The Wishing Season (22 page)
“We’ll make it a late night then. You could skip out a little early, couldn’t you? Let your crew clean up?”
“I guess so.”
Jade drained her mug and grabbed her purse off her chair. “There’s a new boutique in Louisville near that bakery you interned at. We’re picking out something to show off those long, fabulous legs of yours, and I’m buying.”
A
NOTHER ROUND OF SNOWSTORMS HIT AT THE END OF
January. PJ tunneled from her mound of blankets to face the chilly air and cold floor. Judging by the overhead noise, school had been canceled for the second day in a row, and they were cooped up once again.
Only this time there would be no fun outing to the ice rink and Cappy’s. This time she and Cole would keep to their respective floors, seeing each other only in passing. She wondered if the kids were driving him crazy yet. They’d been loud overhead yesterday, and Shaundra seemed to be working out her dance routine 24/7.
When she heard the mail arrive, PJ showered and dressed, then headed to the foyer. Upstairs, Zac’s guitar screeched at high volume, Shaundra’s country music blared, and someone, Josh, she presumed, was playing a solo game of Ping-Pong against the upright side of the table. The cacophony was getting on her nerves.
When she hit the foyer, her feet flew out from under her and she landed on the wood floor with a hard thunk.
Her backside protested. “Ow . . .”
Water soaked through her jeans. What in the world? She followed the wet trail from the rug to the stairs. Dad-blame it,
if they were going to use the front door, could they at least wipe their feet?
She pulled upright, wincing at the pain, and wiped up the water with a kitchen towel before gathering the mail.
She fanned through the stack. The phone bill, the electric bill . . . ugh. She didn’t even want to open that one today. A credit card offer. A hand-addressed envelope. She glanced at the left-hand corner, and her stomach bottomed out.
The envelope trembled in her hand, the rest of the mail forgotten.
Why, after two months? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? The nerve of him. She’d ignored his calls and texts; she’d changed her number. Why couldn’t he just go away? What was it with men? Always thinking they knew what she wanted.
She ripped the envelope in half, then did it again and again until there was a pile of shredded paper on the hostess stand.
“Hope that wasn’t the electric bill.” Cole stopped at the foot of the stairs in his coat. He looked like he’d just woken, his hair slightly rumpled, his face unshaven. His keys jingled in his hand.
She snapped her eyes away, scooping up the shredded letter and dumping it in the basket under the stand.
He pocketed his keys in his jeans. “That wasn’t from—”
“Is there something you need, Cole?”
It was none of his business. He wanted distance; he was going to get it in spades. She cleared the rest of the trash from the stand. Two mint wrappers, a broken crayon, a chewed-on pencil.
“You okay?”
“Just peachy.” She turned to him, steeling herself against the concern in his green eyes. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d tell the gang to dry their feet so they don’t tramp dirty slush through
my foyer, and if they could maybe keep the noise down to a less deafening decibel level, that would be dandy.”
His jaw tightened. “Anything else?”
“A little help around here would be nice. The walks need shoveled, and I’ve done it the last three snowfalls.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pushed past her, out the door, and a minute later she heard the scraping of the shovel on the walk.
Cole undid the top button of his shirt and set his church bulletin on the table. He opened the fridge and surveyed the contents, wondering what he could pull together for lunch. The heavenly aromas of Belgian waffles and bacon wafted up from the restaurant, teasing him.
The week had dragged. Who was he kidding? Every day since their kiss had dragged. It didn’t seem possible it had been less than a week since he’d held her in his arms. He frowned as he remembered their discussion on bills earlier this morning. She’d hardly looked at him. Her sunny disposition had been replaced by storm-clouded eyes. Big, dark, angry ones. It was hard to believe now she’d ever let him close enough to touch her, much less kiss her.
Well, that’s what you wanted, Evans.
“Whatcha doing?” Shaundra reached around him for a can of diet soda.
“Figuring out lunch.”
“I made a casserole last night—chicken tetrazzini. There’s leftovers.”
“Perfect.” He grabbed the foil-covered dish. “Want some?”
“I had a late breakfast downstairs. Have you tasted PJ’s quiche lorraine? Yum.” She nodded toward the casserole. “You’ll have to give me your honest opinion. I created it myself. Hey, PJ talked to me about culinary school. I wish I’d made up my mind sooner. It’s too late for most of the scholarships.”
He dished out a serving and started the microwave. “Well, you’ll still get the $5,000 voucher from the government.”
“That won’t even cover a semester.”
“There’s always student loans. A lot of people do it that way.”
“I know. And PJ said she’d help me with the applications and even write a recommendation. That’s pretty cool of her.”
“I’ll write one too if you need another. And don’t forget about the Pell Grant. I’ll help you fill out the FAFSA.”
“Thanks. PJ helped me with the recipe. She’s teaching me about ingredients and what goes together and why. Zac said it was the best casserole he’s ever had. He doesn’t really like casseroles though, so that’s probably not saying much.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Who do you think’s going to win the house?”
His gut tightened as it always did when he thought about that.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m rooting for you. I want you to win, but I don’t want PJ to lose either.”
“Well, that’s not the way it works.”
“I know. So what do you think?” she asked as he took his first steamy bite.
“Wow. Very good.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Very flavorful. Best meal I’ve had in weeks.” Never mind that sandwiches and microwave dinners were her only competition.
She smiled wide. “I grated the Parmesan fresh.”
“It’s restaurant quality—really.”
“Thanks! I can’t wait to tell PJ you said that. She’s showing me how to make crème brulee tonight. She sings when she cooks, did you know that?”
His lips twitched. “No, I didn’t.”
“She should definitely try out for American Idol.”
“What?”
“She’d make it on TV for sure. She’s like tone-deaf or something. She’s so pretty though, don’t you think?”
He made a noncommittal sound.
“She should have a boyfriend. There’s this hot guy in her cooking class who keeps asking her out. I told her she should totally say yes.”
His chest tightened at her words. “What guy?”
“Alec something. He’s a fireman.” She waved a hand in front of her face as if
she
were on fire.
“He’s in her cooking class?”
“The bachelor one on Monday nights. Well, I gotta go to the store and get some stuff for tonight. See you!”
He wanted to call her back and pepper her with questions. Who was this Alec guy? Was PJ actually going out with him? Did she like him?
But there was one question he could only answer for himself: why did the thought of another man’s interest leech the flavor right out of the casserole?
Sometime later a dull, repetitive thud sounded from outside, and Cole went to the window. The unseasonably mild temperatures
had melted off the snow and warmed up the air. Josh and PJ were shooting around toward the basket Cole had attached to the front of the shed.
PJ sank a long shot, and Josh threw his arm over his head. When Josh made the same shot, PJ gave him a fist bump. She looked cute in her puffy white coat, her long denim-encased legs making short work of the court.
She put up another shot, which Josh proceeded to miss. PJ did a victory dance, making Josh shake his head, though a grin tugged at his lips. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who hadn’t unpacked for a month. Cole knew better than to take responsibility for the change. They’d all played a part in making him feel like he belonged—even PJ.
He watched her as she playfully nudged the boy off the free-throw line. Maybe she couldn’t hold a note or sit still for two seconds, but she had a soft heart and a generous spirit. All the more reason to stay far, far away.
T
HE ANGRIER
PJ
WAS TOWARD
C
OLE
,
THE LESS SHE
’
D WANT
him. At least that’s what she told herself as she tasted the soupe au pistou the following week.
“Nice touch with the cloves, Callie.”
“Thank you, Chef.”
“One sirloin, one meatloaf, and three salmon, all day,” one of the servers called.
PJ pulled the filet from the oven. Perfect. She spooned on the béarnaise. “Callie, how’s the rice coming?”
“One minute, Chef.”
“Beth, tell the front to 86 the meatloaf special.”
“Yes, Chef.”
PJ put the sirloin into the oven and went to the walk-in for the salmon.
Where was it? She’d just bought it, had put it right here. “Callie, have you seen the salmon?”
“No, Chef.”
“It’s under the cod,” Nate called. “Sorry, Chef, I moved it.”
Everything was out of place. PJ put things back in order, working quickly. It wasn’t busy, but they were short in the back because Ella was down with the flu.
“Chef!”
At the same instant that Callie shrieked, the fire alarm screeched.
PJ turned to see fire shooting up from a pan on the stovetop, halfway to the ceiling. Nate grabbed the extinguisher, but the flame had already caught on a nearby towel and spread up the wall. She couldn’t believe how far it had gotten so quickly. Maybe the extinguisher would win, but maybe not. She couldn’t take the chance.
“I’m going to empty the place,” she called to Nate. “If you sense you’re losing, get outside!” PJ dialed 911 as she dashed into the dining room, where patrons sat in a state of confusion.
“Get everyone out,” she said quietly to the maitre d’. “Be quick and calm.”
The operator answered, and she gave the address as she ran up the stairs. Were the kids home? Cole? Surely they would’ve come out at the deafening alarm. She threw open doors as she dashed down the hall, but the rooms were empty.
“Cole!” she called, flying up the attic stairs. She threw open his door, but his room was empty too. By the time she came downstairs, smoke had filled the now-empty dining room.
Nate and Callie spilled into the foyer, breathing into their whites.
PJ coughed. “Get outside.” She darted past them toward the kitchen. She couldn’t let her dream go up in smoke.
“Where you going?” Nate called, but there was no time to answer.
Pool at Cappy’s had been a welcome distraction. Cole waved good-bye to Seth Murphy and got into the cold cab of his truck. Twice he’d nearly spilled about PJ, but he didn’t know Seth that well. Besides, the guy was married to Layla, who was sister to Beckett, who was married to PJ’s sister. He’d lived here long enough to know how things worked.
Besides, what was the point? Things were what they were. So he had feelings for PJ. Feelings that seemed to be growing despite the distance he’d put between them.
Just four months, Evans
.
Then it’ll be over, one way or another.
Would it, though? What if he won? He’d get to keep the house, but he’d have to watch PJ move out. Where would she go? What would she do? Go back to the fudge shop? What about the loans she’d taken out?
Not your worry
. He pulled from the parking lot, his headlights cutting a path through the darkness.
You’re going to have to sort all this out, God.
Heaven knew he was at his wits’ end.
He had to get a grip. He’d only known her nine months. Had only kissed her once. He couldn’t be that far gone.