A Kiss to Build a Dream On Page 17

  She had nothing to say to him, after all. No matter how you looked at it, she’d invited him into her bed, not the other way around, and if he chose to race away afterward—well, that was something a thousand prayers for a thousand years couldn’t fix. What was done was done.

  The irony of the whole situation wasn’t lost on her, either. She’d left him twelve years ago without so much as a backward glance, and now he’d done the same to her, in a manner of speaking.

  They were both too good at leaving.

  “Lord have mercy,” Willa muttered, speeding toward her car and squinting against the bright Sunday sun.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Thursday, October 11, 7:35 a.m.

  Willa was up and dressed, ready to get her day going before the work crews descended at eight o’clock. She had checked out a couple business books from the White Pine Library, and she was determined to read up before she met Betty later that afternoon. She also had her cell phone in hand, ready to make some calls to figure out how much the Great Lakes Inn charged per night, as well as hotels in some of the surrounding communities. Betty had called it market research, although Willa figured it was more like summoning the courage to talk to the people who might take your customers.

  Beyond that, she had groceries to get, track practice, and the recipe exchange. She was determined that wine wouldn’t be her contribution to this week’s gathering. Audrey had promised to teach her how to cook a hot dish, and if the two of them could get to the Knots and Bolts kitchenette tonight right after track practice, she could ensure that each of the ladies left with a Tupperware container full of her very own casserole.

  “And the great thing about a hot dish is that you can make it for any meal,” Audrey had told her. “There’s breakfast hot dish, dinner hot dish—so if you open your B and B knowing how to cook a couple of these, you’ll be able to feed your guests pretty well. And cheaply, too.”

  Willa couldn’t wait for her hot dish lesson, but even bigger than all that was the palm sander.

  Today was the day she was going to go get a power tool of her very own, and finish that blasted blue table in the living room once and for all. She was tired of waiting around for Burk’s help, which, after the sex debacle, seemed like it would never come.

  Who needs him? she thought as she hurried along the threadbare hallway runner. Sunday’s sermon had only steeled her resolve to make things work in White Pine—on her own.

  In spite of all her rushing, Willa paused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror by the stairs. She’d seen herself in this same glass a thousand times growing up and since moving back, but something about her now was different. She stared, and struggled to place her finger on it.

  Her hair was a little longer and maybe needed a trim, but that wasn’t it. Her skin was glowing without the aid of makeup, but that was nothing new, either. It was all the Minnesota fresh air, she was convinced. As she placed her hands on her hips, trying to determine what had changed, it suddenly dawned on her.

  Muscles.

  All the sanding and painting and track practices and moving furniture had given her a solid strength she wasn’t used to feeling. This wasn’t the aerobic leanness she’d tried—and failed—to achieve in New York, but rather a firmness she could feel underneath the band of her jeans. She ran her hands up the length of her own arms, loving the newfound shape of them. They were harder, somehow, but not bulky. Just sturdy. Unshakable, she thought, and smiled.

  “I’m becoming a hardy Midwesterner,” she said to herself, and laughed. The thought delighted her, instead of leaving a bad taste in her mouth as it once had. Maybe, Willa thought, if she was becoming a little more like the people around her, she could open up a B and B that was the same way. Something that belonged in White Pine, instead of being forced on White Pine.

  The idea tickled her, until she remembered how her curves—sturdy or no—had been bared to Burk during their brief encounter, and how he’d grinned when she’d taken off her bra. She’d confessed she’d gained weight and in reply he’d said…nothing.

  Willa swallowed back a pang of hurt, wondering if her shape was what had driven him away so quickly. Sure, she’d gained weight recently, but she didn’t think she was odious.

  Surely that couldn’t be it. Could it?

  She shook her head, knowing that she was making his post-sex departure worse by overthinking it—by not being able to just shove it into the past, where it belonged—but she couldn’t help it.

  She was still struggling to piece together what, exactly, had happened between them. The sex had been mind-blowing—as hot as she’d hoped, with the added bonus of actually feeling connected to Burk—so why had he acted like it was horrible? Sunday’s encounter didn’t make it any easier, either, with heat burning between them as they sat there in church, pressed next to each other in the pew. She simply couldn’t grasp why he was sprinting away when there was clearly so much magnetism between them.

  Unless she was imagining it.

  The question was made even more pointed by the fact that they hadn’t really even talked to each other since Willa’s bedroom. Except for when Burk had blurted out that Anna wanted her to come to dinner this Friday night. Before she could open her mouth to refuse—because she couldn’t think of anything more awkward than a dinner with Burk and Anna—he’d already strode away. After the odd invite, there were times when she’d catch him looking at her, and she’d think, Now. Now we will get over this horrible hurdle and get back into bed. But then he’d just shake his head and go back to barking orders at his crew.

  Willa brushed back a piece of dark blond hair that had fallen on her forehead. No matter, she thought, straightening and enjoying the sight of her strong shoulders, her firm waist. If Burk didn’t want the goods, someone else would.

  Certainly Lance was wishing he could get back in her good graces.

  Lance.

  The name stuck in her head as she descended the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. Or what was left of the kitchen, since the old appliances had been taken away the previous afternoon, the flooring ripped out, and the cabinets removed.

  Willa thought of the same text she’d gotten, over and over, since Lance’s call the other night.

  I’m sorry. Please help me. I love you.

  Over and over. Eight words that shook her hard enough to make her vision blur every time she read them.

  Not because she believed them. Just the opposite, in fact. They reeked of something so desperate, something so sad, that she pitied how low he had to be to send them over and over. She was sure he was desperate for someone, anyone, to cling to as he faced the charges against him. But even still. She couldn’t be the one to help him. Whatever kind of support he needed, he’d made sure she’d never be the one to give it when he’d taken all her money.

  The thoughts rattled around in her brain as she hunted for her coffeemaker. Yesterday she’d run an extension cord from an outlet in the kitchen to the dining room table, where she’d been able to brew her Folgers. It was one of the last pieces of furniture on the lower level, and one of the last safe places for any of her things. Now the dining room table was gone—no doubt hauled out to her workshop in the garage or down into the basement—and her coffeemaker was nowhere in sight.

  She swore softly. To the Rolling Pin, then, she thought. But as she turned to grab her coat from the downstairs closet, there was Burk, standing near the front door with two cups of coffee in his hands.

  She cried out, startled. No matter how many weeks it had been, she still wasn’t used to him just coming into her house like he owned it.

  “Sorry I’m so early,” he said, shaking his head and sending fat, wet snowflakes falling from his damp hair to the floor. “I had some measurements to make and some plans to draw up before the crew gets here. I brought you this, in case you were up, too.”

  He extended a hand, offering her one of the coffees he was holding. Willa found her steps unsteady as she went to
take it. The man was a sight in his gray peacoat. His perfectly fitted jeans hit his thighs and calves just right.

  “Snow this early,” Willa said by way of conversation. “How about that.” She forced herself not to stare at the way the tiny beads of cold moisture clung to his glistening hair.

  “It can start early here,” he replied evenly, not taking his eyes from hers. “This storm’s supposed to dump a lot. And it’s heavy stuff. I saw a couple tree limbs down already.”

  Willa looked past Burk to the wavy glass on the front door, wondering if the old oak out front was going to come crashing down on them at any second.

  “I’ll shovel for you, if you want. You got one in the garage?”

  “One what?”

  “Shovel.”

  “Oh,” she said, pausing to think. “I think I saw one out there when I was working.”

  “Do you remember, was it flat on the bottom or pointed?”

  “Uh, pointed, I think.”

  “And probably rusted.”

  “Well, a little bit maybe, but I’m sure it will do the job.” Willa had to work to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. If Burk wanted to stand there and play gentleman, he didn’t get to be choosy about which shovel he used. That wasn’t how it worked.

  Burk smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth that almost took her breath away. “I think what you have in there is a rusted garden shovel, so we’d better get you something else. Don’t suppose you have any salt, either?”

  Willa felt her ire rising. “What, so you need to cook now, too?”

  Burk laughed so deeply, the whole house seemed to shake with its rumble. “No, it’s for the front walk. Salt, to melt the snow?”

  “Oh,” Willa said, staring at the lid of her coffee cup and feeling foolish. “No, I don’t have any of that.”

  She could feel heat in her cheeks, and she didn’t like it. Here she’d been, ready to run out and buy a palm sander, and Burk was busting her chops about a shovel and some salt. Basics. If she didn’t even have those around the house, how could she expect to run an entire B and B?

  Willa set her jaw. It didn’t matter. She’d figure it out. And she didn’t need Burk’s help to do it.

  “You know, that’s okay, I’ll take care of the shoveling. I have to head down to the hardware store anyway when they’re open, so I’ll just get everything at once.”

  “What else are you getting?” Burk asked. Like it was any of his business.

  “A palm sander. I’m finishing that blue table. Today.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Willa didn’t like the way he was staring at her, his blue eyes blazing with something she couldn’t read. Was he doubting her?

  Some nerve he had, bailing right after sex and then laughing at her about this. Friday night dinner at Anna’s was going to be awful if he kept this up. She might just need to skip the whole thing—either that, or she was in danger of walking out in the middle of it if he kept acting like a jackass.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Willa said, wrapping her hands more tightly around the cup. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait,” he said, reaching out and placing his hand on her forearm. Willa felt a flutter deep inside. Before she could tamp it down, Burk took a step closer, and the flutter became a vibration.

  “What coarseness are you going to get?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He leaned closer, as if there were a million hammers pounding and a million saws whirring, and she couldn’t hear him over the cacophony.

  “Sandpaper coarseness. What do you think, for a table like that?”

  Willa wanted to close her eyes and relish the feeling of his breath so close to her skin. She wanted to inhale deeply, filling her lungs with his smell—alive and fresh and all around her. Instead, she straightened and forced herself to ignore it.

  “I’m sure I’ll figure it out at the hardware store.”

  “I could help you,” he said, his eyes searching her face.

  “No, I don’t need any—”

  “Then stick around for a minute and let’s go over some things. I have some project questions.”

  “I have a full day,” she hedged, wary of his sudden interest in talking with her. After their frigid week, why was he suddenly bringing her beverages, offering to shovel, and needing to talk about the house?

  “It would be helpful if we could get your final say on everything,” he said, finally removing his hand from her forearm. She hated the chill on her skin the moment his fingers were gone. “Floors, wall colors, appliances, cabinets. There are only a few more things to knock out before we can start putting everything back together. So we need your final say sooner rather than later.”

  Willa swallowed. It did make sense to talk about that. Only she wasn’t sure if she could pay for any of it. Not unless the loan from the bank came through. Her stomach twisted with unease. She supposed she could pay Burk, but it would drain the little bit of money she had left. And then what would she do for food? For gas? Never mind the B and B—she’d be struggling just to live. She wasn’t about to admit that in front of Burk, though. “All right. Just let me get my samples.”

  Willa set her coffee down and went back upstairs to her piles of paint swatches, flooring tiles, and collages. She could barely carry it all as she came back down the stairs.

  “Here,” Burk said, “let me help you.” Willa noted his coat was off, and he was wearing a collared pullover that showed off his broad shoulders spectacularly. As he grabbed half of her pile, their fingers grazed, and both of them stopped moving.

  She wanted to hate the fact that he was here, standing in her house. She wanted to loathe him for leaving after sex and avoiding her this week. She wanted to flip him the bird and walk away, but she just couldn’t drum up the animosity. The truth was, he was being kinder than he had been for days. And on top of all that, she was thrilled to be able to show someone all the ideas she’d pulled together for the B and B. Especially now that she’d had time to figure out how to bring the flavor of White Pine into the space a little more. Even if it might never come to pass—if she might not get the money from the bank to finish it—she was delighted to be able to show someone her plans.

  “I guess we could use the blue table, as long as it’s still there,” Willa said. “To spread everything out on, I mean. There’s a lot to go through.”

  Did she imagine it, or did Burk’s eyes darken at the mention of spreading things out on the table?

  “I guess we’ll kneel,” he said, “since there are no chairs.”

  “We’ll bow at the altar of my design, you mean.”

  His eyes flashed. “Will you require a human sacrifice?”

  “Today I only require a caffeine sacrifice. Which you’ve made, so you’re in luck.”

  Burk took his notebook out and Willa tried to ignore it. She hated that damn thing. “Start with the kitchen, then?” Burk asked. “I have your paint swatch for the walls. But we’ll need to get the flooring ordered. And the cabinet specs are set, but you need to choose the color.”

  Willa pulled out the flooring sample she’d found, as well as a kitchen collage she’d put together the previous weekend. “I want the cabinets white, like this. I know Gary down at the hardware store can order them; we talked about it last week. And look, see this sample? The flooring is cork, so it’s more sustainable than hardwood. And there’s something about the texture that feels a little more homey, don’t you think?” She knew she was talking quickly—nearly blathering—but she didn’t care. “And the wall color you already know, and the appliances are all here, in this folder.” She handed him a manila file, on the side of which was neatly printed Kitchen. “They all fit the specs you gave me.”

  When Burk reached for the folder, Willa wondered briefly if his hands were shaking. Too much caffeine, she thought, and barreled ahead.

  “I’ve got the dining room color picked out here, along with trim color, which is the same as the ceiling. Floors in
all the rooms should be restained in this tone…” She rummaged through some samples until she found the one she wanted. It was also labeled. “It’s not too dark, but it does have a hint of red in it, which I like. It reminded me of the trees around here.”

  She smiled at him, but he just blinked. Okay, maybe not enough caffeine, she thought, and kept going.

  On she went, handing him folders full of orders, samples, and pictures to meet all the specs he’d given her. When she was finally done, the crew had already filed in for the day, and were starting their work. But Burk barely seemed to register their presence.

  “So what do you think?” Willa asked above the noise around them. “It’s a lot, I know, but it’s—”

  “Perfect,” Burk replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way Willa had never seen before. “I never imagined it could look like this. I never knew…”

  He trailed off. Willa’s heart raced as he leaned closer. “It’s almost too much,” he said, low enough so Willa had to strain to hear him above the crew noise. “It’s almost too unbelievable to see it come to life this way.”

  Willa struggled to keep pace. “What do you mean? To see it come to life in what way?”

  Burk smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. I just—Willa, I can’t think of a more beautiful home. I really can’t. Did you learn to do all this in New York?”

  New York. Why was he asking about her past now? She wanted to answer carefully, but before she could stop them, the words were tumbling out. “There was an art gallery I liked, the Bishop. I gave them some money and they let me futz with the exhibits. I liked to think about how the space and the art worked together. I suppose it’s a little like decorating. Now I’m just learning to work with used tables instead of priceless Manets.”

  In spite of the joke, Burk’s face remained still. Too still, Willa realized, as if he were fighting a great battle inside, and was determined not to let any of it show.