She wondered if that was because he’d never had much choice. Maybe he’d just learned to suck up his pain and deal. She hated that for him. Everyone deserved the comfort of a loving family.
Twenty minutes later things had slowed down. PJ pulled off her apron. “Taking five,” she called.
“Take your time,” her sous chef said. “It’s under control.”
She checked with the maitre d’ before she left and resolved a problem with the credit card machine. The front was clearing out, and her servers didn’t seem so frazzled.
She went out the back door, dashing through the rain toward the shed. She probably looked like heck in her dirtied whites and ponytail. She probably smelled like garlic and onion, too, but she couldn’t help the excitement that built inside at the thought of seeing Cole again. Four days without him was four too many.
The door squawked quietly on its hinges as she pulled it open. Cole’s sharp jabs thwacked the punching bag. His feet shuffled on the cement floor, and his back muscles bulged under his black T-shirt. The light from the bare overhead bulbs glinted off his dark hair. He delivered another series of punches.
Mercy, she’d missed him.
She covered the distance between them and, between punches, slipped her arms around him.
He started, stiffening.
“It’s just me. You are a sight for sore eyes.” PJ flattened her hands against his taut stomach. His back was warm and solid against her cheek, his shirt slightly damp. “When did you get here? You should’ve popped in to say hi.”
He pulled off his gloves. “Haven’t been here long.”
She listened to his deep voice rumble in his chest.
He smelled like the soap he used, something earthy and musky. She inhaled deeply. Delicious. She realized he hadn’t turned in her arms, wasn’t touching her at all.
He stepped away. “I’m sweaty.”
“I’m wet from the rain.”
“Kitchen must be busy.” He was looking everywhere but at her. “Lots of cars out there.”
Why were they talking about the restaurant when they had so much catching up to do? “How’d the funeral go? You didn’t say much in your texts.”
He shrugged, tossing his gloves on the concrete floor. “Fine.”
She couldn’t imagine a funeral for an eighteen-year-old ever going fine. She looked at him closely, noting the dark circles and a vacant look in his eyes that she’d never seen before.
Fingers of dread crept up her spine. She’d only intended to share a quick hug and a kiss or two and save the rest for later. But she suddenly felt the need to stay with him.
“How’d the kids do?” he asked. “Anything come up while I was gone?”
“No, they were great. Concerned about you. They’re really pretty self-sufficient these days.”
“That’s the plan. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. You must be so tired. And hungry. Come inside, and I’ll make you something. Tonight’s special is a seafood medley in a tomato-butter sauce—something new I tried. You’ll love it.”
He wiped the sheen from his face with the tail of his shirt. “I ate on the way home. Thanks, though.”
Thunder cracked, so close the building rattled. Rain pummeled the roof. He looked toward the door, his jaw clenching.
“You okay?”
“It’s pouring.”
They spoke at the same time.
His eyes ricocheted off her. “I’m fine. Just tired, like you said.”
She took in his rigid stance, hands pocketed in his basketball shorts. “It seems like more than that.”
He gave her a tight smile. Outside the rain picked up, growing even louder. “You should probably get back to the kitchen. We can catch up later.”
The fingers of dread tightened around her spine. “What’s going on, Cole?”
His sigh seemed to come from his feet. “It’s been a long day, PJ.”
“Has something changed?” She winced. Of course something’s changed, PJ. Lizzy died. “I mean, I know something’s changed. I meant, between us? Are we okay?”
He palmed the back of his neck. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”
She stepped closer. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing that can’t wait until closing.”
“Just tell me.”
“You’re in the middle of supper.”
“Tell me.”
“Fine. I can’t do this,” he blurted, then pressed his lips together like he wished he could call back the words.
PJ wished he could too. Wished she would’ve been more patient. Wished she’d just kissed him, made him forget whatever was eating him up.
“Can’t do what?” She hated how small and weak she sounded.
“Can’t we just table this for now?”
“This conversation, you mean?”
“Let it go, PJ.”
“This? Us? That’s what you can’t do?” Please, no. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re tired and cranky and didn’t mean it the way it sounded. She longed for him to take her in his arms and press a kiss to her forehead like he’d done before and tell her there was nothing to worry about.
Instead he turned, palming the back of his neck. Several long seconds passed. Seconds filled with thudding heartbeats and shallow breaths.
When he finally turned to face her, the hard look in his eyes made her wish he hadn’t.
“I did a lot of thinking while I was gone.” His voice was smooth and calm. “I think we need to cool things off.”
“Cool things off . . .”
Thunder struck outside. Inside.
“This isn’t going to work between us.”
“You’re just . . . grieving. You’ve had a traumatic week, and you’re upset, understandably so. Take a few days and—”
“It’s not that.”
Her eyes burned and a lump swelled in her throat. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice wobbled. “What happened?”
Something flickered in his eyes before he looked away, his jaw going rock hard. “Nothing happened. I told you, I had a few days to think, got a fresh perspective. We’re not good for each other, PJ. This isn’t going to work. We just need to finish our time here and go our separate ways.”
She didn’t know who this person was. This stranger standing here without an ounce of warmth in his face, in his voice. She didn’t want to know him. She wanted her Cole to come back. The one who couldn’t let her pass without a touch, the one who caressed her face with heartbreaking tenderness, the one who held her so tightly she felt safe and cherished.
What had happened? She swallowed against the knot in her throat, forced back the tears that threatened. Was there someone else? Someone back home he’d never told her about? A relationship he’d rekindled?
Jealousy burned in her gut. “Is there someone else?”
His eyes darted to hers. “No.”
She saw no signs of deceit in his face, in his posture. But then, she’d seen no signs of deceit in Keaton either, and he’d lied to her for months.
Maybe her family was right. Maybe she did have poor judgment. Maybe she did make bad decisions. Maybe she wouldn’t know a good man if he fell at her feet.
She gave a wry laugh, remembering that Cole had fallen at her feet, the very first time she’d met him. She had a compelling urge to repeat the scenario.
So they were back to this? The past four weeks meant nothing to him?
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “Whatever you say, Cole. I have work to do.”
She brushed past him, hit the door with a force that knocked it back on its hinges. She strode toward the house, barely feeling the shards of rain. Barely feeling the pain rising up to choke her.
The shed door clanked against the wall and rain pelted in. It took everything in Cole not to follow her. The sheen in her eyes had about killed him. He’d ached to take her in his arms and kiss
away the pain. To tell her he didn’t mean any of it.
Instead he knotted his fists and forced his feet to hold their ground. She might hate him now, but this was better for her in the long run. His breaths came heavily, doing nothing to ease the ache in his chest.
How could she think there was someone else? Didn’t she know he was dying inside at the thought of hurting her? That he hated himself for letting things get this far when he’d known all along who he was, what he deserved?
The blackness rose from deep inside, closing in like a thick fog. His breaths accelerated, the heaviness crushing down on his shoulders. He advanced on the punching bag and delivered a bare-fisted jab. Then another and another, until the ache in his hands matched the one in his heart.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
PJ DRAGGED HERSELF OUT OF BED THE NEXT MORNING. She’d tossed and turned all night, the bite of anger edging out any trace of weariness. Why did it seem like Cole was always making the calls? We need to take a step back . . . We need to cool things off . . . Didn’t her feelings matter?
As she slipped into her jacket in the foyer, Cole came down the stairs. Every nerve ending was aware of him. Of the familiar rhythm of his footfalls, of the way his keys jingled in his pocket, of the clean morning scent that wrapped around him.
His steps faltered when he saw her. He gave a tight smile, his eyes as distant as the rising sun. “Good morning.”
She hardly had time to respond as he skirted around her, heading to the back door. A moment later the door shut and then his truck started.
Her body deflated like a punctured balloon. Somehow in all her tossing and turning, she’d convinced herself that his decision had been a response to losing Lizzy. That he was tired and hurt, and that he’d change his mind once he slept on it.
But all that hope sputtered out of her body now.
She went to the early service and sat with her family, stretching a fake smile across her face. When she returned home she helped her staff ready for the brunch. The day passed with agonizing slowness, anger building with each passing hour. She slept badly that night and spent the next day cooking up a storm of food she ended up giving away to a single mother from church.
The next days passed in a flurry of cooking and classes. Cole worked until dark and slipped into the house unseen. They were strangers again, except now she felt his absence keenly.
A week went by, then two. When the anger faded she wished for it back because pain had come to take its place.
Cole had been in a funk since Lizzy died. Even the kids had noticed. They tried to distract him with offers of basketball or Ping-Pong. He went through the motions, but he missed Lizzy so much he felt dead inside. He couldn’t remember feeling so lost since the car accident that took his family. Some nights he woke, his breathing ragged, his thoughts racing.
Then there was PJ. Everything in him longed to take the two flights of stairs, wake her with a tender kiss, and tell her he was sorry. That he was wrong.
But he wasn’t wrong. This was the right thing for her. She’d get over him eventually, move on, find someone worthy of her. Someone who could protect her, someone who wouldn’t let her down. He was doing what was best for her because that’s what you did when you loved someone. And he did. So much.
He just had to get through this. Help me, God. Help me let her go.
While he installed windows he let his mind wander a few months into the future, making plans. If she won the house, he’d go back to Fort Wayne, get a job. The kids would be self-sufficient by then. He’d blown through his savings but he could start over. Get more benefactors. He could do this again somewhere else someday.
And fail them, like you failed Lizzy?
He shook the thought away. If he won the house, he’d go through the applications he’d received, narrow it down. Take four kids immediately while he renovated the downstairs, made the dining room into more bedrooms. He’d need a few more sponsors, but he could speak at some of the area churches and try to rally more support.
But the thought of undoing all of PJ’s hard work, the thought of stealing her dream, felt like a blow to the solar plexus. If she lost, she’d feel like a failure in front of her family. Maybe even deep inside. It would only reinforce the things she believed about herself—things that weren’t true.
To top it off, he’d have to see her around town. He’d run into her at the grocery or at Cappy’s. Eventually she’d start dating another man, get serious, and he’d see them together, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. He’d watch her give her heart to someone else, watch her start a life with someone else.
He could hardly bear the thought. But he didn’t know what else to do.
The answer came a couple weeks before presentation day in the middle of the night. His eyes flew open, and he knew what he had to do. Loving PJ meant letting go. Letting go of his dream, letting go of her. Completely. He’d leave her with her dream intact. This was her home, where her family lived, where she belonged. He was the outsider. He could go anywhere.
Later that day he was still working out the details when Zac barreled into the living room.
“I got the job!” he said.
Josh turned from the sink full of dishes and gave him a wet high five. “Congrats, bro.”
Cole shook Zac’s hand and pulled him in for a man hug. “Knew you could do it.” After interning at a local garage, he’d scored a full-time job as a mechanic at the local Buick dealer.
“They want me to start right after school ends.”
“Perfect.”
Josh had gotten a promotion the week before. When school ended in two weeks, he’d be the assistant manager in the produce department. After scouring the newspaper for an apartment to share, he and Zac had found a place they could afford. They were moving out the last week of May. Shaundra was moving out a few days earlier to settle in at Vincennes for the summer session.
He watched Zac grab something from the fridge, watched Josh scrubbing a pan, and took a moment to appreciate all they’d accomplished over the past eight months. They weren’t kids anymore. They were young adults, and in two weeks’ time they’d be out on their own. Moving on with their lives.
He tried to feel good about that. But thoughts of Lizzy smothered his pride before it had a chance to swell. He shook the thoughts from his head. He didn’t want to think about Lizzy.
He settled on the couch and flicked on the TV, losing himself in a Reds game. An hour later the boys had turned in for the night. He flipped off the game and leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees. He needed to go to bed. He had to be up early. But his bed had become a place of torture where he thought endlessly of PJ and every intimate moment they’d shared.
Even though the restaurant was closed now, delicious smells wafted upstairs. It seemed cooking was all PJ did lately, and these days she wasn’t offering any samples.
He hadn’t seen her in days, had arranged it so their paths didn’t cross. It was better that way. Better for her. Never mind that he lay in bed trying to remember the sweet flower smell of her. Trying to remember the silky texture of her hair on his fingers, the satiny softness of her skin.
Living with her was a new kind of hell. In just two weeks he’d be leaving her for good, and it would get easier. At least that’s what he told himself.
Chapter Forty
PJ CROUCHED DOWN, SCANNING THE BOOKSHELVES IN HER room for the cookbook. Where was her copy of Gourmet? She wanted to make coq au vin for the weekend special, and the recipe she’d just experimented with didn’t measure up.
By the time the sauce had properly thickened, the chicken was overcooked. Gourmet had a recipe for making the sauce, then cooking the chicken in it. She’d made it once in culinary school, and it had been a big hit. The meat was flambéed in cognac and the sauce thickened with beurre manié. The dish was rich and savory, and the chicken far more tender than the recipe she’d tried.
She frowned at her bookshelves. Where was it? The thought of losin
g all those great recipes, recipes she’d tweaked and honed, with notes jotted in the margins, made her want to cry.
She thought back, trying to remember the last time she’d used it . . . with Shaundra! And she’d asked to borrow it to make copies.
Shaundra was still at work, but the book was probably in her room. She hoped. She’d just run up and get it. Cole was surely in bed. She checked her watch. It was getting late, but she could sleep in tomorrow. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d been sleeping anyway.
She should be working on her presentation for Mrs. Simmons instead of experimenting with recipes. She had only two weeks left and hours yet to go before she was ready. But she didn’t even want to think about that tonight.
She left her room, pausing in the foyer to listen. All was quiet upstairs. No footsteps or TV or wailing guitars. The lights were out.
PJ crept up the stairs and tiptoed down the hall. In the bathroom a pool of light spilled across the sink from the night-light. The floor creaked as she passed the boys’ door. The living room was dark and quiet.
Shaundra’s door was cracked. PJ tapped quietly just in case, then eased the door open and flipped on the lamp. Her eyes swept the tidy room. Lizzy’s unused bed was still covered with the turquoise daisy blanket. Sadness swept over her, threatening to take her under.
No. She wasn’t going there tonight. Wasn’t going to think about Lizzy or Cole or how she never saw him anymore even though they lived under the same roof. It was disgraceful how many hours she could spend thinking about someone she didn’t see. Someone who didn’t want her.
She pushed the thought away, slipping into the room as she scanned it. There. On the nightstand. Whew! After grabbing the copy of Gourmet, she shut off the light and turned to pull the door, cringing at the squeak.
When she turned, a body blocked her path. She sucked in a breath before she recognized the shadowed form. She set her hand on her heart.
The Wishing Season (A Chapel Springs Romance Book 3) Page 22