Almost Like Being in Love (13 page)

“Is there?”

“I don't know.” Caron chewed on a few Hot Tamales, the flavor burning her tongue. “Or is it that I don't want to know?”

Vanessa stared at her from the small space of her cell phone.

“Nothing to say?”

“I'm trying to hold up my end up of the bargain—the one where I said I'd listen.”

“You've been a great listener.” Caron sat up, rubbing at the crick in her neck. “I haven't even talked about the other issue.”

“What issue?”

“Didn't Logan tell you that I won a destination wedding?”

“Yes, but why is that a problem? It sounds wonderful! I love Colorado. After all, I lived there.”

“Well, Alex doesn't think it sounds wonderful.”

“What? Maybe he was just surprised—”

“Oh, he was surprised. But he was also angry.” Caron adjusted her position on the couch, echoes of last night's scene with Alex filling her mind. “And I . . . I got angry, too.”

“And then what?”

“And then I left. Alex and I never argue.”

“Never?”

“It's just not what we do. Alex is so easygoing. That's one of the things I've always appreciated about him. But right now I like the idea of a wedding in Colorado more than I like my boyfriend.”

Vanessa's laughter pulled a giggle from Caron. “You did not just say that.”

“Yes, I did. I know we're supposed to be this ideal couple, but between his response to my quitting work and his reaction to
my winning the wedding . . . I feel like I don't know Alex as well as I thought I did.”

“Are you having second thoughts about marrying him?”

“How can I have second thoughts when he hasn't even asked me yet? A fact he pointed out, I might add.” Caron got up and wandered into the kitchen, setting the dish of candy on her counter. “I am having
thoughts
, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“I lost my perfect job. My perfect boyfriend isn't so perfect. There. I said it out loud. I keep asking God what's next—and oddly enough, I'm almost ready for something less than perfect.”

“That's a different perspective on things. I'll start praying for some imperfection in your life, how about that?”

“Thanks.” Caron released a sigh, her shoulders collapsing. “Hey, next time you talk to my brother, tell him I love him, will you?”

“Why don't you call him or send him a text? He'd probably like to hear from you.”

“You're right. I'll do that once we get off the phone.”

“Well, I have a date with an exercise video, so go ahead and text your brother.”

“Yes, ma'am. Love you, Vanessa.”

“Love you back.”

Caron leaned into the counter, resting her forehead on her outstretched arms. The kitchen was her favorite room in her house. She'd worked step by careful step to transform it into what she wanted. The glass-fronted cabinets were the perfect display for her Fiestaware dishes, stacked in vivid colors of peacock blue, poppy red, sunflower yellow, and deep plum. And when she turned on the varied lighting choices she'd included—both under-the-counter accent lights as well as vintage glass pendants—her pure
white Corian counters almost glistened. Unable to decide between wood or tile floors, she'd opted for tile that looked like wood, smiling at the humor and beauty of it every time she entered the room.

This room was everything she'd ever dreamed of for a perfect-for-her kitchen. Worth the wait. She'd put up with all the in-between stages because she was the only one who didn't see the unfinished steps as “less than.” Nobody told her to what to do. Or to hurry up and fix this or that. It would be everything she wanted—one day.

And now she was letting Vanessa pray for imperfection in her life? Should she call her back and ask her to pray for what she wanted? But what was that? She'd already lost her dreams . . . and there'd been no time to replace them with new ones.

Imperfection would have to be enough right now.

T
he walls of the locker room muffled the sounds of the weight room. The clank of weighted plates. The dull thud of barbells hitting the floor. The air was laden with leftover humidity from the showers and the competing scents of sweat and soap.

Kade straddled the bench in front of his locker, using a white hand towel to absorb some of the lines of perspiration trickling down the sides of his face. “Ready for the Mudder at the end of the month?”

Mitch drained the last of the water from his Contigo water bottle, his neon-green T-shirt clinging to his chest. “You keep asking me that. Have I said anything about backing out?”

“Nope. Just checking. I talked with Brady and Zach and they're still a go. What about your brother?”

“He's in, and he invited his CrossFit instructor, a guy named Don. An ex-air-force guy. Seems pretty straight up.”

“Sounds good. You want to invite anyone else to join the fun?”

“If Pete was stateside, I'd definitely give him a call. But I think we've got a good-sized team.”

“Works for me.”

“I'm gonna head home and shower there.” As Mitch rolled past, the two men exchanged quick fist bumps. “See you tomorrow at work?”

“Yeah. Don't be late. I want to catch you up on the Tour of Homes project—” Kade paused as his phone buzzed. “Let me grab this. I'll catch you in the morning.”

A quick glance at his phone indicated Sheila Mills was calling.

“Sheila, how are you? Ready to give me some of your ideas for staging Eddie Kingston's house for the Tour of Homes?”

“Oh, Kade, I'm so glad you picked up.” Sheila's words ran together like an out-of-control train. “Something awful has happened . . . I don't know what to do. I mean, I know what to do, but everything's a mess and I hate to call and tell you—”

“Sheila, take a deep breath and calm down.” Kade swung his leg over the bench so he could stand up and pace the floor. “Let's try this again. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. But my sister, Cecilia, well, she fell down the basement stairs in her house because she tripped on her son's shoes and she broke her ankle and her wrist. Can you believe that? I mean, it would be bad enough if she broke just her ankle or her wrist . . . but breaking both of them? And the doctor said she might need surgery on her ankle . . .” Sheila ignored his advice to take a deep breath and calm down. “And she has four kids. The oldest is eight. And her husband is deployed. You understand, don't you?”

In her frantic state, Sheila hadn't even told him the worst part of the situation—at least what was the worst part for him. But he did understand.

“You have to go help your sister. That's what family is for.”

Not that he'd experienced anything like that in his life, not after his parents' divorce. He scrabbled to get his thoughts together, ignoring the flash of memory of spending time with the
Neilson family when he was in high school. That was so long ago it no longer counted.

“She lives in Virginia. The kids and I are leaving as soon as I get off the phone with you. Kade, I'm so sorry.”

“I understand.”

“I'll text you some other options for people who can help stage the Kingston home.”

“Thanks. I'd appreciate that.”

“I haven't had a chance to call any of them to see if they're available—”

“Just do what you need to do and get on the road.” Kade sat back down on the bench. “Don't worry about me. Mitch and I will figure this out.”

His bravado faded as soon as he ended his conversation with Sheila.

What was he going to do? The Peak Tour of Homes opened the first Monday after the July Fourth weekend. He trusted Sheila and her team to stage a house well. They'd worked together on a dozen or more homes. They understood each other. She knew the importance of the tour, and they'd already discussed options for the various rooms.

He'd put his reputation, as well as his hopes for his professional future, on the line when he'd pitched his plan to Eddie Kingston. He had to overcome this setback.

•  •  •

“I appreciate you letting me interrupt your dinner for this impromptu business meeting, Lacey.” Kade shoved his spaghetti coated with a marina sauce, fragrant with oregano and basil, around on his plate with a piece of French bread, but not even the scent of butter and garlic lifted his spirits. “I just need some help figuring this out.”

Lacey filled their glasses with sangria, and then served both men additional pasta without asking if they were ready for more. “Didn't you say Sheila sent you the names of other stagers?”

“Yes.” Kade tried to wash away the dryness that kept building in the back of his throat with a quick sip of wine. “But I haven't worked with any of them.”

“But if Sheila recommended them—”

“I'm not sure how well I can trust her at this moment. She was pretty frazzled. When I called the first number on the list she gave me, I got someone at a pizza parlor asking if they could take my order. The other two were actual home-staging businesses, but all I could do was leave my name and phone number, asking them to call me back as soon as possible—and hope I didn't sound desperate.”

“Why don't you call Sheila again?” Mitch wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin as he finished off a bite of meatball. “Recheck the numbers?”

“She was getting on the road right after we talked. I have to accept Sheila's out of the loop now.”

“Is there anyone you can think of that you know could pull this off on such short notice?”

“Yes, but only one person.”

“Then why don't you call her? Or him? Whoever it is.”

“Because it's Caron Hollister.”

“Oh.” Lacey sat down at the table and rested her chin in her upturned palms, her black hair with teal tips falling about her shoulders. “Nothing like calling an ex-girlfriend for help.”

“Not to mention the fact she lives in Florida.” Mitch shook his head.

“I wouldn't even think of calling her for all those reasons—except for the fact I'm desperate and because of something her friend said when we were looking at a house together.”

“And what was that?”

“Something about Caron needing to find another job.”

Mitch paused with a forkful of pasta suspended over his plate. “You're not thinking of hiring Caron Hollister long-term as a Realtor, are you?”

“No. I've worked with her once in that capacity and it was a disaster because it became personal. I'm thinking immediate need only. Asking her to help me stage Eddie Kingston's house for the tour.”

“And then she goes back to Florida.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think there's any chance Caron will say yes?” Lacey sipped her sangria. “I mean, given your history together?”

“It's a crazy gamble. But if anyone can pull off staging a home on short notice, Caron can. I've seen her decorate homes for her dad. She even helped stage a Parade of Homes house for him once. She has a natural flair. Her own house is this eclectic, fun reflection of her personality. Only Caron Hollister would paint her front door purple—”

“Purple?” Lacey's laughter morphed into a snort.

“Yes, and it's a fun glimpse of what's waiting for you inside the house.”

Lacey clapped her hands. “Kade, you have to call her.”

“What do you think, Mitch?”

“I think it's ridiculous to even be talking about this. But I also know you.” His friend crossed his arms over his chest, a smile twisting his lips. “You think asking Caron Hollister is the right thing to do. You're going to do it. Make the call.”

“I will. But can we pray first? Because this is one of those times when doing the right thing scares me.”

T
he name and address of the work order on the metal clipboard had looked familiar. As soon as he turned down the tree-lined street in the older part of town, Alex gave a low exhale. Jessica Thompson was the new homeowner with the boyfriend who couldn't sleep without the air-conditioning on.