Wishes at Willow Lake (2 page)

“You won’t have a choice if you end up stroking out.”

Mason sipped, sighed, and rubbed the scruff of beard across his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave—
again
. “Well, Jules, I’m going to let this project simmer for a while.” Mason sipped again, hoping for a different result, and coughed as the acidic flavor burned down his throat. His gaze drifted to the street beyond his office window where a morning rush-hour crowd scurried like ants on an apple pie. An overcast sky hung low, blanketing the pavement in a grayish chill that was sure to dump a deluge of rain before the lunch hour kicked into full gear. Mason sighed. What he wouldn’t give for just one good snowfall. The thought took him back to Willow Lake and its plethora of sloped hills that were perfect for sledding. How many hours had he spent racing Ryder, Hunter, and Brody on the off days that school was canceled? And the snowball wars…

“What would you like me to do?” Jules studied him with a gaze that pierced.

“Get on the phone and tell O’Leary I’ll get back with him in a few weeks. Then run out and buy some creamer—and a stash of decent coffee. The least this office can have is some palatable java.”

Jules ignored the latter comments. “Mr. O’Leary’s leaving the states for a cruise—a world cruise—in just a few days.” He settled into a chair across from Mason and twined his fingers, propping them beneath his bearded chin. “He’ll be gone a full three months.”

“Perfect. Delay this project if you can. Tell him I’ll meet with him when he returns. Maybe by then we can find a way—a legal and practical way—around his outrageous requests.”

“Whatever you say, boss. I’ll get on the horn to him right away.”

“Thanks.” Mason scratched his head as his gaze settled on the most recent edition of
Homes Today
magazine, which Jules had framed and hung on Mason’s office wall. Since the feature article had debuted, every yahoo on the East Coast had come out of the woodwork to hound him about projects they’d been dreaming of for years. He’d been headlined as
“Construction’s Crusader
…
Merging Innovation with Tradition”
giving readers the impression that he was some kind of miracle worker when it came to lumber and nails.

Years of experience and a passion for all things architectural had made Mason good…even great. But, he was no miracle worker. He’d made his share of mistakes…fought his own set of bad memories and failures along the trail to this sudden and completely unexpected bout of notoriety.

Josie Parker could attest to that. She was his greatest failure…with a capital F. He’d had a huge thing for her in high school…a crush that ate at him like seven-year locusts on a crop of winter wheat. But she was level-headed and tame, with that pretty, freckle-dusted nose of hers always tucked deep into a book. He’d longed to tug her glasses from those alluring, almond-shaped blue eyes and kiss her breathless. But she’d never given him the time of day—aside from the hours she tutored him through Junior Lit. and English Composition their senior year. During those sessions she was all business…except for one delicious moment in time that he’d long-since banished from his mind.
Don’t go there, Mace. Don’t even think about it.

The sudden flashback caused his nerve-endings to sizzle and pop.

Mason reminded himself if it weren’t for Josie’s help, he’d have failed the class. And he’d have never gained the confidence he needed to make it through college and an apprenticeship at one of the most prestigious companies in North America before branching out to start his own construction firm. The framed certificates on his office wall were a testament to all he’d accomplished over the past decade. So, in part, he owed his success to her.

Why had he ever let down his guard and kissed her? The memory made his jaw twitch and his cheeks flare. Despite the fact that he and Josie had spent hours together each week, they didn’t even exist in the same universe. What was he thinking to imagine their relationship could ever be anything more than an easy, casual friendship? How could the cutest bookworm in Willow Lake fall for someone like him—a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who struggled with dyslexia?
You’re not a kid anymore. And you’ve bulldozed a tunnel to the other side of that disability—it no longer defines you.

Mason lifted his coffee cup as the office phone shrilled. He grabbed the receiver with his free hand and greeted the caller with a gruff, curt, “Donovan Construction.”

“Mason…is that you?” The lilting female voice was vaguely familiar.

“Yes, this is Mason Donovan.” He tilted the cup to his mouth and tossed back what remained of the coffee with a grimace.

“Great…good…” A slight pause followed, then only the sound of a light violin melody floating over the line.

“Hello?” Had she put him on hold? He picked up the carpenter’s pencil once more and tapped the lead against an appointment blotter that blanketed his cluttered desk. “Are you there?”

A heavy sigh and then an anemic, “Yes, um...”

“Who is this?” His temper flaring, Mason crushed the cup, tossed it into an already-overflowing trash can beside his desk and leaned back in the chair, propping his feet firmly on his cluttered desk. He wasn’t in the mood for games. If this was another nutcase chasing a pipe-dream—

“This is Josie.”

“Parker?” He sputtered and nearly toppled back from the chair. The pencil slipped from his hand. “Josie Parker?”

“Yes.” The line went silent once more, except for the light sound of her drawing a breath. Mason pictured Josie draped in cut-off shorts and a peach-colored T-shirt on a beach towel along sun-kissed grass at the shores of Willow Lake, dark hair skimming eyes the color of a clear summer sky as she devoured a dog-eared paperback. He wondered if she still had the tiny butterfly tattoo, penned as a dare on her eighteenth birthday, flitting delicately across the inside of one sleek ankle. “I know it’s been a long time, but,”—her voice was low, breathy, as she continued—“I need you, Mason. Can you come home to Willow Lake?”

2

“This place has potential.” Mason leaned against the coffee counter and scanned the main room of Posts and Pages. The magazine cover photo hadn’t done justice to his good looks. He was taller than Josie remembered, fuller. In high school, his wiry build was certainly appealing. But now…she struggled to stay tuned to his words as his eyes, like two pieces of warm chocolate candy, skimmed over her. “But, right now, it’s a disaster just waiting to happen.”

“Well, don’t hold back.” Josie crossed her arms, scorched by his brusque analysis. Maybe asking him to come was a mistake. After all, he was a big-time, famous builder, and she was just a humble shop owner, trying to grow her independent bookstore. Posts and Pages wasn’t even part of a chain—and, quite frankly, she liked it that way. The business was respectable and friendly, and the patrons who frequented felt welcome. But maybe that wasn’t enough for Mason. He seemed on edge, his clenched jaw shadowed with stubble that matched the color of his russet hair. Josie’s shoulders stiffened and her tone was tight and cautious. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Hey,
you
called
me
for help, not the other way around.” Mason sipped coffee, rich with hazelnut cream, from the demitasse cup she’d handed him. The fine china was swallowed by his large, callused hands. “All I’m saying is Posts and Pages has a great foundation. It’s just overgrown its boundaries.”

The swelling lump in Josie’s throat distorted her words. “I’m completely aware of that. That’s why I called you.”

“I see. Coffee’s good, though.” He sighed appreciatively, though his gaze seemed to darken. “Really,
really
good.”

“At least I have that going for me.” Josie glanced through the oversized shop-front picture window into the night. A full moon, veiled in clouds heavy with snow, cast a milky glow over Magnolia Street. Like a giant saltshaker, the sky had sprinkled flakes throughout the day with a promise of more to come. If the temperature held, the ground was liable to see a generous blanket of the white stuff by morning. She should have been on her way home half an hour ago, but Mason’s arrival just as she was locking up the shop was a surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected him to arrive the very same day as her distress call. “Aren’t you swamped with business now? How did you juggle your schedule to get here so fast, Mason?”

“Business is good, but my assistant is, too. He can handle things for a while, and what he can’t manage, I’ll clean up online. Besides, I wanted to beat the storm.” He nodded toward the window as well, his gaze lingering on the overcast sky. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a good snow.”

“You’ve been in Atlanta the entire time—I mean since you left here after we graduated?”

“Yes.” He pushed off the counter and took a few steps toward Josie. The clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave blended with earthy pine from a jar candle that had been burning along the back counter. “And, you?”

“I spent a little time in Nashville at MTSU while I earned dual degrees in library science and marketing.”

“Dual, huh?” His gaze returned to her and his lips curled into a grin. “You always did love studying…and books.”

“But I missed it here too much to stay away for long. The lake…the willows…they called to me. So, after I graduated, I came back. You know I always had a dream…”

“Yes, to own your own bookstore.” He nodded, splaying one hand over his muscled chest. “You certainly have made
that
dream come true.”

“And you…” Her voice faltered as she pictured him with sawdust in his hair, a tool belt slung low across his hips as he helped Ali’s dad build a new deck at the inn the summer of their senior year. She’d spent a lot of time with Ali and Josh, swimming in the lake. And the sun spilling over Mason’s tanned shoulders as she watched him work from the shore where she lay sunning, nearly took her breath away. “You wanted to become a builder?”

“That was one of my dreams, yes.”

“Just one of them…you have others?”

“Oh, I have a few I’m still exploring.” A smile tugged at his lips. “But they’re better saved for another day.”

****

She was making him crazy.

Mason averted his gaze from Josie—and her huge, captivating blue eyes—and focused on the view of moonlit Magnolia Street from the display window of Posts and Pages. His heart thumped like the steady beat of war drums, and he wondered how she didn’t hear it. Time had changed some things—lots of things—but one thing that remained constant was his attraction to Josie.

Like a fly to sweet tea. He couldn’t help himself. He thought when he left Willow Lake that he’d washed his hands of her for good, but he’d only been fooling himself. Seeing her again ignited the burn like a breeze fanning a smoldering brush fire in his gut. Casting a sideward glance, he drank her in. Long, lean legs tucked into jeans that hugged like a glove made just for her, capped by a baby-blue sweater that accentuated eyes magnified by flirty wire-rimmed glasses. Her scent…a soft, subtle citrus…teased.

He was a goner again, for sure.

“How about dinner?” He set his empty coffee cup on the counter as he eased in closer to her. The braces he remembered were gone, and her teeth, straight and white as the snow that dusted Magnolia Street, were framed by glossed lips ripe for his kiss. He’d sampled them once, and the thought chased the chill from his bones. Josie studied him like one of her periodicals—she probably didn’t even remember that long-ago morning when the sun warmed her cheeks to a bright, pink glow as he took the paperback from her hands and kissed her. He shook off the disappointment and went on. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes…but don’t you have to get back to Atlanta soon? Shouldn’t we talk business? I’ll give you a tour.”

He drew her back. “There’s plenty of time for that. I’ll be staying put for a while. I phoned ahead to Ali and booked a room at the inn. She’ll hold it for me until I get there. Ali and Ryder…and a baby to boot.” He whistled softly through his teeth. “Who would have thought…?”

“I know.” Josie reached for her parka and tugged it on, zipping it before she slipped the leather strap of a small, tan purse over one shoulder. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“Not as crazy as your phone call—out of the blue—and me coming back here.” He shook his head, still not believing the way he’d packed a duffel bag, tossed a few necessities into his SUV, and phoned Jules to tell him he was right—a short hiatus was in order and Mason had decided to grab it with both hands. Jules had chuckled and promised to hold down the fort for a few weeks or longer, if necessary. Mason felt as if he was dreaming. “I never thought…not in a million years.”

“Dom’s Deli—across the street—is open late, and he makes a to-die-for pastrami on rye.” Josie slipped on a pair of fuzzy pink mittens. “Do you want to head that way and talk?”

“Sure.” Mason longed to reach for her hand and shelter her delicate fingers through the bubblegum-pink mittens. He swallowed hard. “If we’re lucky, we’ll see a few snowflakes along the way.”

“Not exactly the best time to try to expand Posts and Pages, is it?”

“No problem.” Mason slipped through the entry door, the chill of night nipping at his face and slithering down his neck as Josie turned to lock up. “I’m in no hurry. It might present a challenge, but yours is one dream I
can
make work.”

****

Josie tugged the collar of her jacket tight and pulled the zipper to her chin. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plunged firmly below freezing and a slight breeze nipped at her ears as it nudged storm clouds across the sky.

“Do you want me to drive?” Mason’s voice chased the chill from her bones like a warm cup of apple cider. He lifted his hand from his jeans pocket, jangling a ring of keys. “I’m parked right over there.”

“No need.” Josie nodded down the road. “The deli’s just across the street.” She motioned to the glow of lights beneath a red-and-white-striped awning. “Dom will keep the oil burning at least another hour or so.”