The Wishing Season (16 page)
He ran his hand along the bumper. There were a couple white scuffs among the red. It was Josh all right. “I’ll talk to Josh
when he gets home. He was running late, and I’m sure he just didn’t know what to do. He’s a good kid.”
She stepped back, huddling against the cold. She hadn’t looked at him since her tirade. “And he has insurance for sure?”
“Yes. It’ll be taken care of.”
The deductible would probably cost the kid everything he’d earned, but he had to learn there were consequences for his actions.
“He gets home a little after nine. We’ll come down, and you can get all his information.”
By the time Cole was back in his room, the anticipation of the football game had long worn off, and he really wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s half-time show.
T
HE RESTAURANT WAS BUSIER THAN SHE EXPECTED FOR THE
Saturday after Thanksgiving. Everyone must’ve been as tired of leftovers as PJ was.
The back of the house bustled happily along as the evening wore on. She couldn’t say the same for the front. One of the servers, who was habitually late, had been a no-show. She had to find a replacement.
She sautéed mushrooms and onions in a skillet, keeping an eye on the sirloin and rib eye in the oven.
“Two Roquefort salads on the fly for VIPs!” one of the servers called.
Callie went to work on the salads while Nate arranged bruschetta on a plate.
PJ’s car was in the shop for repairs. Josh had gone straight to Cole when he’d gotten home from work. He’d apologized to PJ, his face so contrite she felt bad about his deductible.
Cole had also talked to the kids about her list of complaints. So far there’d been no more oil stains, no more dancing on the ceiling, and no more missing food. She and Cole seemed to have arrived at a tentative truce, though they both remained guarded.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.
She wished she had a separate heating system for the kitchen. The one window hardly made a dent, and the fans only seemed to blow the hot air around.
“One sirloin, kill it,” a server called.
PJ prepared the sirloin. “Callie, how long on the rice?”
“Two minutes, Chef.”
She removed the rib eye from the oven and arranged it on a plate before sliding the mushrooms and onions on top. She handed it off to Callie.
“Chef?” Barbie, one of her servers, poked her head into the kitchen. “Someone wants to pay you his compliments.”
Nothing made her happier than a satisfied customer. PJ pulled off her gloves and turned with a smile. It froze on her face when Keaton slid past Barbie.
Her smile fell. Her heart rate tripled, and her breath left her lungs. What was he doing here? In her restaurant? In her kitchen? In her safe little world?
“Hello, PJ.”
She couldn’t look away from his smiling blue eyes. Not even when she realized Callie had gone still beside her. A dozen memories flittered through her brain.
Her throat constricted. “Keaton,” she managed.
His hair was shorter, barely curling at the nape of his collared shirt, that flop of bangs she used to love just touching his brow. His shoulders weren’t as broad as she remembered, and his frame seemed smaller.
“The meal was delicious,” he said. “Best food I’ve had in months.”
“Thank you.”
“The restaurant is amazing, PJ. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
She had to get him out of there before he sucked her back in with those mesmerizing eyes. With that boyish flop of hair and that way he had of making her feel like she was the only woman in the room.
She forced a smile. “It was good seeing you. Thanks for dropping by.”
She turned back to the stove and worked on automatic, immensely aware of his continued presence. Of Callie, her movements uncharacteristically slow. Of Nate’s curious glances.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m sorry . . . I’m pretty busy tonight.” And tomorrow and the next day. If he’d just leave, she could forget he was ever here. She’d change her number and forget all about his gentle touches and tender kisses.
And the lies, PJ. Don’t forget the lies. The wife. The kid. The marriage.
“Please, PJ.”
He wasn’t one to beg. If she refused, would he say everything he wanted right here in her kitchen? In front of her staff? She couldn’t take that chance.
Swallowing hard, she removed her apron. “Callie, you got this?”
“Yes, Chef.”
She left the kitchen, Keaton on her heels, and went out the back door and onto the porch. The cold air slapped her in the face, sent goose bumps skating up her arms under her stiff whites. She turned, wishing she could hide, wishing she hadn’t installed the bright hundred-watt bulbs.
A shadow settled into the crease at the corners of his lips
as he smiled—those crescent-shaped almost-dimples she used to love.
She stopped a safe distance away and curled her arms over her stomach. “You shouldn’t be here, Keaton.”
He lifted his hands, palms up. “You don’t answer my texts or calls.”
“So you just show up in my kitchen during restaurant hours?”
“I miss you.”
There it was. That way he had of catching her off guard.
“You don’t miss me. You just miss the gullible girl who made you feel young again.”
He took a step closer. “That’s not true.”
Distance. She needed plenty of distance. PJ stepped back.
“My marriage is over. I’m sorry about what happened. It was wrong, and I have to live with that. But I want you back, PJ, more than anything. What do I have to do? Just say it. I’ll do anything.”
Her heart clenched hard. She remembered the way she’d felt in his arms. Safe and loved. He’d never said the words, not with his lips, but he’d said it over and over with his touch, with the look in his eyes. He was saying it now, and it was tempting, oh so tempting, to take just a few steps forward and find herself back in his embrace.
No, PJ. They’re only lies. That’s what he does.
But what if it was true? What if his marriage really was over?
Then it’s all your fault
. She turned around, breaking the hold of his gaze. It was all she could think to do. Her heart and mind waged a vicious tug-of-war.
Her breaths quickened, panic rising from someplace deep inside, and she realized she’d forgotten to take her meds this afternoon. Of all times.
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She tried to fight it back but it crept closer, choking her with its cold fingers.
“Can we open a window or something?” Zac said.
“No joke. It’s like eighty degrees in here.” Josh fanned himself with the sports section
.
Having the living room above the restaurant’s kitchen? Not such a great idea.
Cole walked to the dinette area and slid the sash up, letting the cold November air glide over his skin. The boys had decided to stay in for a
Drake and Josh
marathon. Shaundra was out with a school friend.
A voice carried up from the back porch, unfamiliar, male.
“Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
“You have to ask?” It was PJ’s voice.
He should move away from the window, but something held him. Something in her voice. It wasn’t like her to leave the kitchen during dinner rush.
“I told you my marriage is over now. For real. Come for a drive with me. We need to talk.”
“Go away, Keaton. Please.” She sounded breathless. Upset.
Cole straightened. Zac and Josh laughed, making him miss what was said next.
“I can’t do this right now.” Panic laced her voice.
“I’m not going anywhere until we talk, PJ.”
Cole didn’t like the sharp tone of the man’s voice. He headed for the door. PJ probably wouldn’t thank him for interfering. It was none of his business, but he didn’t like the way she sounded.
And the guy, an old boyfriend—and married at that—couldn’t seem to take the hint.
He raced down the back stairs that he and the kids used and came to a halt at the side yard a few feet from the porch. The man and PJ were facing away from him.
“Go away, Keaton.” PJ’s shoulders rose and fell quickly. Her arms were wrapped around her middle. She looked small in her chef’s uniform.
“No. We’re talking now.” The guy advanced on her.
“Hey!” Cole said. “Back off.”
The guy whirled around, frowning, as Cole leaped up on the porch.
“Who are you?”
“You heard what she said. It’s time to go.”
The stranger turned back to PJ. “Who is this guy?”
PJ shook her head, obviously struggling to control her panic, but the moron didn’t seem to notice.
“Is he the reason you won’t return my texts or answer my calls? Seriously?”
“Please leave, Keaton,” PJ gasped between breaths.
“All right, pal.” Cole grabbed his collar and jerked him toward the porch steps.
The guy shook him off, straightening his shirt.
Cole placed himself in front of PJ, feet spread, fists ready.
“We’re not done, PJ,” the guy said, giving PJ, then Cole, a long look. A few seconds later he went down the porch steps and around the corner of the house.
Cole followed, making sure he left, then returned to the porch where PJ was pacing, blowing out breaths.
“Where are your meds?”
“In my purse. My room.”
He returned a minute later, and PJ downed the pill with a glass of water. She had color in her cheeks again, and her breathing had evened out.
“Better?”
She nodded. “Is he gone?”
“Yeah.”
Cole wanted to ask who he was. It didn’t seem possible she had been seeing a married man. Not PJ. His gut tightened at the thought, and it had little to do with the marriage. He didn’t like imagining PJ with any man at all.
“I have to get back to the kitchen.” She walked away, stopping at the door. She turned and met his eyes for the first time since he’d shown up.
He saw relief and gratitude in her eyes. The look made him feel heady, as if he could slay all her dragons with the wave of his hand. He didn’t even want to dwell on the reasons why that made him feel so good.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Will he come back?”
Half a dozen emotions flickered over her face. “I don’t know.”
If he did, she wasn’t going to be alone with him, not if Cole had anything to say about it.
“I hope not. He doesn’t live around here. He’ll have to go home eventually.”
“Might be best to stick close to home for a couple days. Tell your hostess he’s not welcome. You need help, come get me.”
“Okay,” she whispered. And then she was gone.
Cole said good night to the boys and retired to his room, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins. He was glad he’d
been home, had overheard enough to know PJ needed help. He didn’t know if the guy would’ve hurt her, but he wasn’t about to find out.
He settled on his bed and flipped on the TV. Maybe PJ would’ve been just fine, but it had felt good to come to her rescue. To protect her. His thoughts flashed back to the time he’d fallen short, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to make up for his failure.
Nothing had gone right for the past couple weeks, and it had all been his mom’s fault. He’d gotten one bad grade on his midterm report, and she made him go to bed at nine all week. He’d missed the Cubs game, and all his friends had been talking about the great comeback.
He wondered what she’d do to Dad if she knew about the woman with black hair and red nails. Dad should be the one getting Mom’s wrath, not him. It was so unfair. It was only social studies, and who cared about a stinking midterm grade?
He sat back, adjusting his seat belt. On the other side of the car, Noelle was playing with her My Little Pony. Her chattering was getting on his nerves.
His parents were making him go with them to visit Mom’s friend, some old lady who lived in a tiny boring house with no yard and no kids. Her old box television didn’t even have cable or satellite. Even worse, it was a long drive, and his mom listened to country music.
Cars whirred past. There were too many curves and hills, and it made his stomach roll.
Noelle pulled another pony from her bag, and her chatter grew louder.