The Wishing Season (24 page)

She had to stop this. “I—I should go.”

He slowly stepped aside, giving her a wistful smile. “Yeah, well . . . you don’t want to be late.”

“See you later.”

“Bye.”

She brushed past him and out the back door, not bothering with her coat. She was already hot enough to heat a house.

Chapter Thirty-One

F
EBRUARY DRAGGED INTO
M
ARCH
. T
HE RESTAURANT WAS
so slow, PJ was down to a skeleton crew. She feared her employees wouldn’t hang around until tourist season arrived. Her best server had already quit, needing more hours. PJ couldn’t blame her.

In early March another letter arrived from Keaton. This time she skipped the theatrics and threw the envelope in the trash. If he didn’t hear from her, eventually he’d give up and throw his energies into his marriage. Wouldn’t he?

In mid-March, PJ finally agreed to a date with Alec. She might as well—Cole showed no signs of interest. Each tight smile and polite reply widened the crack in her heart.

Alec took her to a movie at the Rialto, then they finished the night at Cappy’s, where they watched the first of the March Madness games. He was a sports enthusiast and nice enough. If his eyes weren’t quite the right shade of green, if he was missing a cleft in his chin, if he was a little too lanky, that wasn’t his fault.

So when he asked her out again the next weekend, she agreed.

Cole delivered a quick left jab to the boxing bag, followed by a right cross. He inhaled the dank shed air and exhaled heavily, his breath fogging in front of him.

He couldn’t believe PJ was out with that guy again. What did this Alec have that was so appealing? So he was a firefighter. He had weenie arms and a cowlick that stuck up high enough to perch a crow.

He wondered what they were doing now. Where he’d taken her. If the creep was going to help himself to a good-night kiss when he walked her to the door.

He thought he heard a car in the alley and stopped, listening.

The sound of the motor grew louder. He caught the swinging bag between his gloves, stopping the rhythmic creak. The car’s engine faded as it passed.

He delivered another cross punch, imagining Alec’s head as the recipient, then followed with a left jab just for the fun of it. He should finish up here. It wasn’t taking his mind off her anyway, and he sure didn’t want to witness whatever would happen on the porch.

He pulled his gloves off and went inside, looking for another distraction. The kids usually hung around watching TV or playing Ping-Pong on Sunday nights, but tonight Zac and Shaundra were out, and Josh had turned in early.

After a quick shower Cole dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He decided to call Lizzy, but he got voicemail and didn’t leave a message. That was happening a lot lately. Must be busy with her new boyfriend—she seemed pretty infatuated with him. Or maybe she was sinking into herself the way she did when she was troubled. Maybe he should visit her again. But he
couldn’t drive that far without staying overnight. And besides, she’d be coming here to live in just a month. He was counting the days.

He eased back on his sofa and flipped on the TV. Notre Dame was playing Xavier in the second round. The basketball game was ticking toward its final minutes, but Cole was watching the clock more closely than the TV.

What were they doing on a Sunday night anyway? The sidewalks rolled up at five. Maybe he’d taken her to Louisville or Cincinnati. Or maybe he’d taken her to his house.

Ah, heck no.

He jumped up from the couch and paced the living room, tormented by thoughts of Alec’s hands in places they had no right being. She’d worn her fitted jeans tonight with the tall black boots that made her legs go on forever. He’d seen them leaving, had seen Alec tuck her into the passenger side of his crappy Nissan.

So help him, if he touched her . . .

Maybe she wanted him to touch her. Maybe she wanted his lips on hers just the way Cole’s had been. The thought stopped him in his tracks. She was going out with him, after all. It was their second or third date. He’d probably kissed her already. He clenched his jaw.

And here you stand, wishing it were you.

A car’s engine sounded outside, perking his ears. He muted the game in time to hear the engine shut off. A car door slammed, then a moment later another. Finally. He checked the time. Ten forty-seven.

He looked toward the window. No. He was not going to
watch. If Alec touched her, he’d come undone and for what? Something he could never have?

He unmuted the TV and forced himself to perch on the recliner, his elbows digging into his knees. A controversial call was being replayed, but Cole couldn’t focus enough to figure it out. Not with Alec and PJ on the porch, practically right under his window, doing God knew what. He muted the game again and listened for the car to start, knowing it was too soon but hoping anyway.

What was it about the woman that had gotten so deeply under his skin? He couldn’t seem to get her off his mind for ten seconds straight. He felt her eyes on him sometimes, and it was all he could do to keep from grabbing her and pulling her into his arms. Lately when he talked to her in passing, a look of hurt would come over her face, making her eyes dim. Pain unfurled in his chest at the thought.

He didn’t want to be the one hurting her. He wanted to be the one making her smile. The one making her laugh. The one making her eyes sparkle.

Instead he was upstairs alone while someone else did those things. What was taking so flipping long anyway? He tossed the remote and paced the living room, entertaining thoughts of going outside and interrupting whatever was happening on the porch. But what excuse could he have for going outside so late?

Besides, if PJ wanted this, wanted Alec, who was he to stand in her way? The woman had a right to go out with whomever she wanted, to kiss whomever she wanted.

Several long minutes later, the car started up.
Finally.
Cole’s breath left in a rush. He crashed on the sofa, feeling all his energy drain away. The game had ended, and the Notre Dame coach was being interviewed.

Cole turned off the TV and listened for sounds below, but all was quiet. Maybe she’d headed to bed. The front door slammed shut and footsteps sounded on the stairs. He recognized the every-other-stair leap of Zac. A door shut down the hall.

A few minutes later Shaundra came in, barely making curfew, and chatted with him awhile before retiring to her room.

He should get to bed. He had to be up early, had a dozen windows to install tomorrow, and it was going to take his crew all day. But as tired as his body felt, his mind was still spinning with thoughts of PJ.

His eyes drifted across the room to the threshold where they’d stood almost two months ago. Two months, and he could still remember the smell of her skin, the feel of her silky hair, the taste of her sweet lips. His heart hammered at the memory. How could he miss something so badly that he’d only had once?

He inhaled deeply, a new smell catching his attention. Chocolate. She was baking. The restaurant was closed the next three days, so there could be only one reason for her late-night baking: she was stressed. He wondered if things had gone badly with Alec tonight. The thought lifted him, and he immediately chided himself.

He inhaled again. Just breathing in her chocolate masterpiece made him feel closer to her.

But not close enough. He closed his eyes and imagined her in the kitchen, her long legs making quick work of the space, her capable hands moving quickly and efficiently. An apron would be hugging her slim waist, and she’d have thrown her hair up in a messy knot, exposing the long column of her neck.

He squeezed the pillow in his fist. Muted sounds filtered up from the kitchen. She was probably taking the cake from the
oven. She’d wait until morning to frost it, then she’d probably give it away.

She was probably cleaning up now. He wondered if she felt better. If baking had eased her mind. He wanted to go ask. He wanted to see her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. His body ached with the want.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he tossed the pillow aside and left the room. His feet took the stairs quickly, driven by his need. He padded through the darkened dining room and pushed open the kitchen door.

A batch of cupcakes cooled on a wire rack, but that wasn’t what held his attention. PJ’s back was to him. He’d been right about the apron, wrong about her hair. It flowed down her back in a cascade of brown silk, begging to be touched.

She hand-dried a bowl and placed it on a high shelf, her long, lean body stretching, then dried her hands on the dish towel. She flipped off the lights, reached for the tie of her apron, and pivoted to the oven, where a lone dim bulb burned.

At the sight of him in the doorway, she stopped short.

PJ pressed her hand to her chest and sank back against the counter. “Cole.”

What was he doing in here? The question caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. She felt the heat of his gaze from across the room. Those green eyes pulled her in and held her captive.

A shadow flickered across his jaw as his eyes burned into her. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched at the husky timbre of his voice. At the words.

He advanced slowly, purposefully. His eyes, locked on hers, were filled with longing.

“Is that so?” Was that her breathy voice? She gripped the edge of the counter before she could do something stupid like pulling him into her arms and kissing his neck.

“Yeah, that’s so.”

He stopped when he was close enough to make her body hum, and cradled her face in his hands. Then his lips were on hers. Not slow like last time, but deliberate, full of want.

Finally.

PJ slipped her arms around his broad shoulders, sinking her fingers into his hair. Finally.

This was what she wanted. Not Alec. Not Keaton. Just Cole.

He tasted faintly of mint. His clean, manly smell filled her lungs. His shirt was as soft as butter under her roving hands, contrasting pleasantly with the iron strength just beneath.

He ended the kiss.

A whimper escaped her throat.

Holding her eyes, he pulled the apron over her head and lifted her easily onto the counter, making them even. And then his lips were on hers again, his arms pulling her closer.

Her whole body sighed into him. The stubble of his jaw scratched the softness of her palm. The heat of his hands burned through her thin sweater. The softness of his lips opened her cracked heart all the way, filling it with something heady and delicious.

He ended the kiss, and his eyes opened lazily. Their breaths
came raggedly. A battle waged inside between her heart and ribs. She couldn’t bring herself to care who won.

Now that he was a few inches away, her brain neurons stirred to life. What had happened? What had changed? Why was he kissing her now like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet when two months ago he’d shut her down cold? She was reluctant to ask, but needed to know this wouldn’t end like last time, with an apology, rejection, and weeks of heartache.

Her hand slipped down his neck and rested there. “I—I thought this was a bad idea.”

His fingers burrowed into the hair at her nape, and his thumb moved along her jaw. Every cell purred to life.

“I can’t seem to help myself.”

She wanted to close the three-inch gap, but his rejection was still fresh in her mind. Her heart couldn’t take another apology. Another two months of distance.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, still damp and slightly swollen. So soft.

“Why are you going out with Alec?”

“I’m not.”

“He just brought you home.”

“I told him I couldn’t go out with him again.”

His eyes closed briefly. “Why not?”

Did she dare put her heart on the line? She wanted this more than she could say, more than she could believe. He’d wormed his way into her heart, quickly, deeply. But some things were worth the risk.

“He’s not you.”

Something flared in his eyes. He drank her in, scrolling her face, his gaze stopping on her lips.