jack is going to be okay. That could have been a lot worse.”

  “No kidding.” Stella shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. “Are you going to have to replace him at the Cameo?”

  “Definitely.” Chase hesitated as he briefly ran through potential options in his mind. He didn’t love any of them. “I guess my best bet is to check with Lyle and see if he knows anyone.”

  “There’s someone at the homeless shelter who could use a job . . .” Stella’s voice trailed off and she twisted her lips to the side, eyes widening in silent question.

  Homeless shelter. Dixie. Surely not her, specifically, but someone like her? Did he have the patience to deal with someone like that at work all day? More importantly, did they have the skills needed to do the job well and not get hurt? Accidents happened to the best of crewmen, as evidenced by Jack today—but when you weren’t familiar with the tools involved, they happened a lot more frequently, and usually more severely. “I don’t know, Stella. Is he certified?”

  “No, but he’s an amazing builder. He’s handcrafted all kinds of things he’s brought up to the shelter before, things he sells on the side sometimes or trades for food. Rocking chairs, rocking horses. Stuff like that.”

  “Just because he can build a chair doesn’t mean he can build a theater.”

  Stella held up both hands. “I know that, obviously. I’m just saying you need someone to work as soon as possible, and he needs a job as soon as possible.” She shrugged. “Could be an answered prayer for you both.”

  She could be on to something. And unless Lyle had a recommendation, Chase didn’t have any solid leads at the moment anyway. And they really couldn’t waste any time. “What’s his name?”

  “Howard. He’s friends with Dixie.”

  He knew it. Chase paused, wondering how to proceed without offending Stella. “Is he . . .”

  “No. He’s not like her. Not like that.”

  At least she wasn’t offended this time. “If he’s interested, tell him to come by the theater tomorrow, and I’ll see what he can do. I’ll pay him for a day’s work, and if he proves himself, he can keep the rest of the job.”

  “Sounds fair.” The smile that lit up Stella’s face made the entire risk worth it. She reached out and touched his arm, eyes shining. “Thank you. For giving him a chance. I really doubt you’ll be disappointed.”

  No matter. If she kept smiling like that, he wouldn’t have a care in the world. Chase touched her hand, then realized he couldn’t quite let go. “You’re very welcome.” They held hands for a moment longer than necessary.

  No disappointments here. Not a single one.

  Four days later, Stella breezed into the Cameo, arms full of bags containing everything she needed to decorate the theater’s restroom. She deposited the bags in the ladies’ room, grateful the plumber had been able to make his original deadline, and then headed back into the lobby, looking for Chase. Since that evening he dropped her off at home after the hospital trip, they had barely spoken except for two nights ago, when he called her to tell her that Howard had been doing a great job so far, contributing above and beyond what he’d expected.

  The compliment warmed her as directly as if she’d done the work herself. It was good news for Howard, of course. But beyond that, she had been able to give Chase advice—and have him heed it and appreciate it. It was affirming, being part of a team, bouncing ideas off someone who truly cared.

  Not that she was sure, in hindsight, that Dillon had ever truly cared, but regardless, she’d still gotten used to a default, a habit, a pattern of behavior that she now missed. Being able to assist Chase in even small details at the Cameo and strengthen not only his reputation but the project itself felt . . . good. Foreign and familiar all at once.

  She wanted more.

  Just a little more.

  Chase met her inside the lobby before she could barrel through the theater doors, sweat staining the front of his T-shirt, his hair mussed and covered in what looked like sawdust.

  And it still didn’t deter her from wanting a hug.

  “Hey, you’re here!” He looked happy to see her.

  Really happy, for that matter.

  Relief and apprehension mingled in a single tidal wave. She drew a deep breath, calming her nerves. Relief that he was glad to see her, because she’d been a little curious why they hadn’t run into each other over the last few days, or why he hadn’t sought her out after that kiss in the truck. She knew he’d been busy, especially in Jack’s absence, but still . . .

  And apprehension, because, well . . . he was happy to see her.

  Exciting. Scary.

  Complicated.

  Then reality tapped her on the shoulder. Even though they’d talked about their recent pasts and were getting along well on the theater progress, she was still a Varland and he was still very much Chase Taylor.

  If her mom freaked out because they were simply working together . . . well, that kiss would slap the Baptist right out of her.

  Best to forget it.

  If only she could. Her stomach dipped. “Chase, we should probably—”

  “I have a surprise for you.” His eyes danced with a secret.

  That alone was a surprise. Stella raised her eyebrows. “Okay?”

  “But you have to go home first.”

  She frowned. “Okay . . .”

  He laughed. “It’s a good thing, I promise. Or if you need to work in the women’s restroom, that’s fine. You just can’t come in the theater until tonight.”

  “What time?” Meeting Chase, alone, in the theater, after hours? The thought made her want to throw up and turn a cartwheel, all at once.

  He checked his watch, also covered in flakes of construction dust, as he began easing backward toward the theater doors. “Seven o’clock. Maybe seven fifteen.”

  “I’ll be here.” And she would be a nervous wreck until then. They still had yet to discuss that impromptu kiss in his truck. Was that part of his plan for that evening? Or was it just something to do with the theater progress? She’d have to wait to find out.

  Why did it seem like she was always waiting on men?

  Chase lifted one hand in a quick wave and disappeared back inside the theater, taking care to make sure the door didn’t open too far and allow her to see in as he slipped through. She shook her head. If patience was a vir
tue, she was no saint. Looked like she’d be killing some time decorating the women’s bathroom.

  At least if she opted for throwing up instead of cartwheels, she’d be in the right spot.

  The summer rain shower came hard and fast, taking Bayou Bend by surprise. The streets couldn’t keep up, and the gutters flooded within minutes.

  Good thing she wasn’t worried about her hairdo. Stella squeezed out the excess water from the damp strands that hung over the hood of her teal sweatshirt. She had finished up the restrooms a lot faster than anticipated, then gone home. Better to pace her own apartment than the bathroom of a theater.

  The door swung shut behind her, and she shivered against the frigid air conditioning. The temperature had hit ninety-two degrees earlier in the day, but the rain dipped the temps, and her wet hair did little to convince her it was still summer outside. She shivered.

  “I was worried about you driving in all that.” Chase’s voice echoed through the dimly lit lobby before he appeared. He grinned, approaching her slowly, giving her stomach way too much time to react.

  She played it off as a joke, as if the chemistry between them couldn’t possibly start a forest fire, and held out both arms, revealing hoodie sleeves splotchy with rain. “I’m here. With bells on, as you can see.”

  “If I had known we’d get a monsoon, I’d have waited until tomorrow.” He hesitated as he began leading the way toward the theater. “I just really wanted you to see it without the crew around.”

  Why? She wanted to ask, bad, but instead she bit her lip and followed him. She waited once inside the dark room, but he didn’t turn on the theater lights. “Chase?”

  “I’m right here.” His voice near her ear brought more sparks of danger than reassurance.

  She shivered again, this time not from the cold. What was wrong with her? She was suddenly reacting to his proximity like a high school girl with a crush on the school jock. This was Chase. Chase, who had dated her sister first. Chase, who was the archenemy of her entire family. Chase, who left her for Texas and for some mysterious life she didn’t understand.

  She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets, struggling to breathe in the dark space. Was it the lure of the forbidden driving her hormones this way? If so, she had to stop it immediately. She was done with the proverbial Bad Boy.

  Especially the ones who hid that particular label under an entirely different wardrobe.

  “This way.” Chase’s hand found hers in the darkness, tugged her forward down the main aisle.

  She hesitated, knowing in the darkness there were stairs coming.

  He prodded her forward. “You’re safe. Just a few more steps.”

  Safe? Hardly.

  From falling down the stairs, yes. From falling for him? Not even.

  She swallowed.

  “Okay, ready?”

  No.

  “Surprise.” The lights flipped on simultaneously with his voice, and she blinked at the sudden brightness. She glanced around the empty theater, then realized why such pride echoed in his voice.

  The stage.

  Newly sanded and polished, gleaming with fresh stain, the deep brown of the wood looked like liquid bronze flowing across the boards.

  Stella caught her breath, covered her mouth with her hands. “It’s stunning.” More than beauty, though, it radiated potential. She could envision the plays that would take place on that stage now, the talent that would grace its floors, the laughter and tears it would coax from its audience. The stage would be the foundation of it all, the stoic witness to hundreds of memories yet to be formed.

  Chase beamed almost as brightly as the stage. “I knew you’d be happy with it. I knew it.”

  He sounded almost relieved, as if maybe he hadn’t been sure. And the sudden switch in who valued whose opinion most made her grin. Then sober.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one afraid of falling.

  “Come see it up close.” He began the trek down the main aisle steps, and she followed at a slower pace, taking in the sight of the completed stage from each level. Flawless. Truly flawless.

  They reached the front and she looked up from the ground level, reached out to gingerly touch the edge. Smooth as silk. “I’m surprised it’s dry.”

  “It’s fast-drying stain, but yeah. That was part of why I had to keep you out of here this morning. Was still sticky.”

  “It looks amazing. You did a great job.”

  “You picked a great color.” He smiled, his hand almost brushing hers as he, too, touched the stage floor. “We’re a good team.”

  Teamwork. Her earlier thoughts flooded with the present, and she winced. Why did this have to be so complicated all of a sudden? Chase returning to Bayou Bend should have been nothing more than a fact.

  Now it was a truth that consumed most of her daily thoughts. When had that switch happened?

  If she was truly honest, it’d happened the moment they’d stood toe-to-toe on that very stage mere weeks ago, her first day on the job, and shouted at each other like old times.

  The theater knew—drama sold. Drama seeped through trap-doors and velvet curtains and stage wings and consumed everything in its path. Her drama with Chase hadn’t ever ended—it’d just taken an intermission.

  And Act Two was in full swing.

  fourteen

  They sat on the edge of the completed stage, feet dangling. Laughing. Talking. Just like they used to. Just like that one time Chase had accidentally ended up visiting with Stella for hours instead of hanging out with Kat as promised. Easy conversation, no pressure, no expectation.

  As if they had become best friends from that first conversation they shared.

  And tonight, nothing had changed in the least.

  Chase watched as Stella reclined back on her elbows, blonde hair spilling onto the dark wood, peering up at the stage lights above their heads and studying the layout of the grid. “It looks so complex.”

  “Nah.” He lay back in the same way, the hard wood of the stage digging into his elbows. “It’s pretty simple, considering. Not everything that looks complicated has to be that way.”

  She glanced at him then, and he heard himself, what he’d just said, and wondered briefly if he should apologize or just own it. Because it was true, wasn’t it? Not everything had to be so difficult just because it was expected to be that way. Managing the stage lights was a learned skill.

  Navigating a friendship—or even beyond—again with Stella would be the same way. Something to learn, to discover, to work on.

  Not easy. But not impossible.

  So why the doubt in her eyes?

  More importantly, why the overconfidence in his own thoughts? Was it simply this new urge to take life head-on, full-force, no regrets, prompting him back toward the woman he’d left all those years before? Or was it something more than that?

  Maybe it wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe they did have too many skeletons between the two of them to empty that particular closet. She still didn’t know about Leah. And while he knew about her divorce, he didn’t know her life these last two years. Or why she hid her art. Or how her relationship with her family would ever mesh into a relationship with him.

  He was pairing up two pieces that might or might not fit. Despite his instincts, he needed to backpedal, quick.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t even find the brakes, much less reverse.

  “Thanks for showing me like this. You know, privately.” Stella laid fully on her back, continuing to stare up at the lights. “It’s hard to give the stage its proper due and respect with guys like Tim and Lyle lurking around.”

  Chase snorted, lying back to mirror her position. “It deserves better attention than that.” So did Stella. But she seemed content out of the spotlight, despite the one positioned directly above her on the grid. He wanted to know for sure. “Do you hide because of your divorce?”

  He loved that they could still ask each other random, direct questions, with no hint of pretense or games, a
nd not freak each other out. Like his questions from the other day at the museum, Stella took this one in stride as well. “I wouldn’t call it hiding.”

  “I would.” Chase rolled over on his side to face her, propping his head up with one hand. “Most women tend to hide behind makeup and fashion. But somehow, you hide behind your bare skin.”

  She turned her head and looked at him then, eyes even bluer than usual with surprise and indignation. He almost regretted his words. Almost.

  “Don’t pretend to know me, Chase Taylor.” Her voice held a teasing tone, but it also contained a solid warning. “You might know a secret or two of mine, but I’m not as easy to figure out as you might think.”

  “Oh, trust me. There’s nothing easy about it.” He refused to let her go back into hiding again. He’d rather her be honest and real and mad than stow away. “But I do think I have it somewhat pegged.” He took the slightly arrogant route on purpose, determined to get her to open up a little. He wanted to know the rest of her story.

  “Is that so?” She laughed, short and hard. “Do tell.”

  “Your heart got broken.” He said it calmly, simply. “And you didn’t see it coming.” He could relate all too well to that notion. He’d tell her that next.

  She stared straight up at the lights, her jaw tight, not acknowledging with her expression if he’d hit the jackpot or not.

  “You probably think your fast relationship with your ex means he was only into you for the superficial reasons.” He watched, waited—yep, there it was. A tremor in her chin. He kept going, not to hurt her, but to free her. “So now, you hide. No more girlie clothes, no more makeup, no more complicated hairstyles. You traded your nail polish and high heels for security and safety.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “You exchanged all your colors for neutrals.”

  She closed her eyes, both of them now streaming.

  “Stella.” He hated to make her cry, but she had to get these lies out and sometimes the only way to purge the false was with infusions of truth. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head.