Wishes at Willow Lake (3 page)

“Good, because I’m starved. I didn’t think about grabbing lunch before I left Atlanta.”

“How long do you plan to stay?”

“Long enough to get the expansion done for you.”

His words tugged at Josie’s heart. He’d come to help her—nothing more. As soon as he was finished adding additional space to Posts and Pages he’d be gone again. It was best to remember that—to shelter her heart from the pain she’d endured the last time he left…years ago and without warning.

He probably had no recollection of the single kiss they’d shared so long ago—the morning before Josh’s accident turned her world on its side and irrevocably changed everything.

An image of Josh with his laughing blue eyes and disheveled blond hair came to mind. She heard his voice, thick and lispy. Was the accident—and his death—the reason Mason had fled?

Mason had always been tall and strong, confident from the word go. He loved the outdoors and using his hands—and sometimes his fists, which tended to get him into trouble. Despite the dyslexia that turned every word—each page of print—into a cryptic message waiting to be deciphered, he’d found a way through the tangle to graduate near the top of their class and move on to a bright future.

A future that didn’t include her.

Mason’s achievements weren’t enough to bring his dad to the high school commencement ceremony, though. Josie still remembered how he’d stood outside the auditorium after diplomas were issued, clutching the certificate and waiting on a man who would never show. She’d often wondered how Mason looked so much like his dad, yet acted nothing like him. It was a mystery to everyone who knew them both. But his mom had been front and center at graduation, her head wrapped in a pink silk scarf to hide a scalp devoid of hair as a result of an ongoing series of radiation treatments.

A stab of pain slit Josie’s heart as she remembered how, by summer’s end the cancer had claimed the warm and caring woman. It was the first—and only—time she’d ever seen Mason cry.

Josie pushed the memory aside. At their graduation, she, like his mom, was proud of Mason. She’d helped him study, and he’d brought her a step closer to fitting in with the others—Ali and Ryder, Hunter, Brody and Catherine—who laughed together like they didn’t have a care in the world. For Josie, small talk had always been torture. She’d rather spend an afternoon curled up with a book than hanging out with her classmates.

Except for Mason. A bit on the quiet side himself, he seemed to understand Josie’s introversion and never questioned her need for space—and books. The two could speak volumes to one another without so much as opening their mouths. At least until the summer of Josh’s accident. That changed Mason—ripping him away from Willow Lake—and any hopes that their easy friendship might blossom into something more.

“The shop—Posts and Pages—must keep you busy.” Mason’s voice broke into her thoughts. “How long have you owned it?”

“Just over three years.”

“Wow…and it’s grown that fast?”

“A mini explosion. God has blessed me, for sure.” A gust of wind blew a flurry of snowflakes across Josie’s cheeks. She lifted a fuzzy wool hat from the pocket of her parka and tugged it over her chilled ears. The lenses of her glasses fogged, distorting her vision as they meandered along the sidewalk. “And you…a cover spread in the most highly-touted architectural magazine. It’s nothing to sneeze at.”

“I’ve found my niche.” Mason shrugged, his shoulder brushing against hers.

Even that slight contact sent shivers up her spine—and not from the cold.

“You could say God has been good to me, too.”

“Atlanta must be a builder’s dream.”

“Sure…there’s plenty of work to be had. But with the business comes hordes of people, traffic, smog…”

“Not exactly paradise, huh?”

“I’d say it’s a few degrees off plumb.”

“Never heard it put quite that way, but you always did have a gift for adding a spin to words.” Josie stuck out her tongue, capturing a fat, sloppy snowflake before her blurred vision caused her to stumble over her own two feet. Mason reached out to catch her, drawing her back to his side. “You OK?”

“Uh huh. Just as clumsy as ever.”

“I’d better hold onto you.” He kept hold of her hand, sheltering it in his. “Maybe a hiatus in Willow Lake—a change of scenery—is just what the doctor ordered.”

Josie’s fingers, clothed in the mitten, curled around his. “Maybe so.”

He tucked both their hands into his jacket pocket. “Time will tell.”

3

“Smells delicious.” Mason sniffed the air as he held the door for Josie. Inside Dom’s Deli, warmth was infused with the rich aroma of pastrami and provolone. The small but homey restaurant was quiet at this late hour and the short, pot-bellied man behind the counter was busy restocking supplies. He glanced up at the sound of the door chime and a smile lit his eyes when he saw Josie standing there.

“Hey, Jo. How’s your day?”

“Better than I deserve. You?”

“The same.” He nodded toward Mason. “Who’s…?” A slight wisp of recognition followed. “Well, I’ll be. Mason Donovan? Is that you?”

“It is.” Mason slipped a hand across the counter. “Dominic Daniels…from over on Lansing Road. I used to deliver newspapers to your house. You and your wife gave me a five dollar tip and a batch of chocolate chip cookies one Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You were always good about putting the paper inside the storm door when it was raining, instead of tossing it at the bottom of the steps. You did things right…took pride in the task. My wife liked you for that. Me, too.” He shook his head. “She’s been gone three years now, and you…”

Mason grinned. “All grown up, right?”

“That’s right.” Dom nodded toward Josie. “What can I get for you…on the house?”

“That’s very kind.” Josie peeled the fuzzy mittens from her hands and stuffed them into her jacket pocket. Next came the hat, unveiling a mass of dark, mussed hair as she leaned toward the deli counter. A quick shake of her head and every strand fell back into place. Overhead fluorescent lights played with the sassy bob, turning it to a silken mass. The scent of her, something light and citrusy, mingled with the heady yeast of rising bread. Her breath fogged the counter glass as she leaned in. “A bowl of your special recipe minestrone soup sounds like just the thing.”

Dom nodded, his scruffy cheeks lifting to a grin. “And you, Mason?”

“Josie recommends your pastrami on rye.”

“Pastrami it is, then. And, on a night like this, you have to try the minestrone, too.” Dom turned to wash his hands in a small sink along the wall, tilting his head to continue the conversation over one meaty shoulder. “Snow’s headed this way, and it’s gonna be a doozie of a storm.”

Josie went up on her tiptoes to lean over the counter. She watched as Dom turned back and began to prepare Mason’s sandwich. “Have they updated the forecast?”

“Just before you walked in.” Dom slathered two slices of rye with spicy-brown mustard and glanced up briefly, winking, before he added a generous mound of thinly-sliced pastrami. “And, like I said, it’s gonna be a doozie. Hope you’re planning on hanging around for a while, Mason.”

“Oh, I am.” Mason glanced at Josie as she stepped back and shrugged from her jacket. He took it from her, crossed the room to a table tucked into a corner. He draped it over a chair, adding his own to the mix before returning to gather two paper cups Dom had set on the counter. “Let’s get some drinks.” He handed one to Josie and nodded toward the soda fountain. “And we’d better dig into your expansion plans now because, with the storm coming, tomorrow’s reserved for sledding and snowball fights.”

****

“Oh my goodness, I’m stuffed.” Josie splayed a hand over her belly, sighing with satisfaction. “Dom doesn’t serve up a bowl of soup—it’s more like an urn.”

“I think it was just the right amount.”

“Sure, if your stomach’s a bottomless cavern.”

“I see you didn’t have any trouble polishing off yours.” Mason wiped his mouth before wadding his napkin and tossing it into his empty soup bowl. “Sandwich was good, too. How long ’til Dom locks up?”

Josie glanced at her watch. “Half an hour. Did you bring a notebook?”

“No, but this will do.” He reached for the throw-away tray liner from their meal. Though the front was covered in print, the back was a blank, white canvas. “Just like old times.”

“You used to sketch like that while we studied…drawings and notes on anything you could get your hands on—desks, skin, the bathroom wall. For a while there I thought you’d end up owning a tattoo parlor.”

“I never went
that
far—at least under your watchful eye. You used to scold me for daydreaming when I should be studying indirect objects and dangling participles.” He placed a hand to his throat and mimed gagging. “It’s a miracle I survived the torture.”

“So dramatic. I nominate you for an Academy Award.” Josie laughed, drinking in his dark eyes. Those eyes had lassoed her from the first time he glanced her way in the school library between shelves of Nora Roberts and James Rollins.
“Are you lost?” She stumbled into him, so engrossed in finding the perfect book to devour that afternoon that she’d become blind to her surroundings.

“Sort of…I need to do some research.” His hair was damp, and she knew he’d come straight from football practice—she’d seen him heading toward the locker room as she crossed the abandoned field toward the library.

“Well, you’d better check your GPS, because you’re a little off target.” She propped her slipping glasses back over the bridge of her nose and wished she didn’t need an extra year of torture with her braces. Four years was more than any red-blooded teenage girl should have to endure. “The reference section is that way, or you can try looking for information on the computer.”

“Would you mind to show me?”

She sighed and propped a hand on her hip. “Come here often, do you?”

“Nope. Never been.”

“Never?” Josie gasped out loud. “I mean…never, ever?”

“So?” He shrugged, his gaze narrowing defensively. “You say that as if I’ve broken the law. It’s just a bunch of books.”

“Just a bunch…Well, that attitude is worse than breaking the law.” Josie tucked the book she’d been looking at beneath her arm and turned from the shelves. She started down the aisle at a brisk pace as he fell into step behind her. “I can’t imagine bypassing the library on my way home every day, never stopping inside. I come here for fun.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and, with one quick tug, spun her back to face him. “Fun? Are you crazy?”

“No.” She cringed, wishing she could retract the statement. What had possessed her to share such information?

His eyes…and the slight curve of his lips. The way he gaped at her had her brain muddled.

“Sorry. But I’m just trying to figure out…” He took the book from her arms and studied the cover. “James…” He paused. “Is it Rollison?”

“Yes.” His hesitation at deciphering the name gave her pause. What was up with that? “I like a little intrigue.” Josie struggled to bring her universe back into focus. “Look, do you want my help or not?”

“It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of need.”

“Good grief.” She rolled her eyes. “Though I sense you’re a hopeless cause, I’ll sacrifice a few minutes of my life to dig you out of the research pit. Just follow me.”

That few minutes had turned into an hour, and the hour into days. Soon, those days segued to months and years as the two forged a friendship that surpassed any typical definition. When he finally kissed her, Josie knew they were destined for more. But that path was torn when Mason up and left Willow Lake the summer after they graduated.

It was best to remember that Mason was a leaving-kind-of-man. He had a life and a business in Atlanta, and he’d return to that life as soon as Posts and Pages finished its reformation. She’d best remember that.

Mason tapped his pencil on the tabletop, drawing her back. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

He tilted his head and gave her an inquisitive look before sliding the paper her way. “About this.”

“Wow.” Josie’s belly fluttered. There was barely space left to write. Somehow, while she’d been reminiscing, he’d managed to sketch an entire rough plan for the Posts and Pages expansion. How long had she been in her stupor? “How did you catch all those details—that need—with just a simple look around the shop? I didn’t even give you a proper tour.”

“Experience has trained me what to look for.”

“That’s amazing.”

“You’ll have to give me a little more than that to go on. What do you think of the layout?”

“It’s perfect.” She leaned in. “Can you do skylights? Natural lighting will cut down on daily operating costs.”

“I can.” He grinned. “Now you’re talking. Give me more.”

“This wall…it will need some built-in shelves and a counter to the side, perhaps room for a magazine turn style. And I’d like to expand the coffee counter.”

“No problem.”

“What about an upgraded sound system. Can you run one throughout the shop and bury the speakers?”

“Of course.” Mason slipped around the table and eased into the booth beside her. “Those are garnishes. Give me meat-and-potato specifics.”

“I…” Josie couldn’t think. A veil slipped over her vision as she inhaled the scent of his aftershave and felt his shoulder brush hers. His nearness was intoxicating. She barely heard the sound of the overhead door chimes that signaled a last-minute customer had entered the deli.

A gust of air carried a burst of snowflakes, chilling the room as boots thumped along the tile floor, closing in on them.

“Well, lookie here.” Stewart Simms’s nasally voice chilled more than the air and Josie stiffened in the seat as he approached. Mason seemed to sense her discomfort as she turned toward the voice, and he slipped an arm protectively across her shoulders. “Mason Donovan and Josephine Parker. Aren’t you two the cozy couple?”

“We’re closed.” Dom called from the behind counter. “Soup line’s down, sandwich fixin’s have been put up for the night.” As if to emphasize, he wiped his hands on his apron before untying it and tossing it into a box beneath the sink.