“I’m sure Sophie’s place needed repairs, what with it being right on the ocean and all.”
He glanced at the trees he’d already repaired, the perfectly manicured lawn, the weedless flowerbeds. “A little. Do you have a lot left to do? I can come up—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I have a friend helping.” Her tone took on the edge of vagueness, and curiosity exploded inside Jared.
“A friend? What kind of friend?”
“A man from the senior center. We have similar interests.”
Jared chuckled. “I bet you do.”
“Jared, don’t go judging.”
“I’m not judging, Mom. I haven’t even met the guy.” The last thing he needed was an argument about his mother’s love life. “Well, I just thought I’d call and check in. See how you’re doing.” He got off his bike and hung the helmet from the handlebars. “Love you, Mom.”
He caught Millie’s eye as his mom repeated the sentiment and he hung up. “Hey,” he said, remaining frozen near the house entrance while she hovered in the driveway just beyond the garage.
She cocked her head to the side, clearly working through something confusing in her mind. He stuck his hands in his pockets and waited.
“You call your mom?”
He barely caught himself from rolling his eyes. He collected the plastic containers of baked beans and potato salad from his saddlebags, moved up the steps, and opened the door that led to the kitchen. “Yes. Don’t you?”
He left her standing in the driveway, unsure if she’d follow, though every cell in his body hoped she would. He didn’t hear the back door slam like it usually did, and within seconds, Millie appeared in the kitchen.
“You want something to drink?” He opened the fridge and extracted a couple bottles of water. He set one on the counter, and she picked it up but didn’t open it.
“I don’t call my mom very often.” Her voice got lost in the cavernous kitchen.
“Why not?” Jared drank from his bottle without removing his eyes from her. He didn’t want to miss anything—a body tic, a facial expression, nothing.
She smoothed her patterned shirt, though it lay perfectly flat against her stomach. Her legs seemed extra long in her skin-tight jeans, and her toes peeked out from a flirty pair of sandals.
“Not much to say.” Millie shrugged and twisted the lid from her water. “My sister calls every week though.”
“Like clockwork,” he said, his lips pulling up though he tried to keep them straight. “Compulsiveness must run in the family.”
Millie’s eyes widened for half a heartbeat before her laughter filled the house. Jared wanted her there every day, all night, forever. He joined her, though his chuckle sounded too nervous and too low among her feminine giggles.
How did she affect him so strongly in such a short time? He hadn’t thought about forever for a long time. Even with Carla, he was never able to get up the nerve to ask her to marry him. Even after they’d been together for three years. Even after he’d bought that blasted ring.
To hide whatever might show on his face, he turned to the pantry. “Want to stay for dinner?” He didn’t have much, but he could grill chicken to go with the copious amounts of food Polly had sent home with him.
“You cook too?”
“There’s no limit to my talents,” he joked, finally turning back to her. The connection between them turned electric, and he fought the urge to cross the room and kiss her, cherish her, love her.
She was battling her own desires too, if the storm in her eyes meant what he thought it did.
“I can’t,” she said, shuttering the emotion behind a rejection. “Thanks for the water though.” She turned toward the door.
“Why not?” he asked. “Got big plans at home tonight?”
“No,” she said without breaking stride. “I just can’t stay.” She disappeared, leaving Jared alone in his sterile kitchen. He wondered what had happened to Millie Larson that caused her to build such strong, impenetrable walls. He wondered what he’d have to do to tear them down, and if he had the energy to do so.
He thought of Polly’s jungle yard—which she had hired him to tame and then maintain—and all the hours and time and patience he’d have to put into it to get it to be beautiful. With certain clarity, he had his answer. The wonderful things in life took work. They took time, and patience, and careful cultivation, even when things got difficult.
And if he wanted a future with Millie—which he did—he’d find a away through her protections, find what really beat against her heart, find out what a future together with her could be like.
* * *
Millie slept restlessly Sunday night after hanging up with Desi. Her sister, ever the perceptive sibling, had heard the “new inflection” in Millie’s voice after only a few seconds of conversation.
Millie had told her about “her annoying new neighbor,” conveniently leaving out the handsome, daredevil descriptions. And the whole kiss thing. But Desi had pried them from her.
Older sisters, Millie thought as she turned over. But she adored Desi, adored that her sister knew something was different, adored that she had someone objective to talk to about Jared.
She’d spoken the truth: She didn’t know how she felt about him. She didn’t know if there could be a future with him. She didn’t know if she could allow a future with him. She simply didn’t know.
“Don’t close any doors,” Desi had said, and Millie fell asleep with that advice in her head. She woke with it too. Showered, brewed her orange blossom tea, and sat on her balcony. Watched Jared emerge from the ocean waves as she sipped her tea, his black wetsuit enunciating every tight muscle in his chest and arms.
Just before she opened the front door to go to her shop, she took a long moment to blink, repeating the words one more time. Don’t close any doors.
“Morning,” she said, settling on the steps next to Jared.
“I can’t believe I left this place and vowed never to come back.” He watched the waves roll in, the winter sunlight making the peaks glint like diamonds.
“Why is that?” She hunched her knees closer to her body and wrapped her arms around them.
“Why’s what?”
“Why’d you leave and vow never to come back?”
Jared’s face seemed to hollow; his expression turned into stone. “My father wasn’t a kind man. We fought a lot, and when I got tired of being his punching bag I left.” He exhaled heavily as he stood. “I was a coward.” He finally looked at her, and standing with the sun streaming over him like a halo, he looked like a surfing god, about to make all her dreams come true.
He extended his hand to her, and she took it so he could help her stand. “I don’t think you’re a coward.” She kept her fingers glued to his as they moved toward her car.
“I left my younger sister and my mother here alone with him.” He cut her a hard glance. “What does that make me?”
Millie didn’t know, so she didn’t answer. By the time they arrived at her shop, the mood had lightened. They set about unloading all the supplies they’d purchased on Friday night, and then Jared stood in the middle of her showroom, surveying the walls.
“I’ll get the molding and baseboards off,” he said. “They’ll need to be sanded and painted. Think you can do that?”
“White, right?”
“Yeah. Then I’ll start on the walls.” He bent to pick up a hammer, and Millie sat at the counter to watch him work. She probably shouldn’t have enjoyed his muscles, his expertise, or his company quite so much. But he moved with precision, never second-guessing what needed to be done to get that stubborn piece of baseboard loose. His steadiness became apparent as he taped the ceiling, without ever needing to readjust a single strip.
She thought about Brady and how he’d remodeled their kitchen in Seattle. She hadn’t lifted a finger then either, but Brady wanted her in the room. Just to talk to. Bounce ideas off of. Just to have her nearby.
Jared whistled while he worked, o
ccasionally asking her a question about some element of the design he’d come up with.
“Shouldn’t we prime the walls?” she asked as he opened the can of gray paint.
“No,” he said. “They don’t need it.”
“Are you sure?”
He spared her a glance before examining the wall. He looked at it for less than a second. “I’m sure.”
Millie harrumphed silently, though she remembered reading something about primer. “Should I take off this outlet cover?”
Jared paused in the stirring of the paint. “I got them all.”
“Not this one.” Millie pointed to the wall where a cover still lingered.
“That’s the cable jack,” he said. “It doesn’t come off. We’ll tape around it.” He reached for the tape and threw it toward her. A little too hard, in Millie’s estimation. She flinched as it bounced a good five feet away and rolled toward the sewing room.
“I guess I’ll do that.” She retrieved the tape, and though she had to make several adjustments, she managed to get it ready.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, taking in the color Jared had started slathering on the walls. “It’s too dark.”
Jared chuckled as he reloaded his roller. “It’ll dry lighter, sweetheart. Don’t worry. It’s going to look perfect.”
“How do you know it’s going to dry lighter?” Millie hated the darkness her showroom suddenly harbored. Her customers wouldn’t like it either.
“It’s not the first time I’ve painted a room,” Jared said. “And we have the windows covered, and everything stripped. Trust me. It’s going to be beautiful.”
He’d hit a vein, and he didn’t even know it. Because she didn’t trust him.
“What—?”
“If you ask me one more question….” Jared shook his head, fire leaping from his eyes. “I don’t need to be micromanaged.”
“I am not micromanaging you.”
“Can you go get us some lunch or something? Sand the baseboards. Something.”
“Am I bothering you?” The squeaky quality in her voice grated against her own eardrums.
“Yes.” The way he continued to roll the paint on the wall, up and down, up and down, up and down, rubbed like sandpaper against her nerves.
“Fine. I’ll go get lunch.” She stomped from the shop, uncaring that her once-perfect purple door slammed behind her. She cringed as she remembered her sister’s words. Well, the door had already closed, and she wasn’t going back in there without a peace offering.
A salty, fried, greasy peace offering.
* * *
“Turkey Panini with fries and one large chicken chop salad. To go.” Diana set the bag of food on the table in front of Millie. “I’ve never seen you eat French fries, Mills.”
“I hired someone to paint my shop. It’s for him.”
“Uh-huh.” Diana slid into the booth opposite Millie. “And how is Jared Newton?”
Millie channeled Jared and the way he didn’t seem fazed by anything. “He’s fine. Great. A heckuva painter.”
Diana’s right eyebrow rose at the same time her lips did. “I’m sure he is.” She tapped the table a couple of times. “You two have fun in Arcata?”
“If spending money I don’t have on paint and curtains is considered fun, then yes.”
Diana laughed, the sound carefree and joyous. Millie remembered when she used to laugh like that. Sure, she knew Diana’s life wasn’t perfect. She’d been her friend’s main source of comfort when her last boyfriend had broken up with her and when her mom had passed away a year ago, leaving Diana alone in Redwood Bay. Still, she envied her friend’s ability to laugh and be merry.
Millie’s throat clogged with emotion she couldn’t swallow away. She traced the laugh lines around Diana’s eyes, knowing which ones also crinkled when she was about to cry, which ones deepened when she tried to hold her tongue, which ones disappeared when Diana was took on the role of comforter.
Those lines disappeared as Diana placed her dry-as-flour hand over Millie’s. “He seems like a nice man.”
A rush of annoyance filled Millie. “I guess.” Sure, Jared seemed like a lot of things just by looking. Handsome. Carefree. Kind. Helpful. Generous.
As the list extended, Millie’s heart hummed harder, especially on the items that it knew to be true. He was handsome. Ha-hum.
And generous with his time and talents. One could even say he was helpful.
Ha-hum. Ha-hum.
Millie squeezed the top of the bag to get her heart to stop spelling out Jared’s desirable qualities. He had some flaws too.
“Tell him hello from me,” Diana said, standing as a group entered the diner. “And Millie? Give him a chance. He’s had it rougher than most.” She left Millie with the hint of her perfume and those haunting words.
Sure, Jared had said his father wasn’t kind and that he hit him. But, as Millie picked up the bag of food and started back to the shop, she wondered what else Jared had weathered. She wondered if she could trust him with her first husband’s death, or if he’d run away again if he didn’t want to deal with her baggage.
She shook her head as the purple door came into view. She wasn’t ready to talk about Brady, and she wasn’t ready for Jared’s possible reaction to discovering she’d been married before. He’d become less interested in her when he found out. Like she was still in love with her husband, would still be with him if he hadn’t died.
Millie paused on the threshold of her shop, her pulse galloping, the hoof-beats deafening. Was she still in love with Brady?
Of course I am, she thought. I will always love him.
She hipped open the door to the sight of Jared on a footstool, stretching that tantalizing torso toward a patch of wall near the ceiling.
But does that mean I can’t love someone else?
Once again, she didn’t know the answer to that question.
She scurried through the showroom to the counter, where the picture of her and Brady stood. She set the food down and picked up the photo. Taken on their honeymoon in Yellowstone National Park, Millie could still feel his arms around her, still smell the sulfur from the hot springs.
Yes, she’d loved him. Completely. Deeply. Despite his flaws, his quirks, his risky hobbies.
“Who’s that?” Jared’s voice jarred her from her jaunt down memory lane.
She slammed the picture frame face-down on the counter. “No one. I got you your favorite.” She smiled, but it stretched wrong. “French fries, hot.” She plucked his food from the bag and set it in front of him, her sharp glance edgy enough to keep him from insisting she tell him about the dark-haired man she’d once cherished.
Chapter Nine
No one, his left foot. Jared wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t made it into law school on his good looks and popularity.
The man in that picture was definitely someone. Someone Millie didn’t want to talk about. Which was fine with Jared, as long as that someone didn’t come back into town and sweep her attention away from him.
He chewed on a fry, his thoughts swirling. He shouldn’t care if someone else came along. Maybe they’d be able to go five minutes without arguing. He couldn’t seem to accomplish that.
“I’ll finish that wall, and then I have to go,” he said. “I promised Polly I’d get to her yard today.”
Millie paused mid-chew, her deep eyes capturing his. “Do you need my car?”
Jared finished his Panini and balled up the wrapper, creating a sound that felt like his heart being crunched. “No. Pols is going to pick me up at two.” He peered at her, trying to find the signs of her emotion. A tiny line appeared between her eyebrows; she swallowed too fast and nearly coughed; she took long seconds to suck down several gulps of soda.
He’d been trained to find cracks in someone’s exterior, and exploit them. He dismissed his time in the courtroom. He didn’t want to be that man anymore. The one constantly looking for weaknesses, who didn’t trust, couldn’t act on what he wanted.
/> “Is that okay?” He hooked his pinky around hers, gently pulling her hand toward him until it rested in his lap.
“Sure.” The squeaky quality of her voice gave away everything. “I’ll work on creating some new gowns.”
“You could spray paint those baseboards like you said you would.” He smirked as he said it, hoping she’d understand that he didn’t really care if she did anything with the baseboards.
She tried to pull her hand away, but Jared kept it in his, guiding it up to his chest. He flattened her palm against his shirt, right over his heart. “Feel that?”
He didn’t have to hold her hand in place; she kept it there, kept her gaze on his, kept steadily breathing in and out, in and out.
“What am I supposed to feel?” Her words whispered between them, floating like tufts of cotton on a summer breeze.
“My heart.” He matched his tone to hers. The atmosphere around them, with the slightly stormy wall, felt serene. Jared thought of a quiet weekend in Denver, where the sky had been this color of gray just before the snow drifted down. He’d felt so content then, just as he did now with Millie’s palm pressing against his pulse.
“What does it tell you?” he asked.
“Hearts don’t talk.” Millie dropped her hand, letting it drift back to her soda. “I’ll do the baseboards while you’re gone.” Her eyes darted around the room, settling everywhere but on him. “Maybe you should show me how to do it before you go.”
Jared couldn’t help the chuckle that touched his tongue. “Definitely. It’s just point and spray.” He stood and led her down the hall and out to the parking lot, where he’d deposited all the baseboards. They appeared even duller under the mid-day sun.
“So you’ll need to sand them a bit,” he said. “That will give the paint something to hold onto.” He ran the paper along the baseboard, back and forth, very aware of her keen eye watching. He completed a two-foot section.
“Doesn’t take much. Don’t go overboard.”
He expected a pithy comeback, but Millie said nothing. Jared’s anxiety climbed a notch, though he didn’t know why. But she didn’t usually keep her opinions to herself, and her silence said more than her mouth could’ve.