Worth The Effort (The Worth Series Book 4: A Copper Country Romance) (13 page)

H
e pulled onto Sixth Street in Calumet. Nothing but silence in the car since they’d left the site. When he pulled over and parked, he saw Deni’s shoulders drop. She was biting her lip, which he now knew meant she was debating saying something.

He didn’t want to think about how well he knew her in such a short time or how much he’d rather be biting on said lip.

“Um,” she said, and he waited. “Thank you for thinking of this, but I’ve already seen the theater.” He started to open his mouth, but she rambled on. “I mean, it’s beautiful, of course, and I’d love to see it again. It’s just…I thought I should mention that I’ve been in it before. Several times, in fact.” She looked at him almost apologetically.

He eyed the famed Calumet Theater, then looked at her and smiled. “That’s not where we’re going,” he said. He got out of the car, folding his seat forward to let Lucy out on his side.
 

He rounded to her side, but she was already out by the time he got there.

“So where are we going?”

He pointed to the run-down building next to the historic theater. “There.”

“A bar?”

“Not just any bar. Tootie’s.”

“Looks like a neighborhood bar. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But why bring me here on a Monday”—she took a quick look at her watch—“afternoon?”
 

“Just wait.” He led the way and held the door open for her. He had a moment of wondering if the bar would even be open on a Monday just after noon, but yep, it was.

He recognized the woman behind the bar as a Kilpela girl and knew one of her sisters had been in his class at Calumet. Damn if he could remember his classmate’s name, though, let alone that of her younger sister.

He nodded to the old-timer at the end of the bar, already through half a glass of beer. Leading Deni to a stool at the bar, he took in the room, trying to see it from her perspective. The establishment was long and narrow, with Formica tables on one side and the bar running the entire length of the other. At the end of the room, three steps took you up to a smaller area that housed two pool tables and the restrooms.

“This is what you wanted me to see?” Deni asked him as she settled onto the stool. She surveyed the room as he just had, confusion on her face. Typical dive bar, nothing worth seeing here.

He reached to her stool as he sat down on his and turned her so she was facing forward, toward the bar.

“
This
is what I wanted you to see.” He waited while her eyes scanned the woodwork of the bar—nice and well kept, but nothing special—the obligatory rows of bottles of booze, and the mirror above it. She almost turned back to him when she—

“Holy cow,” she said.

“Honey, ’round here it’s ‘holy wah,’” the bartender said to Deni as she made her way to them.
 

“I can’t quite seem to master ‘holy wah,’” Deni said, her eyes still on what Sawyer had brought her here to see. “I don’t have enough Yooper cred to pull that one off yet,” she added.

He watched her eyes scan and examine, her head turning this way and that. Finally she looked at him. “Is that Tiffany glass?”

He smiled. “Yep. Well, the experts think so. No one knows for sure.”

She turned from him and studied the stained-glass hood that ran the length of the bar and was mounted above the mirror on the wall opposite where they sat.

“It’s amazing,” she said in a soft voice.

Something clenched in Sawyer’s gut. Somehow he had known she’d get it. See how special it was.

“The village owns it. Not the bar owners, who have changed hands over the years. It can’t be removed. It has to be kept as part of any deal. The canopy, bar, and bar back area.”

The bartender was looking at it now. “Is that right?” she said. “What can I get you two?”

“Just a Coke,” Sawyer said. Deni nodded her agreement.

Before the Cokes were brought to them, Deni left her stool and walked to the end of the bar. “Would it be okay if I came back and took a closer look?”

“Um… We’re really not supposed to.” Sawyer gave the bartender a “come on, please?” look, one he hadn’t pulled out since he’d been married and in the dog house for one thing or another. Apparently he still had it, because the woman nodded for Deni to go ahead.

“You’re Sawyer Beck, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes. And you’re a Kilpela, but I’m sorry—I can’t remember your first name.”

She seemed proud that he’d gotten that much right. “I’m Linda. I was in Twain’s class.”

“Right. And how’s…your sister?”

Although there were at least five Kilpela girls that he could remember, Linda knew which one he meant. “Sarah. She’s good. She just had a baby.”

“How many does that make for her?”

“Six.”

Not entirely unusual in the U.P., but still. Sawyer couldn’t imagine having six kids. Then the familiar pang hit him as he remembered Molly teasing him that she wanted three boys, just like his mother had and him bantering back that he wanted only girls.

“Good for Sarah,” he said automatically, not really aware anymore. “Tell her I said hi.” He turned away from Linda, took a drink of Coke, and willed himself not to fall down the rabbit hole of regret right now.
 

Instead, he looked at Deni, who was by now examining the glass on the canopy, standing on a stool that must have been under the bar. Linda had backed away to the other end of the bar, as if distancing herself from the proceedings.

She needn’t have worried. Deni revered the glass with the same delicate touch that Sarah probably had with every one of those six babies. Tapping the glass ever so slightly, she put a finger on each side of a corner piece as if judging its density. Then she stuck her head up under the canopy so that all he could see was her lithe body—once again dressed in gray and black work clothes that hung on her.

Her head came back into view, and his breath caught as he saw the look of pure passion on her face.
 

“This is amazing,” she said, looking at him. “I’m not an expert in stained glass or anything. But…but…” She didn’t finish, instead sticking her head back under the canopy and rotating slowly on the step stool.
 

He had the urge to go over and stand next to her, beneath her, lest she lost her balance, but he didn’t. Her tiny movements were surefooted, and although he really would have liked to put his hands on her hips and steady her, Deni was a woman who didn’t need steadying.

And, God, that appealed to him.

And, God, he was dying to see what lie beneath those sweaters and skirts.

Finally, she left her perch and came back to join him at the bar, thanking Linda.
 

“It’s so clever how the plasterwork along the archway mimics the arch of the stage at the theater, right down to the light bulbs and scrollwork.”

She was facing him as she said this, her back to the archway that she spoke of.

He hadn’t even realized she’d noticed it when they’d come in. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to pick up on the tie-in to the architectural design of the Calumet Theater, though he’d planned on pointing it out to her.

“When was the last time you were at the theater?” he asked, as he took a sip.

“Hmmm. Probably three summers ago. Charlie and I saw some old-timer who came in for a concert. We’d never heard of him before, but he was pretty good. The place was packed.”

Sawyer didn’t want to ask who the artist was. No doubt it’d be someone he’d heard of. And then something she said struck him. “Charlie from the firm, Charlie? From just now at the site, Charlie?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered. She’d swiveled in the stool and was now facing the archway, her back to him.

Damn, he wanted to see her face as he asked, “Are you and he…a…thing?”

Body language counted for a lot, and hers had noticeably stiffened, but he wasn’t sure why.
 

She spun back around quickly, stopping herself by catching the rung of his stool, her foot placed between his.

“That kiss you planted on me in front of the Commodore would have ended with a slap to the face instead of me…”

“Participating?” he offered up.

She waved his spot-on description away. She was becoming animated now, a tiny bit riled, and he had to admit he liked that in her. Oh, he liked the clear-headed, logical engineer in her too, but when she was like this, with a flush coming to her face and a heat in her eyes…

“Whatever. And I
certainly
wouldn’t have…umm…initiated anything in your truck on Saturday if I were with Charlie. Or
anyone
, for that matter.”

“I know that,” he said softly. It was true. He didn’t know her that well, but he inherently knew she wouldn’t be making out with him if she were seeing someone. She just wasn’t the cheating type.

She was about to go on, and though he liked her fire, he reached out and took her hand in his, laying them both on her thigh. “I know that. I do. I don’t even know why I said it.”

She calmed at that, her head dropping just a little as she stared at their joined hands. She didn’t pull hers away.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I do know why I asked. I saw the way he looked at you today.”

“How did he look at me?” she asked, but not in a real way. She knew. On some level, she knew.

“He’s got a thing for
you
.” As the words came out of his mouth, he realized he could have easily switched the opening pronoun to “I” and the statement would still be true.

Thank God, Deni didn’t realize it.

“I know,” she said quietly, then lifted her head to look at him. “He’s never said anything. Or made any kind of move. And he’s my best work friend.” She ran her hand through her hair, tossing the mass over her shoulder. The wind on the hill had ruined her neat ponytail, and she’d taken it out of its holder on the way to Calumet.
 

He liked her cute ponytails, but dear lord, it was beautiful loose and flowing like now.

“He’s actually kind of my best friend, period,” she said, pulling his thoughts back.

“But he’d like to be more.”

She nodded, tentative. “I don’t know that for sure. And I’d never do anything to hurt him. I just don’t…you know…feel
that
way about him.”

She quickly glanced at him, then away. He leaned toward her, his thighs bracketing her legs. Letting go of her hand, he placed his on her thigh and squeezed. “What way? What way don’t you feel about Charlie?”

He was baiting her, but not in a cruel way. And even though he’d been the one to call a stop to their night on Saturday—a move he’d kicked himself for all day Sunday—he needed to hear her say it.

“The way I’m starting to feel about you,” she said softly, but firmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

God, so brave. So much braver than he was. He wouldn’t leave her hanging, not for being so honest.

He brought his other hand to her leg and slid both hands down and around to the back of her knees, as if holding her in place. “Me too,” he told her.
 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why’d you bail on Saturday?”

He didn’t think he could adequately explain what seeing her mittens had done to him, but he wanted to try.

And that feeling—wanting to try with a woman, to communicate with her, to make her understand him—was so long dormant that it took a moment for him to recognize it.

“While I was brushing off your car, I got…blindsided by memories. It really shook me, and I knew I couldn’t go home with you.” He moved his hands up a little on the back of her thighs, the wool of her skirt catching ever so slightly on his rough palms. “Much as I wanted to,” he added.

She studied him, much like she’d just studied the stained-glass canopy. Her head turned from one angle to another, as if checking him for cracks and imperfections.

Both of which he had in abundance, but they probably didn’t show much on the outside.

“I did some thinking yesterday,” she said.
 

His thumb, which had been stroking the top of her thigh, stilled. Had he blown this whole thing before it had even started? And though that idea would have been fine just three or four days ago, it now sent a chill through him much like the wind on Quincy Hill had.

“And?”

“I know I said I wanted you to kiss me. In the truck…”

He reluctantly nodded for her to go on. It sounded like regret in her voice. Shit.

“And I was telling myself all the way home from Iron Mountain how it would be so nice to just have a little…
snack
.”

“Snack?” He grinned at her euphemism. Oh, he’d definitely planned on snacking on her. Until he’d seen Molly’s mittens.

“Yes, snack.” She gently swatted his arm, but then kept her hand on his forearm. “Not that way. In the sense of…not a full meal. Nothing heavy. Just a little something to squash the hunger pangs.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he didn’t think he was going to like it.