“What? You embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“I feel a little foolish, running along behind you.”
“Okay, next time I’ll stay closer.”
“Next time? Who says there’ll be a next time?” She marched into the restaurant and headed for a back table, relieved to see that Louella wasn’t working this morning. She didn’t need the woman’s questioning looks.
But despite all Hannah’s objections, she felt better, and by her second cup of coffee, she admitted as much to Will.
He grinned. “So you did like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said you surprised yourself.”
“Making it past my front hedge qualifies as surprise.”
Will laughed and let his gaze lock with hers. In a soft voice he said, “You did just fine, Hannah.”
She looked away, something warm and satisfying uncurling within her. “You’re not too bad as a coach.”
“Think not, hmm?”
“I think not.”
They sat there looking at one another with smiles on their faces. She wondered at how comfortable she felt with him, when it had started, and most of all, how it would end.
Chapter Thirty-five
Hannah drove up to see Sarah later that afternoon. Her aunt wasn’t as lucid as she’d been the previous Sunday and was chatting about the man she’d almost married in 1956. But an hour or so after Hannah arrived, her aunt seemed to recognize her and began asking questions about the “young man” in her life. Hannah didn’t know what to say. She leaned forward and took Sarah’s hand, looking into her questioning eyes.
“Aunt Sarah, it’s not what you—”
“Don’t go telling me he’s not anything special. There’s a glow to you I haven’t seen in years. And you’re wearing your hair down. Is he responsible for that?”
Hannah touched her own cheek and tried to deny the warmth there. Did it show so much? Could Sarah really know that for the first time in years, she felt alive? And that Will was responsible?
“There’s a bloom in your cheeks, my dear. Spring is here, isn’t it? And the roses. I bet they’re lovely. I do want you to be happy.” The old woman stared at the wall as though wrestling with her next words. “Bring him with you next time.”
Startled, Hannah said, “Aunt Sarah, I can’t—”
“I want to meet him.”
Hannah berated herself for letting this thing get started in the first place. How could she tell Sarah the truth? That there was nothing between her and Will? Admit she’d let her aunt believe something that hadn’t been true. She couldn’t. “I’ll try, but I may not be able to get up here next Sunday. We’ve scheduled the carnival for two weeks from yesterday.”
“Bring him next time, then. Please?”
“How about some juice?” Hannah offered brightly, trying to change the subject. “You must be thirsty. I’ll be right back.”
Hannah stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, letting her head fall back. What have I done? There was only one way to fix it. By the time she came back in two weeks, she and Will would have to “break up.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Those two weeks passed in such a flurry of activity that Hannah all but forgot about Aunt Sarah’s awkward request. There was so much to be done before the carnival. Signs to make. Food to order. Volunteers to recruit.
Will touched base by phone or text several times a day, eager to get Hannah’s opinion on some decision or another. He’d shown up on her doorstep at six-thirty on the Monday morning after she’d visited Sarah. Disregarding the protest put up by her sore muscles, Hannah had slipped on her sweats and they’d set off up Wilmington. But after the first few minutes, she began to enjoy herself—breathing in the crisp morning air, listening to the early-morning calls of the robins. In addition, she felt as though she was doing something good for herself, taking an interest in her well-being.
And so began for Hannah a new daily ritual. After a few days, she let Will off the hook, telling him he didn’t have to drag her out of bed each morning at six-thirty. He could sleep later. She’d get up herself. Each day that she went a block or two farther, she shared her success with him, and he beamed his approval.
She looked forward to that praise and pushed herself that much harder. Running was even improving her outlook on life—and her sense of humor. One morning her neighbor came out for the paper just as Hannah was beginning her run.
“Why, Hannah dear, you’re exercising,” the woman remarked with wide-eyed disbelief.
Hannah chuckled. “Yes, Mrs. Riddle. Have to say it surprised me, too.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Late on the Tuesday afternoon before the carnival, Will stopped by the library to drop off some extra poster board for some last minute sign-making. He appeared in the doorway of the children’s room, where Hannah had recruited the help of a few regulars from the afternoon story hour.
She looked up to find him in the doorway, and her face broke into a smile. “Will. You’re just in time to give us a hand.”
A chorus of voices went up. “Wow, it’s Will Kincaid!”
“Hi, Mr. Kincaid. You gonna help?”
“You ever gonna play football again, Will?”
He raised a hand and laughed as he made his way toward the round table where the group was hard at work making signs. “Whoa. How you doin’, guys? These look great.”
“Yeah,” replied a little boy with red ink from a magic marker on one cheek. “Can you draw a donkey on my poster, Mr. Kincaid?”
“Good idea, John,” Hannah said with a barely suppressed smile. “I bet Mr. Kincaid’s very good with donkeys.”
Will shot her a look and laughed. “I guess I can try.” He squatted down beside the child and, taking the pen in his right hand, began to draw.
Hannah stood to the side, watching them. She realized she watched Will in much the same way the children did—in a sort of awe. Something about him drew others to him. Something warm and giving and yet needy at the same time. She took advantage of the moments he was busy and studied him intently. She thought about the way he’d kissed her that night, and she felt a sudden yearning for that moment again—to run her fingers through his thick golden hair and feel for herself those strong, wide shoulders.
Just then, he looked up at her and smiled. And to Hannah, the whole world held promise.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Once the signs were finished, Hannah and Will thanked the children and then waved goodbye when their mothers picked them up. She waited to wash her hands, leaving Will standing at the front desk. Jenny had gone out on an errand, so he’d agreed to watch the desk for her. He tapped his fingers on the wooden top, taking in the room that made up Hannah’s world from eight to five.
He envied her in a way. Being surrounded by books each day. To him, it was like having access to all the knowledge in the world. What a privilege to have the freedom to pick up a book, any book, and sit down and read.
His gaze fell on a nearby table where Henry Lawson sat flipping through one now. With a glance at the front door, Will headed toward the table. “Hey, Henry. How’s it going?”
Henry looked up at Will. “Just passing a little time. How ‘bout you?”
“Been working on the carnival. Appreciate your volunteering. We can use all the help we can get.”
“Glad to do it. My granddaughter’s awfully excited about bringing her pony over for the pony rides.”
Will smiled. “Good. What’re you reading there?”
The older man looked down at the book and then shrugged, giving Will a startled glance. “Nothing, really. Just looking.”
Will studied Henry, noticing the sudden spots of color in the man’s cheeks. He thought about the day he’d noticed Henry following the lines of the page with his finger. Then it hit him. Henry Lawson couldn’t read.
Will swallowed the lump in his throat, backed away and raised a hand. “I’ll be seeing you, Henry. An
d thanks again for the help.”
“Sure thing, Will,” Henry said with a nod. “Sure thing.”
That afternoon when Hannah got home, she unfurled the garden hose and went to work on her rosebushes.
She loved this time of year, when everything unfolded with new life. The maples in the front yard were covered with leaves and the tulips by the mailbox were in full bloom. But the rosebushes were the real miracle—how they appeared to die with the winter, only to return in full majesty with the rebirth of the season.
For the first fifteen minutes, she forced herself to concentrate on her work, refusing to wonder about Will and his reasons for leaving the library without saying goodbye. But as had been the case for the past couple of weeks, her resolve weakened, and her thoughts drifted to his face, his smile.
She hummed a little tune as she smoothed the soil at the base of the bushes, picturing the two of them cavorting down Main Street, he on his bike, she determined to keep up. Strange to think of herself that way. It had been so long since she’d done anything so carefree.
Her cell phone rang just as she reached to pull a few dead leaves from the bush. A thorn pricked the center of her palm. Grimacing, she pulled the phone from her pocket with a breathless, “Hello.”
“Catch you in the middle of something?”
“No. I just…I was outside with the roses.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “I wanted to apologize for running out on you today. I’d forgotten about something I needed to do.”
“That’s all right,” she said uncertainty in her voice.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I should have waited.” He paused and then quickly changed the subject. “I guess we’re ready for Saturday.”
“I think so.” She tried to sound casual. She’d been silly to worry. It hadn’t been her place to be concerned about him.
“Good, then. I’ll see you early Saturday morning.”
“Sure. See you then.” She ended the call and dropped her forehead onto her palm.
She’d gotten carried away over the past few days. Had she let herself begin to believe the white lie she’d told Sarah? That the laughter and companionship she’d shared with Will was something more than just two people working together on a project?
Well, it wasn’t. She recalled Tom Dillon’s words with a clarity that set her head to pounding. You’re setting yourself up for a fall…Will Kincaid’s got no use for someone like you.
Chapter Thirty-nine
The day of the carnival dawned crisp and sunny. Hannah drove to the armory, her mind racing from one potential crisis to the next. She pulled into the parking lot at just after six-thirty. Wheeling in behind her, Will waved as he stepped onto the pavement.
“Morning,” she greeted, shoving her hands in her pockets. She’d spent most of the evening before telling herself that now was the time to remember exactly what her position in his life was. Temporary. Just temporary.
Will pulled a fifty-pound sack from the back of the Jeep. “Apples. Thought we might need a few more.”
She watched him heft the bag over his shoulder, as if it were a sack of feathers. “Are you planning to participate?”
He shot her a surprised look. “You bet. You’re looking at the 4-H Fair apple-bobbing champion three years in a row.”
She pressed a hand to her cheek in mock admiration. “My, I had no idea.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t tell anybody. Wouldn’t want to scare off the competition.”
She laughed and followed him into the building. She’d wanted to be indifferent to him this morning. All business. Tacking up signs. Lugging in sacks of apples. But who could be indifferent to Will Kincaid?
He flicked on a panel of lights near the door, then jogged back outside and soon reappeared with two cups of coffee. “Thought you might like one.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes met his. Seeing her own excitement reflected there, she resolved to put aside whatever reservations she might have had about being with him. Today was a special day. And she wanted to enjoy it. “Let’s get busy. There’s work to be done.”
Will smiled and snapped her a salute. He set about pouring the apples into tin buckets. Hannah began tacking up signs for “pin the tail on the donkey.” And every ten minutes or so, one of them would creep over to the other with a question about this or a comment about that.
She had no idea when her reliance on his opinion had begun, or his on hers. But it was there.
At one point, she tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the donkey tail for inspection. “Do you think the kids will like this?”
He looked up, a nail sticking from the corner of his mouth, and gave her a crooked smile. “Sure they will.”
“I don’t know,” she said skeptically. “Kids today have Nintendo and iPads.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but deep down they’re the same as we were. They just want to have fun.”
“You think so?”
“Yep. They still like banana splits and hot chocolate with marshmallows and football on Sunday afternoons.”
“Figured you’d get that in,” she teased.
He stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and traced the curve of her jaw. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “It’s true though.”
Goosebumps danced up her arms. She drew a quick breath. “I—I expect it is.”
“There was something I wanted to tell you.” His voice dropped a note.
She looked down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. “What’s that?”
“I’ve really enjoyed working on this with you. I mean it. It’s the first thing I’ve done in a long time that seemed to have some worth.”
Surprised, Hannah looked up and said, “I’m sure you must have done charity work.”
“A lot, actually. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t seem personal. This does.”
“I’m glad you suggested it. It’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
“But then we wouldn’t have been able to do it together, so I’m glad you didn’t.”
She held his gaze, and the silence hung between them.
Awareness sizzled in the air, and she wished more than anything that he would kiss her.
A door opened behind them, breaking the spell.
Hannah cleared her throat and made an immediate study of the ceiling. “Do you think it’s too dark in here?”
“Oh. Yeah. The bulb. You’re absolutely right. Maybe I should get some extras,” he said quickly, then shot a look of wide-eyed innocence at the kitchen doorway. “Well, look who’s here. Hello, Jenny.”
Jenny ambled toward them, a faint knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Good morning. Since you two seem to have the light-bulb situation under control, I’ll start with the chairs.”
Chapter Forty
The carnival was scheduled to begin at ten. The few hours before passed far too swiftly. At one point, Will stepped aside long enough to watch Hannah as she darted here and there, making suggestions.
He suspected that had she been standing on the perimeter of things looking in, she wouldn’t have recognized herself. Today, Hannah Jacobs exuded confidence, whirling from one project to the next, a compact, efficient tornado of activity. The closer ten o’clock came, the faster she went. This was the Hannah he had expected her to become.
Not for the first time he wondered what had changed all that. Why hadn’t she gone away to school as planned? Why had she never left this town, even for a couple of years, as most of the young people did?
What difference did it make to him, though?
It wasn’t as if he’d be around long enough for it to matter one way or the other. After the carnival, he’d have no excuse to see her. He’d get on with his own life and let her get on with hers.
He frowned and drank the last of his Coke, before dropping the cup in a trashcan and setting out to make himself useful.
If someone had asked her at eight-thirty that morning, Hannah would hav
e sworn they’d never get it all done. But somehow, by ten o’clock, everything was in place. And when the first ticket holders began coming in, she surveyed their handiwork with a sigh of pleasure. She spotted Will on the other side of the room and smiled when he gave her a thumbs-up.
Difficult as it was to believe, they had pulled it off. Hannah surveyed the room, pride etched on her face. A bevy of smells permeated the air: freshly perked coffee, popcorn drenched in butter, oil from a doughnut-making machine. And if that didn’t give the occasion the feel of an old-fashioned carnival, other things did. A dunking booth where Mayor Nichols now sat looking skeptically at the water below him; church-group booths set up offering goodies like apple spice cake and homemade ice cream; cotton-candy stands; apple cider from a nearby orchard.
Perfect. She wrapped her arms around her waist and surveyed the carnival with satisfaction. And she owed it all to Will.
Her gaze fell across the laughing faces of the children who were attempting to dunk the town mayor.
A wave of regret swept over her. How long had she kept herself removed from all this? Being involved with other people. Sharing in their laughter, being a part of something. For years, she’d kept herself locked up as though she was the one who’d done something wrong.
If the morning went off without a hitch, the afternoon was even better. There was a fresh crowd of folks and the armory was so full at times there was hardly room to stand.
Sometime just around one, Will tracked Hannah down and put his arm around her shoulder. “A success, you think?”
She turned to him, aware that she was grinning with happiness. “A success, I would say.”
He patted her on the back and then turned for treatment of the same kind.
She obliged and said, “I’d say we deserve it.”
He munched on the popcorn ball in his hand and then said, “We do.”
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