Outside The Lines (4 page)

Her bes
t friend’s expectant brow lift, bright stare combo might’ve caused lesser women to crumble, but Jules was a northie, right down to her core. No way was she giving in.

“
I heal fast. Guess I’m just lucky.” She tugged the elbow-length sleeve of her black T-shirt over the tattered edge of her bandage in an effort to maximize the whole
out of sight, out of mind
thing, but Serenity didn’t bite.

“
Jules. Stop doing that tough-girl thing you do and talk to me.”

“
I don’t do a tough-girl thing.” Okay, now she broke out the scowl. “And anyway, I’m not sure what there is to talk about.” Jules reached for a box of straws, but Serenity stepped in her path, her voice dialed down to her most staunch don’t-give-me-that-crap setting.

“
Well, let’s see. I might just be shooting rubber bands at the night sky here, but perhaps we should discuss the fact that you were once engaged to the hottest thing to ever wear Brentsville Hospital scrubs, it clearly didn’t culminate in wedded bliss, and you neglected to oh, tell your best friend of four years anything about it.”  

“
I never said anything because there’s nothing to tell.” And she’d thought the fib about her arm not hurting was bad. Still, skipping down memory lane wasn’t going to change anything, and spilling her guts about the past wouldn’t hurt Blake any less.

Which was exactly what she’
d been telling herself for the last forty-eight hours. Straight.

“Bullshit,” came Serenity’s answer, albeit with way more interest and concern than heat. “I couldn’t tell whether you two were going to kill each other or kiss each other senseless. No way is there not a story there.”

“I’m not kissing anybody!”
Jules’s words rode out on a high chirp of surprise, and she planted her palms into the low-slung hips of her cargo pants, despite the squall of protest from her forearm. “Look, it was a long time ago.”

“And?”

Damn it, Serenity could match Jules’s stubborn any day of the week. “And it didn’t work out.”

“
But something must’ve worked if the two of you were going to get married.” A ribbon of shock uncurled over Serenity’s face, and her eyes darted to the apron knotted around Jules’s waist. “Oh, honey. Were you…”

Jules blinked for a second before her train of thought landed in the same station as Serenity’s.
“Oh God, no. I wasn’t pregnant.” As much as she didn’t want to dive back into her past, it was probably better to just come out with it than have Serenity’s imagination running rampant. “I was poor.”

“Oh.” Serenity shifted in the entryway to the alcove. “Well, you were, what, t
wenty-one? Who’s not living on a budget at that age?”

“I wasn’t living on a bud
get,” Jules said, although there was nothing but truth in the words. “I was living in a firetrap in Battery Heights no bigger than our storage closet in the back, and working sixty hours a week to afford even that.”

But
even clawing her way from paycheck to paycheck was better than being bounced all over the foster care system where no one had wanted her. Not that she was coming out with that. Blabbing about this part was bad enough.

“Still.”
Serenity shook off her momentary look of surprise. “Not having any money doesn’t make you a bad person. Blake obviously didn’t think so if you two were serious.”

Jules closed her eyes for a second too long.
“Does the name Frances Fisher ring any bells?”

“The president of the board of trustees at the hospital?”

“Yup.”

Wait for it…wait for it…

Serenity gasped. “Oh, shit. Blake is a
Fisher
-Fisher? As in, the most wealthy and influential family in Brenstville?”

Bingo. “He’s not just any Fisher. He
was Preston and Frances Fisher’s oldest son. Now he’s their only son. Blake’s brother, Jeremy, died of cystic fibrosis eight years ago, when he was twenty.”

“God,” Serenity murmured, a streak of sympathy crossing her face. “That’s really young.”

“He was resistant to a lot of the standard treatments, and his poor health put him low on the list for a lung transplant. Still, doctors were hopeful Jeremy would have a few more years, so when he declined rapidly and couldn’t fight the illness, his death left everyone shell-shocked.”

Jules’s heart
gave a sharp twist at the memory of the younger, definitely more mischievous Fisher, and she smiled in spite of her sadness. Even on his bad days, Jeremy had always had a grin on his face, especially when Jules would sneak him extra chocolate chip cookies from the university’s cafeteria when she worked. Although she’d been careful not to show the extent of it, Jeremy— and Blake, for that matter— had never cared that Jules didn’t have two nickels to rub together the entire year she’d known him.

But
their mother knew the extent of it tenfold, and she’d cared enough for both of them put together. But telling Blake the real reason she’d left would’ve smashed the family ties that had already been shredded when Jeremy died.

She
’d never thought it would smash his heart instead.

Jules cleared her throat
and stuffed the thought—and the feelings that went with it—back down in her chest. “A few months later, Blake proposed and asked me to go to the city with him while he went to medical school, but it was impulsive, and it would’ve been a mistake. So yes. We were…”
totally, insanely, naively in love with each other
“…engaged. But it was only for a short time, and now it’s over.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”
No
. God, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t meant for a man like Blake Fisher, no matter how much her stupid heart had hammered at the sight of him the other day. “I was surprised to see him back in town, sure. But it was just a one-time only run-in. It’s not going to happen again.”

Serenity’s gaze
flicked to a spot over Jules’s shoulder, her kitchen clogs giving up a soft squeak on the tile as she took a step in to murmur,

“Well somebody mi
ght want to tell him that, because unless I’m seeing things, the good doctor just walked in the door.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Jules turned on
her heel, a thousand thoughts crashing through her head as she watched Blake slide easily onto one of the stools at the counter, but only one was loud enough to make sense over her mental free-for-all.

His eyes were locked into place over hers. And the look on his face was sexy as sin.

“Jules.” The word
coming from her best friend was caught between a question and a warning. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

“I didn’t plan for this,” Jules whispered,
surprising herself, and damn it. She always had a plan. She’d learned a long time ago that it was an absolute necessity if she wanted to land on her feet.

And Blake was the only person
who could lay waste to her steadfast balance.

“Maybe not,” Serenity agreed
quietly, taking the box of now-crushed straws from Jules’s grasp. “But he’s looking right at you. So you might want to come up with something.”

Jules dragged her gaze
back over the expanse of the white and chrome counter until it reached the spot where Blake sat, her breath playing hopscotch in her lungs. His eyes snagged on hers for one last brief second, ninety percent serious and ten percent smoldering, before he dropped his chin toward the menu in his hands. Despite the knee-jerk urge to turn and run, a stronger, deeper-seated instinct rooted her into place.

She’d run eight years ago. Right now, even if it hurt, she owed him some common courtesy.

Jules grabbed a pot of coffee from the hot station behind the counter and pushed her feet forward without thinking.

“
Afternoon, doc. Is this a house call, or are you hungry?”

H
e slid a glance over the top of his menu, and since when were plain old jeans and a button-down shirt so freaking hot? “A little bit of both, maybe. How’s your arm?”

“Better than it was.”
Not the unvarnished truth, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

“
You having trouble with any of the care?” Blake tipped his chin at the crooked gauze pad being held to her forearm by curling medical tape and sheer dumb luck, and Jules swiped her arm behind her back as she leaned it to fill his coffee cup with the other hand.

“No
pe, not at all. You still have a sweet tooth?”

A grin
shot over his mouth, but it lasted only a second before he arranged it into a well-mannered smile. “I might.”

Her return chuckle took her completely by surprise, but oh God, it felt good bubbling up from her belly.
“Do me a favor and work on your poker face. I’ll be right back.”

Jules moved through the swinging door to the kitche
n, bolstered by the familiar motions of getting food from prep to plate. She grabbed a dessert plate from the stack by the pastry station and made quick work of filling it with the biggest apple turnover left in the quick-pantry, adding an extra swoop of satiny glaze over the just-warmed dish before returning to the dining room with it firmly in her grasp.

“
What’s this?” Blake asked, eyeing the plate as she slid it across the polished counter between them, the baked-to-perfection pastry leaving the scent of cinnamon-sweet goodness in its wake. 

“
It’s an apple turnover. They’re Mac’s specialty. But…” She hauled in a deep breath. “This one comes with a side order of
I’m sorry
.”

Blake’s fork clanked to the counter. “You don’t owe me an apology, Jules.”

“Actually, I do. I was…”
Scared. Trying to protect you. Vulnerable as hell.
“Young. I handled things badly, and for that, I apologize.”

For a second that lasted roughly ten minutes
in Jules’s head, nothing but the muted sounds of the end of the lunch rush passed between them, until Blake said, “I didn’t come here for you to apologize.”

“But I—”

“Jules,” he interrupted softly, but she hurtled on, desperate.

“I hurt you, and I—”

He grabbed her free hand from its spot on the counter, drawing her forward as he simultaneously repeated, “
Jules
.”

 
The unexpected gravel shaping her name sent a shot of surprise and something a whole lot darker up the plumb line of her spine, leaving her with nothing but a series of rapid blinks and a watered-down
what
? on her lips. Blake’s eyes flashed, the same stormy green as the ocean in a thunderstorm, and he pinned her in place with his stare.

“I don’t want you to say you’re sorry.”

“Oh.” The word collapsed from her lips in more of a throaty sigh than the stubborn affirmation she’d intended, and she swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No.”
Blake lowered his attention to their hands, the calluses on his thumb sliding roughly over her knuckles as he blanked his expression and let her fingers go. “I came here for something else. In fact, it’s something that has nothing to do with you and me.”

“Okay,” Jules said, extending the word by several syllables to form a question
as she belatedly recovered her wits. “What’s that?”

“The
Brentsville Hospital Carnival For A Cure.” He pulled a crisp, dark blue folder from the laptop bag he’d propped over the bar stool next to him. “I’m the event coordinator, and Mac’s is the catering restaurant. I came to see Serenity so we can get a tentative schedule set since it looks like she and I will be working pretty closely together for the next six weeks.”

Jules white-knuckled the edge of the apron around her waist, her heart doing its level best to vault  clean out of her ribcage.
She was so far past this-can’t-be-happening, and yet…“You…you’re the event coordinator for the Carnival For A Cure?”

“Yeah.” Now it was Blake’s turn to draw the word into a question. “Why?”

“Because I wrote that proposal. I’m in charge of all the catering and planning for that event on our end.”

Jules
shifted her weight to stand as tall as her five-foot-nine frame would allow, her palms going slick with realization as she finished, “You won’t be working with Serenity for the next six weeks, Blake. You’ll be working with me.”

#

Blake attempted to read the event overview splayed out on the table in front of him four times before conceding defeat. He had the damn thing half-memorized anyway, and right now he had bigger things to worry about.

Namely, the redhead sitting so close to him that the
break room they’d taken over in the back of Mac’s Diner felt more like a sardine tin than a study space.

“
I have to be honest,” Jules said, looking up from an identical copy of the overview in his hands. “I was surprised to see the charity fundraiser turned into a carnival this year. Usually it’s not something a restaurant like Mac’s can even think about putting a bid on.”

Blake cleared his throat, propelling himself into business mod
e. Okay, so the situation was less than ideal. But his mother was already working herself into the ground with this event, and she was becoming frailer by the minute, even though she wouldn’t slow down or admit it. If he wanted to take care of her, planning of as much of this event as possible was a moral imperative.

Eve
n if it meant being nose to the grindstone with the one woman who could still torch his composure like a five-alarm fire in a gasoline factory.

“Right.” He cleared his throat again
just for good measure. “The board wanted to do something different this year to broaden their outreach. Something that would involve the whole community rather than just a small group of contributors.”

“Well, a carnival
will definitely do the trick.” She nodded at the stack of papers covering the scuffed wooden table. “But it’s going to be a ton of work to feed these people, and the logistics are a lot different than a typical sit-down dinner.” Jules traced an invisible line over the last page of the overview. “This site map says you’ve got access to all of City Commons for the event. We’ll need to get a few trucks in there to drop off the food and equipment on the morning of the carnival. I’m assuming Brentsville PD will close off the surrounding blocks leading into the Commons?”

“
That’s the plan, and we’ve got preliminary approval on the permit,” Blake agreed, leaning in to look at the schematic. An unexpected shot of Jules’s sweet vanilla scent hit him all at once, catapulting him back to those sleepy Sunday mornings when she’d tiptoe down to the kitchen in his apartment on the Brentsville University campus to make French toast. He’d asked her about her own kitchen those first few times, figuring she might be more comfortable with her own stuff rather than the sadly lacking cupboards in his man-kitchen. But she’d said she lived far enough from the University that it was so much easier to stay at his place. Even though it had hit him as not-quite-right, Blake didn’t want to push it. Jules had no family, and she kept her personal life close to the vest. She seemed happy to stay with him at his place, so eventually he’d just bought a skillet and some groceries and stopped asking, figuring she’d open up when she was ready.

But she never did
. And although Blake knew she’d lived somewhere off Sycamore Street, he never did see her apartment, let alone her kitchen, before she was gone.

“Getting a few trucks in won’t be a problem. What kind of space will you need outside of actual food service?”
he asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present. Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to get this event coordinated, and anyway, Jules had made it clear eight years ago that being together wasn’t part of the plan. He needed to drop it and focus on the carnival, for good.

Jules pulled a notebook from the bag she’d slung over
the back of her chair, the pages covered in extensive hand-written plans, and damn, she took this job seriously with a capital S.

“We’ll do a lot
of the prep ahead of time, but we’ll need space for safe food storage and actual cooking. Per the proposal, we can set up a portable kitchen station in the main food tent using generators and a couple of big grills. The way it’s outlined in the plan is up to code, but we’re still going to need written approval from the Brentsville Fire Department.”

Fin
ally, something for the
easy
column. “That won’t be a problem. If you add a list of specific equipment to the proposal, I can get the paperwork signed for you by the end of the week.”

Surprise painted Jules’s pretty features, and she looked up from the schematic, brows raised. “
It’s Wednesday afternoon, Blake. How on earth are you going to make that happen?”

“Do you remember my cousin
, Aaron?”

She laughed. “
He used to jump out of perfectly good airplanes as often as most people change their pants. A guy like that is a little hard to forget. Is he still crazy?”

“Yup.
Only now he funnels it into his job. Well, most of it anyway. He’s a lieutenant for the Brentsville Fire Department, over at station thirty-two.” And crazy as he might be, Aaron was also a decent guy, despite the black-sheep label both his mother and Blake’s had tried to slap all over him. “If the proposal’s up to code, he can push it through for us.”

“Handy,” Jules said, rifling through the small mountain of papers in front of her. “
I’ll add the equipment specs right now so we can get the ball rolling there, but that should take care of the preliminaries for the main food area. We can also work the catering around some of the other carnival events, too, depending on what they are.”

“We…I guess I should say I…I’
m still kind of finalizing that.” As long as
finalizing that
was synonymous with
trying to come up with our big attraction with no good ideas in sight
, anyway. “But we can just focus on the main food tent for now.”

“We already did.” She rapped the
now-updated proposal against the edge of the table, the medical tape on her sad excuse for a bandage curling away from her skin as she handed it over, and Blake’s fingers itched to replace the gauze.

“Still tenacious, I see.” Damn if it wasn’t still a massive turn-on in spite of throwing him ass-first onto the hot seat.

“And you’re still not afraid to say so.” A smile threatened the corners of her mouth. “But you’re also not helping me with the overall plan. Why don’t we talk about the other events just generally? It might give me some ideas on how better to serve the food with as little bottleneck at the main tent as possible.”

Well, when she put it that way…“The board arranged for rides and games and face painting.
You know, basic carnival stuff. Plus, they do their standard silent auction every year, with items and services donated from all over Brentsville. ”

She scribbled out a few notes.
“Sounds like fun.”

“
I guess. It fits with the theme, that’s for sure.” Blake nodded, but of course Jules saw right through him.