The Wishing Season (23 page)

Could he?

It had only been ten days, and he already missed her wide smile and sparkling eyes. They hadn’t been turned on him in a while. He hadn’t seen much of her at all, which was kind of the point. But he missed her. He lay in bed aching to tell her about his day. His fingers itched to run through that silky hair of hers, and his lips tingled with want of her.

And all because of one kiss.

One kiss? Who was he kidding? She’d been getting under his
skin for months. He’d let himself get close to her, and look what had happened.

You’re a real idiot, Evans
.

She needed someone who’d protect her. Someone who’d be there for her, root for her, not someone who’d let her down.

Someone better than you
.

He eased onto Main and turned the heat down. Up ahead, red lights strobed the neighborhood. His eyes caught on the red fire engine parked near their house, and his heart waged a violent battle with his ribs. He pushed the pedal, zooming past the cars parked along the curb.

People milled outside the Wishing House, huddled against the cold. Smoke billowed from the back, where the kitchen was.

PJ.

He pulled to the curb and jumped out, sprinting toward the yard. His eyes scanned the crowd. The kids were out for the night, but where was PJ?

He caught sight of Callie, Nate, and the kitchen crew. “Where’s PJ?”

Nate shook his head. “She went back in.”

He drilled Nate with a glare. “You let her?”

“It’s not bad.” Callie’s hands fluttered around her face. “At least not yet. PJ’s trying to put it out. The fire department just went in.”

The wind nearly whipped away the last of her words as he rushed toward the house.

A middle-aged fireman stopped him at the porch steps. “Whoa, you can’t go in there, buddy.”

“PJ McKinley’s in there.”

The fireman faced him, legs spread. “I know. We’ll get her out.”

“This is my house.”

“Step back, please.”

Cole was just about to dart around the guy when a movement at the doorway caught his eyes.

PJ.

A fireman carried her. Her face was covered in soot, her clothes wet.

Cole shrugged out of his coat, tried to get to her, but the paunchy guard grabbed his arm. Cole stiffened, waiting impatiently until the other fireman and PJ neared.

PJ coughed twice. “Let me down, Alec.”

“Are you okay?” Cole set his coat around her shoulders as her feet hit the ground.

“I’m fine. The kids aren’t home. Everyone’s out.” She looked back at the house, her eyes watering. “But the house . . .”

“We’ll have it out in no time,” Alec said. “It’s almost out already.”

She coughed. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t care about the house,” Cole said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“She needs the EMTs,” Alec said. “Step aside.”

Cole let them go. Thank God she was okay. Thank God. The adrenaline surge drained away, leaving him weak and shaky.

PJ hunched against dawn’s chill as she climbed the porch steps. Ryan had heard about the fire first last night, being a volunteer,
and news had spread quickly through her family. She’d received one frantic call after another until her parents had arrived to make sure she was okay.

She had spent the night at their house, though she hadn’t slept. From the empty curb, she assumed Cole and the kids had found somewhere else to stay also.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, coughing. The acrid smell of smoke filled her lungs and made her eyes water. Her heart beat into her throat as she went through the dining room and toward the kitchen, Alec’s words late last night ringing in her mind.
They got it out. It’s just the kitchen.

Just the kitchen.
Only the heart of her restaurant. She went through the door, letting it swing shut behind her.

She stopped, her breath leaving in a rush
.
Water was everywhere, puddled on the floor, on the prep tables. Soot climbed the ceramic tiles on the wall behind her stove and clung to the plates stacked above it. The painted ceiling was blistered and peeling. A wire whisk, grotesquely distorted, lay on the wet floor in front of the sink. Her eyes went back to the charred stovetop where she’d been working. Ruined.

What a mess. Her eyes stung, this time not from the smoke. How long would it take to get back up and running? It would be at least a week before she could get a new stove. Thank God for insurance! Without it she’d have lost everything, including the house. As it was, the time it would take to fix this would be a killer. She thought of the lost revenue and fought back panic.

Valentine’s Day. She’d never have the kitchen in order by next weekend. She couldn’t even imagine the thick smell of smoke dissipating by then. She couldn’t afford this; the business was barely hanging on as it was. She hadn’t paid herself in three
weeks, and she’d been counting on next weekend to help carry her into spring. Plus the money she’d spent on the Valentine’s promo would be wasted.

Why is this happening, God? Why can’t I do anything right?

Now her numbers would look bad, and Mrs. Simmons would think she was irresponsible. She’d almost burned down the woman’s ancestral home!

PJ’s eyes swept the charred kitchen as water seeped into her tennis shoes. Maybe her family was right. The breath left her body as the realization swept through her. She was going to lose the house, lose her dream, and it was nobody’s fault but her own.

She heard someone entering the house out front, the rattling of bags and voices.

“Open the windows, Zac, then clear the tables. Shaundra, start taking the curtains down.”

“What about me?”

“Grab the wet vac from the back of the truck, then gather the linens. Make a pile by the door. We’ll hit the Quick Spin later.”

PJ left the kitchen and found Cole in the entry setting down an armload of bags. “What are you doing?”

He straightened. “How’s the kitchen look?”

“Like someone detonated a bomb.” She took in the bags of supplies. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. “Where’d you get all this?”

“We spent the night at Seth’s. He opened up the store for us.” Cole began unbagging stuff: gloves, TSP, scrub brushes. “He gave me the rundown on cleanup. If we go at it, we should have you opened up by next weekend.”

She swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. He was up at dawn—all of them were—to help her. Despite the tension
between them. Despite their rivalry. Despite the fact that she’d been moody and a little hateful toward him lately.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked up from where he squatted on the floor, his face softening.

Just then Josh barged through the front door with the wet vac.

“Hey, PJ.” He set it down. “Sorry about your kitchen. Major bummer.”

“Thanks for your help. I—” She swallowed against the tremble in her voice. “I really appreciate it.” Her eyes swept over Cole, including him.

“No prob. Where should I put this?”

“I’ll take it,” PJ said. With a shaky smile she pulled the wet vac toward the kitchen. Maybe she’d get through this after all.

Chapter Thirty

T
HE NEXT
S
ATURDAY
C
OLE WOKE LATE AND GOT READY FOR
a run. They’d finished the cleanup yesterday, and PJ’s new stove had been installed. Her insurance company had been very responsive. She’d insisted on cooking a feast for the household last night: scallops in a butter sauce, chicken cordon bleu, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. For dessert she’d whipped up a cheesecake with a thick graham cracker crust and berry topping. He was still full.

Cole pulled on a pair of sweats. Everything had been put on hold for PJ this week, but she’d be open tonight, had called to confirm the reservations. Seeing her wide smile and sparkling eyes yesterday had been worth all the effort.

He’d kept the boundaries in place all week, despite their proximity. But it hadn’t been easy. Smelling her sweet flower scent. Watching her laugh with the kids and blink back tears when Shaundra hugged her.

Her family had helped too. Her folks were nice enough, but he sensed that her mother disapproved of him. Maybe it was just that he stood in the way of PJ’s dream, or maybe she still thought he’d tried to sabotage her daughter. He wasn’t sure how much PJ had told them.

The doorbell rang as he was tying his shoes. He traipsed downstairs, figuring PJ would beat him to the door. But then
he remembered she was helping Ryan move into his new home, never mind the hectic week she’d had.

A pimply teenager stood on the porch with a vase full of red roses, his breath fogging up the space between them. A Flowers on Main van was running at the curb where PJ’s car was usually parked.

“Delivery for PJ McKinley.”

A hollow feeling opened up inside. He eyed the flowers with distaste.

“She home?” The kid looked over Cole’s shoulder, a little too eager to see a woman several years his senior.

“No, but I’ll see that she gets them.”

“You sure? I was hoping to talk to her.”

“Get in line.” Cole took the vase and closed the door.

The cloying scent of roses filled his nose. Red roses. Obvious and unoriginal. He eyed a plain white envelope sticking up from the bunch, wondering if they were from firefighter Alec. Was she going out with him then?

And if Alec was so interested, where’d he been all week while PJ scrambled to get her kitchen back in order?

But maybe it was someone else. What did Cole know about her personal life? It wasn’t as if they’d had any heart-to-hearts lately—his idea. Looking at the bouquet, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. If he should’ve thrown aside his fears and taken the plunge.

No. He should be glad she had someone’s eye. She deserved that. She deserved to be cared for and cherished. Deserved flowers for Valentine’s Day or for no reason at all.

He carried the roses through the kitchen into PJ’s room, fighting the urge to dump them into the garbage despite the pep
talk he’d given himself. Her room was empty, as he’d suspected. He set the vase on her bureau and made himself leave the house. He had last night’s dinner—and a whole new worry—to run off.

PJ slipped her feet into the black boots and zipped them up, then gave herself a once-over in the mirror. Her new red dress swept over her form, ending just past midthigh. She adjusted the black belt and added a touch of lipstick.

The restaurant was starting to empty after a busy dinner hour, and Callie and Nate had promised her they had it under control.

She’d been ready to cancel on her sisters after the crazy week, but they’d insisted she needed a night out more than ever now. Maybe they were right, she thought, her gaze catching on the flowers in the trash basket.

When she’d returned from Ryan’s she’d found them on her dresser. Her heart had caught in her chest. It wasn’t thoughts of Alec that had sent hope spiraling through her. And it sure hadn’t been thoughts of Keaton.

But the words on the card were seared into her brain.
I miss you. Please call me, PJ. Please. Love, Keaton

The man she didn’t want wouldn’t leave her alone, and the man she wanted didn’t want her. She definitely needed a girls’ night out.

She grabbed her peacoat and left the room, running smack into Cole in the hall. He caught her by the shoulders.

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

He stepped back, his eyes sweeping over her. They lingered on her legs in a way that made PJ glad she’d chosen the heeled boots.

“You’re headed out,” he said.

She shouldered her purse. “Yeah. Callie and Nate have everything covered. They’ll lock up.”

“You look . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nice.”

She met his eyes. They were the color of moss and twice as soft. “Thanks.”

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Did you, ah, find the flowers?”

“I did.”

“They arrived while you were out this morning . . . I figured you’d see them if I put them on your dresser.”

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t seem to look away. Or think of anything to say. She just breathed, and even that was labored. Her mind went back to the kiss they’d shared, to the feel of his arms, the taste of his lips. Her pulse jumped.