A Kiss to Build a Dream On (19 page)

“All right,” came the muffled reply.

There was nowhere to sit downstairs, really, so Willa lowered herself next to the blue table in the living room. Beside her were extra blankets she'd pilfered from the hallway closet, figuring Lance might still need them to warm up. As she listened to her ex puttering around upstairs, she took a deep, calming breath.
Everything is going to be fine
, she told herself, even though her heart was shredded into a million frayed pieces after what had occurred with Burk.

White Pine is not New York
, she thought determinedly.

It's all going to work out.

Except that she'd just been hurt by someone she'd unexpectedly come to care for all over again. If she was honest with herself, then she had to admit there was a part of her that had hoped she and Burk might get close again—maybe even truly be together instead of just screwing around.

She placed her face in her hands. What a fool she'd been. She'd told Burk the truth and he'd tried to take the house from her. If he had to pick, he'd pick the
structure
over her.

The reality made her breathless with hurt.

“Are you all right?”

Willa looked up to see Lance at the foot of the stairs wearing her gray yoga pants and an oversized white sweatshirt with a heart on the chest.

“I should be asking that of you,” she replied, stifling an unexpected grin at his attire. “How are you feeling?”

“Warmer,” he said simply, walking toward her. His long, lean legs ate up the space between them in a few steps. He folded himself next to the table, grabbing one of the extra blankets and draping it across them both. Willa scooted away a few inches. She still wasn't sure what Lance was doing there, besides violating the terms of his bond, and she wasn't convinced she was going to let him stay very long.

“That's your water,” she said, motioning to the steaming mug on the blue table. He wrapped his hands around it.

“Hot water?”

“It's all I had.”

“In that case, thank you.”

A moment passed, during which Lance sipped from his mug and took in the roughed floors, the bare lightbulbs, and the bright white plaster.
It must be taking all his willpower not to tell me what a dump I'm living in
, Willa thought. Of course, it was better than a jail cell, which was where he might be headed, so he was in no place to judge.

She studied Lance's aquiline nose, his light brown hair, his lean frame and small chin. It was the same as she'd remembered, and yet so much about Lance was strange to her. She hadn't left him that long ago, but he still seemed like someone she barely even knew anymore.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said finally. “If the judge finds out you've left New York, you're going to be in huge trouble.”

Lance smiled at her, but there was little warmth in it. “I came to talk. In person.”

“About what?” Willa knew she sounded rude, but she didn't feel like sugarcoating anything. It had already been a long day.

“About our situation. About how sorry I am.”

“Right. You made that clear.”

“I need you,” Lance said. “If I get through this, I want you to know, I'll spend my life making this whole mess up to you.”

She studied his eyes, a dark so brown they were almost black. Flinty, she used to call them. “Lance, this has to stop. I appreciate it, but you need to go back to New York. I've had enough of guys I can't trust for a while.”

Lance's eyes glinted with cold amusement. “Lovers' quarrel earlier, I take it?”

“That's none of your business.”

“No, of course not,” Lance agreed. But she could still detect the humor in his tone.

He set down his mug and turned to face her fully. “I have insulted you enough, Willa,” he said, folding his long, lean fingers together. “You deserve the truth, so I'm not going to beat around the bush here.”

She almost sighed with relief. Finally, someone was going to be forthright.

Lance cleared his throat. “I need cash, and I need you to give it to me.”

Her mouth nearly fell open. “Excuse me?”

“I'm broke, and I need cash. I will pay you back, even though I realize trusting me on that front will be exquisitely difficult.”

Willa could only stare at him.

He continued. “I am going to prison, Willa. It's foolish to think that I won't. I know the outcome of this trial before it's started. We all do. And while I admit that what I did was very, very wrong, I'm not sure I want to be ass-raped for the rest of my life as a result. I admitted my wrongs, and I'm sorry. Truly. But I need to make a new start somewhere. Except I have nothing left with which to do that. So I need your help.”

“You want me to give you cash so you can flee the country?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Willa could feel her eyes widen. This guy was unbelievable. “I'm suing you, for crying out loud. I'm listed on the lawsuit. Do you not get that?”

“But I need money. Badly.”

“So do I, as it happens. You wiped me out.”

“I was trying to help us. I was trying to make more. I was stupid, but not malicious.”

“You still lost it.”

Lance looked around. “But you still have some funds
somewhere
. I saw a Volvo in the driveway, and you're doing repairs on this house. You must have a honey hole stashed away somewhere. Please, just give me a few grand. That's all I'm asking for.”

“No!”

Lance smiled sadly. “You sound so sure.”

“You can beg until you're blue,” Willa said icily, “but you're not getting a dime from me. In fact, I think you should go before I call the judge and tell him where you are.”

Lance's face crumpled in desperation. “If you help me, Willa, I will never forget it. When I'm back on my feet, I'll return the favor. With interest.”

“How about you return to me the millions that you
already
stole, and then we'll talk?”

Lance shook his head. “I'm so sorry, and I wish that I could. But I can't. Not now anyway. This is a last-ditch effort to save my skin, and I'm appealing to the love you certainly must still feel for me. I need help. I don't want to die in prison.”

Willa set down her mug angrily. “You should have thought about that before you
stole everyone's money
.”

Lance stared at her. “I know you must be furious. We had a good life in New York, you and I. Before I fucked it all up. And I am so sorry. For hurting you. If you don't hear anything else I say tonight, at least hear me on that front. I hurt you, and I'm very sorry.”

Willa studied his bottomless eyes and grudgingly allowed herself to admit that perhaps he wasn't lying about that. Lance was smooth, but he wasn't prone to sentimental bullshit. Still, Willa skated past it, more interested in getting him out of her house already.

“I need you to go,” she said, standing. “I need you to leave and go back to New York before I tell everyone where you are.”

Lance stood, too. He stared at her. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“When I go, you should come.” He waved his hand at the sparse room. “This isn't you. This small town? You're better than this. Fly away with me. Tomorrow, we'll find my rental car and return to the airport. We'll go somewhere warm and remote and beautiful, and you can leave this Podunk holler behind forever.”

Willa swallowed. Much as she hated to admit it, there was some honey in Lance's words. The idea of fleeing this impossible situation—with Burk, with the house, with the bank—had its appeal.

But that appeal had nothing to do with Lance. She could never trust him again. And if Willa had learned one thing from her time here, it was that she was
part
of this “Podunk holler” now, and it wasn't so bad. It was time to stop running from her roots, and start embracing them.

“You can sleep on the floor tonight,” Willa said finally. “In the morning, I'll take you back to your car. That's all I'm going to do.”

Lance grasped her hand with his. His fingers were still icily cold.

“I understand. I appreciate you hearing me out. It's more than I would have done for someone who had hurt me as much as I hurt you.”

Willa pulled her hand away. At least she'd gotten a face-to-face apology from his unexpected visit. But now she was ready for the snow to stop so he could be on his way.

“I still love you, Willa. I always will.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get some sleep. In the morning you can leave and try to find someone else who cares about your crap.”

W
illa spent a restless night, tossing and turning, worrying that the heater would give out, that the pipes would freeze, or that all the fallen snow would collapse the garage in the back of the house, or even the front porch. There was also the gnawing anxiety that Lance would leave his pile of blankets in the living room floor and try to enter her bedroom. She'd latched her door, but she worried that he'd start murmuring more dark words, lacing them with enough sweetness to convince her to do something foolish.

She would never, ever give him money or help him flee the country. But she just didn't trust herself beyond that. She had been so stupid, after all. Naïve in thinking she could start an East Coast B and B in her hometown; ridiculous to think she could ignore her past; ludicrous to think she could rekindle things with Burk.

Willa squeezed her eyes closed.

Something deep inside her ached at the memory of Burk's leaving, his hastily pulled-on clothes rumpled and askew. His truck had rumbled to life with enough noise to jar her heartbeat.

She'd closed the door on him, hating that he was leaving.

But she hated that he would put the house before her even more.

She clutched her pillow, still able to smell Burk's piney scent on the sheets. This time, he'd stayed long enough in bed for his smell to rub off on the fabric, on her skin, on her
heart
if she was honest.

Wrapped in bed with Burk, she'd been stupid enough to believe that he liked her. Cared about her, even.

It was a ridiculous thought. She should have let their relationship end after the first fuck.

Willa wiped away a tear that had found its way down her cheek. She sniffed and sat up. Crying wouldn't do at all. It was time to figure out what was next. And to move forward. Whatever that meant.

“It means I should get dressed,” she muttered, pulling on a pair of athletic pants and a sweatshirt. Her whole body ached as if she'd had back-to-back track practices.

When she went downstairs, she found Lance wasn't faring much better. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he moved stiffly. Sleeping on the floor must have left him sore all over. His now dry designer clothes were back on his person, but they were water stained and rumpled from yesterday's adventures in the snow.

“Morning,” he said, folding the last of his blankets and stacking them next to the blue table. He tried to smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. “You don't happen to have any coffee, do you?”

Willa shook her head. “No. The coffeemaker is all packed away. If we can get the car out, though, we could head down and see if the Rolling Pin is open.”

Lance arched a brow. “The Rolling Pin?”

“The coffee is good. So are the donuts.”

“I'm sure,” he said, in a way that made it clear he wasn't.

Ignoring him, Willa walked to a front window and looked out the wavy glass. The sun was just up, and twinkling on all the fallen snow. She could hear the pluck, pluck of melting snow dripping off the roof. The day was warming already, and with any luck the snow would start to disintegrate in earnest.

She pulled on her new boots, then shrugged on her jacket. “I'm going to see if I can't shovel us out a bit.”

Lance placed his hands on his lean hips. His eyes lingered on her functional boots. “You? Are going to shovel? Isn't there someone you can…
hire
to do that?”

Willa nearly laughed out loud. “I'd make your privileged ass do it, but you don't have the right attire. You'll freeze all over again.”

Lance poked a cheek with his tongue. “You're seriously going outside?”

“Either I do this, or we're stuck here. Without coffee.”

She turned toward the door, but he grabbed her upper arm, stopping her short. She glanced at his long fingers sinking into the fabric of her coat, and felt a prickle of unease.

“Willa,” he said smoothly, “please, just stop a minute to look at yourself. Look at what you're
wearing
. Look at what you're doing. It's as if you've been taken hostage by someone else. A stranger.”

Willa yanked her arm away. “I have not.”

“Those boots? Manual labor? Look, I'm not saying this is a bad life for some people, but this isn't your life.” He leaned in, and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Willa, please.
Leave with me.
I'll call the tow truck and get the rental car out. I'll book us tickets. We'll leave today.”

She shook her head, wishing Burk could want her half as much as Lance seemed to right now. “Excuse me,” she muttered, twisting away from Lance's hand and walking out the front door. She waded into the mounds of snow in her practical boots, and started heaving piles of the stuff away from her car.

When her chest rose and fell with the effort, when her skin burned and her face was streaked with sweat, she was glad. She was grateful to feel anything besides the cold hollow of hurt inside herself.

The day was heating up into the forties, and the Rolling Pin welcomed customers as the snow puddled into drains, washing down to the Birch River. The coffee was warm and fresh, and they even offered a “snowpocalypse” special: two powdered donuts for the price of one.

Willa ordered the special, eating both donuts in quick succession as she and Lance sat at a small enamel-topped table near the counter. He barely picked at his, but Willa hardly cared if he had an appetite. Let him starve for all it mattered.

Lance called the tow truck as they finished up their coffees, and got the rental delivered back to Willa's house.

“It'll be there soon. We can drive it to the airport together. You and me. And we can leave together.”

Willa shook her head. “No. I can't.”

“Why's that? Give me one good reason that this town should keep you.”

Her overwrought brain worked to formulate an answer. Because of Knots and Bolts and the recipe exchange. Because of the track team. Because of Burk. Because in spite of everything, she was
finding
herself here.

“I belong in White Pine now. I'm not leaving.”

Lance frowned. “Is it that man who was in your house last night? Is he keeping you here?”

“No.”

“Oh, you never were a good liar, Willa. Tell me, is he a mechanic perhaps? No, wait, a
farmer
?”

“He's my contractor. And my high school boyfriend.”

Lance snorted. “Oh God,” he said, “you cannot make this stuff
up
. It's too good to be true. And yet you stand here like there isn't more for you in the world. Like there isn't more for us.”

“Because there isn't,” Willa said, standing. “I'm done listening to you.”

Lance followed Willa out and stood by the Volvo as she unlocked the driver's side. When she didn't unlock the passenger side, he tapped on the window. “Hello?”

Willa started the car and cracked the passenger window. “You know what, Lance? I grew up here. This place means something to me, even if it's just a big joke to you. Maybe you can think about that while you walk back to my house and wait for the tow truck. And then think about it some more when you go back to New York and face the consequences of ripping people off. Oh, and I recommend getting some boots from the hardware store before you set out. The walk's likely to be slushy. They open at ten.”

Lance's face darkened. “Willa, stop. You can't be seri—”

She pulled away from the curb, leaving him standing there, mouth half open, in a state of shock that had her smiling into the rearview mirror.

It had felt so good to leave Lance behind that Willa almost didn't notice Pastor Sondheim as she drove past Knots and Bolts. He was peeking in the windows, presumably trying to see if Betty was around.

She pulled the Volvo over and climbed out. “Pastor Sondheim, can I help you?”

He squinted at her in the morning sun, scrunching up his face as if all the light were distasteful and he preferred the snow and cold.

“Is Betty here?” he asked, taking off his knit cap like a gentleman caller.

“Not from the looks of it,” Willa said, “but you're more than welcome to come in and wait for her if you want.”

Willa knew it was a ballsy move, inviting the pastor into Knots and Bolts like that, but she wanted to think maybe Randall and Betty might be able to kindle the flame flickering between them. Besides, it was much more fun to think about the two of them, versus her own problems with Burk and the house.

“I—I don't know,” the pastor stalled.

“Come on,” Willa insisted, leading him to the back. Grabbing the key from the potted plant, she let them both in. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior—a stark contrast to the brightening day outside.

“Betty?” she called, not entirely surprised when she didn't get an answer. Most likely Betty was running errands, probably shipping some vintage Halloween gear at the post office. It wasn't as if the morning after a huge snowstorm was a big time for fabric purchases, after all. That is, unless you were Randall Sondheim.

She flicked on some lights and peeled off her coat. In the kitchenette, she started water for tea. “Hope herbal is okay; it's all we have,” she said.

The pastor stood there, his thick brown eyebrows drawing together like fuzzy caterpillars, his rounded shoulders hunching even more. He hadn't even taken off his coat.

Willa thought he was probably wondering about the propriety of the situation. If Betty were here, no one would question them being alone together because it was her place of business. Willa, on the other hand, was an unknown.

He studied her with his piercing gray eyes. “You're friends with Betty, then?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“You know her pretty well?”

“We went to high school together,” she said, “but there was a long period when we didn't see each other. You could say we're getting reacquainted.”

“But you could—you know her, ah, preferences?”

It dawned on Willa that the good pastor was after intel on her friend. “You'd better come in if you want to
really
talk about this, Pastor Sondheim.”

With barely a nod, he replied, “Call me Randall,” and shrugged off his coat.

He relaxed just slightly as Willa poured the tea. “The table is red,” he observed, and she fought the urge to giggle. How did this man think he was going to keep up with
Betty
? Then again, she thought, gesturing for him to take a seat, maybe it was about putting together two complementary personalities instead of those that were exactly alike. The pastor would certainly provide a quieter balance to Betty's outspoken ways, which might not be a bad thing. Maybe Randall could even exert some influence on her.

She caught him opening up a cupboard filled with booze, then closing it quickly.

Once their mugs were filled, Willa took a seat across from him. “So you're interested in Betty?”

He shifted, his thin lips pressing together so much they almost disappeared. His manners were octogenarian-like, making him seem ancient. Yet with a full head of hair and high cheekbones, Randall wasn't unattractive. In fact, if it weren't for his slumped posture and his dowdy disposition, he might actually be okay looking.

“I was, uh, hoping Betty and I could get to know each other, um, better, yes,” he stumbled.

“Does she know you're into her?”

He took a nervous sip of tea. “I don't—I haven't declared my intentions, no.”

Willa smiled. “Well, it's not the 1800s. You don't have to court her formally and fill out her dance card. But if she thinks you keep coming into her store for fabric for your chair, you might want to tell her that it's not exactly a bolt of cloth you're after.”

The pastor's face reddened. He concentrated on dunking his tea bag into his water, over and over. “It's certainly difficult,” he said, not looking at Willa. “I'm not sure I'm her type.”

“Betty's a pistol, it's true, but hopefully that's what you like about her. She's certainly straight to the point.”

At this, the pastor's gray eyes found hers. “It's remarkable,” he said, “her forthrightness. I've never met anyone with such a gift for being frank. It's terribly admirable. It's forced me to—well, as you can imagine, I'm not much of a suitor. But I am compelled to pursue her. I just lack the, ah, refinement for the process.”

Willa felt a surge of sympathy for the poor pastor. He was attracted to Betty for the things that made her Betty, and she couldn't fault him for that.

“All right,” she said, “it's show time. Are you ready?”

The pastor blinked. “You think I should take her to a show? Perhaps a play of some sort?”

Willa laughed. “No, no. It's just an expression. Show time? Like, the curtain is—oh, never mind. Look, I think the fastest way to Betty's heart is by being as honest with her as she is with everyone else. I think she respects that. So the next time you see her, you can't beat around the bush. You have to be straightforward. Practice it if you have to, but say something like, ‘Betty Lindholm, I like you and I want to take you out on a date. I think next Friday night is perfect. What do you say?' And then go from there.”

Randall didn't look so sure. “Maybe this is all a terrible idea. Perhaps I'm just not meant to date anyone.”

Willa folded her arms. “Are you required to be celibate?”

“No, of course not. I'm Lutheran, not Catholic.”

“Then stop putting up roadblocks. She might say no, it's true, but you should try. You seem like a decent guy. And Betty's watching way too much
Law & Order
these days. You could get her out of the house.”