A Kiss to Build a Dream On Page 7

  There was an awkward silence. Willa broke his gaze and stared at her nails. Acutely she recalled worrying about being a burden to Burk. That he’d wake up one day and realize she was selfish and spoiled and a boring lump of a grief-stricken person, and he’d just abandon her.

  It was part of the reason she’d left first.

  “Look,” Burk said, his voice suddenly softer, “you’ve been away a long time. A lot of water has passed under that bridge. Betty is a good person. So is Audrey. If you’ve been invited to the Knots and Bolts group, I say go for it. The way your kitchen skills go, the free food might come in handy.”

  “I still can’t even make pancakes,” Willa admitted.

  “You could barely fry an egg.”

  “At this rate I might have to bring tap water,” Willa said, laughing.

  To her surprise, Burk smiled back. “If it’s from you, it’ll be great.” He reached out, covering her hand with his enormous one.

  And just like that, the energy in the car shifted. It went from warm and friendly to hot and lightning-struck. The storm clouds gathered in Willa’s nerves, the electric charge of desire setting her hair on end.

  She saw a dangerous darkness in Burk’s eyes—the one she remembered so well from high school. The look he’d get just before he’d kiss her, before he’d put his hands on her.

  And suddenly, she was welcoming the past back.

  In fact, she wanted the past very, very badly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday, September 20, 2:40 p.m.

  This was going all wrong.

  Burk hadn’t meant to touch her. He hadn’t meant to be moved by her sadness, the way her lips pulled downward in a delicate frown. And he certainly didn’t mean for the hot lava of lust to come roaring through his guts, pushing him to touch her, to comfort her with a small gesture. But now here he was, holding her hand and wanting for all the world to put his other hand on her.

  Being in the car with Willa was suddenly, enormously complicated when, in fact, it had started out just the opposite. He’d come out of the hardware store and seen Willa struggling with her car and knew it was a perfect opportunity to drop a few more hints that moving to White Pine was a bad idea. That maybe she didn’t belong here. He’d slid into the car thinking she was putty in his hands. He just hadn’t banked on how he’d be putty in hers.

  His thumb involuntarily grazed her knuckles. She bit her lip, as if his touch was tying up her insides. This tiny thing, touching her knuckles like that, looked like it might undo her. Imagine, then, what more could accomplish. He stared at her, wanting to put his lips on her lids, to kiss away the worry in her eyes.

  Except that was impossible.

  The past was the past, and he intended to keep it that way. He’d worked too hard to do anything else.

  “I should go,” he managed. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly three o’clock. He had just enough time to pack up his tools, get home, and clean up before meeting his dark-haired date at Ray’s for happy hour. Lacey. He was nearly sure that was her name.

  “Of—of course,” Willa said, her voice unbearably husky. But she didn’t pull her hand away from his. And she left her lips open, parted just so, exactly like she’d do in high school when she wanted just one more kiss.

  Those lips could launch ships, he thought. No one had kissed like Willa, not in all the years they’d been apart. Only one girl had ever come close—Brittany Langley, who had waitressed at the Paul Bunyan Diner. They’d been together for more than a year, a record for Burk. But when she’d squawked about wanting to live together, wanting a ring and a family, he’d balked. Not long after, she’d moved up to Minneapolis to work at a new pub opening near Lake Calhoun.

  Willa glanced down, as if she could see the hot hardness pressing against the seam of his jeans. When she found his eyes again, there was no mistaking the naked want there.

  Tell her the house needs too many repairs, he thought. Tell her it’s going to cost too much money and take too long and she should just sell it. To him.

  But the words wouldn’t come. They were lost somewhere between his brain and his throat, and he couldn’t get at them. So instead he leaned forward. The leather squeaked. With one hand still covering Willa’s, he put his other hand on the base of her neck, at the place where her hair met her skin. It was delightfully warm, unbelievably soft. He swallowed a groan and pulled her toward him. Just one kiss, he thought, just to remind himself what it felt like.

  Willa’s breath mingled with his. Their lips were a whisper apart. He could already taste her, the warm sweetness he could remember on her lips and between her legs.

  This time he couldn’t catch his groan before it escaped. He put his mouth on hers, finally taking what he wanted, and she melted into him.

  Whatever Willa wanted to be, whatever she thought she was, her true self was in her kiss. She was willing, playful, and just the right amount of demanding. Sparks ignited behind his closed eyes as their tongues reached for each other achingly. They mingled, tentatively at first, getting reacquainted. Oh, but he still knew this mouth. It came back to him in a flood of hot memories, their bodies tangled and sweaty, so hard to tell where one of them began and the other one ended.

  Willa pressed toward him in the car’s close quarters, a sound in the back of her throat like a plea. He answered her by taking her mouth captive, his tongue penetrating and plunging.

  She kissed like she hadn’t been touched in years. She opened for him hungrily, so passionate and wanting that he was nearly crushing her, trying to fill her need. He wanted to give her everything his body—and hers—would allow. Soon they were breathless, breaking apart so they could regain their bearings.

  “Burk,” she murmured as he let his mouth slip from hers to her delectable neck, “don’t stop…”

  At the word stop, he froze, the heat sucked from the moment. She wanted him to go on, but that was exactly the problem. He was acting like they were back in high school, and she was begging him to stay the night in her bed. What was he doing, jeopardizing all his dreams by regressing into a teenager again? He hadn’t labored all this time just to lose his vision to lust.

  He had to get Willa out of the way, not draw her closer.

  Tearing himself from her warmth, he straightened in the car seat. He almost couldn’t bear to look at Willa, whose lips were parted and kiss-swollen. Her green eyes were lidded with desire. Her short hair was mussed, and she looked impossibly beautiful. And confused.

  “I should really go.”

  She blinked. “Now?”

  “Sorry,” he managed, trying to ignore the twist of regret in his chest. There was so much of him that wanted to stay, he worried he might not actually make it out of the car.

  But no, he would go. Burk was good at denying himself things.

  “What’s wrong?” Willa asked. He could hear her trying to stay calm.

  “I’ll be at the house tomorrow,” he said, his hand on the door.

  “Burk—”

  “I mean to be a professional,” he said, cutting her off. “I have a job to do at your home. I’m a contractor, you’re a client. I’ll keep it that way. This won’t happen again.”

  He stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, leaving Willa looking unsatisfied and confused in the front of her Volvo.

  And hurt, too. There was no mistaking the pain in her eyes as she watched him go. He ignored it. A mean and small part of him thought that it served her right to see how it felt to get abandoned right in the middle of something.

  He shook his head. Except that wasn’t how he wanted to operate. He didn’t want revenge. All he wanted was the house.

  He tried to refocus his thoughts there instead. He imagined all the curves and surfaces he could enjoy once he lived there. Counters, bookshelves, floors.

  They wouldn’t satisfy the ache he currently had in his groin.

  But they’d do. Eventually.

  * * *

  Willa punched the pas
senger seat of the Volvo.

  Twice.

  Who did Burk think he was, ogling her in the kitchen this morning and making out with her this afternoon and then walking away? She glared at the blue sky through the windshield and wished she could hurl clouds into the atmosphere, darkening the day to match her emotions.

  Not to mention she was still parked on Main Street without any gas in her tank.

  She let out a muted cry of frustration.

  Damn Burk Olmstead! She’d been in town for what seemed like five minutes, and here he was, pushing all her buttons and making her feel like a teenager again.

  Not that it had been bad. For a few moments there, it had been perfect. Her skin still prickled from his kiss. His touch. How incredible his mouth had felt on hers. How much desire had simmered inside her.

  After the desert of Lance’s affection, Burk felt like an oasis of passion. She wanted to revel in him, and let her hunger for human contact—oh, who was she kidding, for contact with him—to be sated. And, God help her, she would have taken it much, much further if Burk hadn’t switched himself off like a goddamn robot.

  She whacked the steering wheel with her palms until she realized how she must look, parked on Main Street having a fit. She took a deep breath. Glancing at the clock on the dash, she groaned. It was just after three o’clock. Her afternoon plans were shot, and now she had to get herself together and hustle down to the high school track. Practice was starting soon.

  A few more inhales and exhales helped, but the crash course in meditation didn’t entirely stop her fingers from shaking, or dampen the desire she still felt coursing through her body.

  Willa stepped out of the car. The afternoon was crisp and bright all around her. She’d walk to the track, no problem. It wasn’t that far. Surely Audrey could help her get gas back into her tank before the Knots and Bolts gathering.

  Willa turned right, toward the fountain in front of the library. Crimson and gold leaves floated in the water at its base. She could remember its gurgle and splash during summer months from when she was little. Her dad would give her pennies to throw into the water, and she’d wish for ponies and Barbies and enough gumballs to fill her closet.

  If she had a wish now, she’d ask for the ability to erase her past. To start over fresh in White Pine, without the cloak of bad behavior smothering her.

  Quickening her pace, she caught glimpses of the Birch River between the squat, brick buildings. The bells in the steeple of the Lutheran church at the far end of Main Street tolled for the half hour. The fall air rippled with the sound. Three thirty. She was going to be late. Nevertheless, at a small bridge she paused, watching the sun glitter on the dark water. Its rushing current created the whispered background Willa had never forgotten, even in New York. It was always there, like a quiet murmuring: shhh, shhh.

  Willa resumed walking toward the track field with determined steps, knowing she had to make her foray back into White Pine work. The house, Audrey, Betty, the recipe exchange—all of it. Because she had no place else to go. If she failed here, she failed period. The thought made her chest hurt, but she refused to dwell on it. She’d simply do whatever it took to make White Pine her home. If it meant an apology to Betty, she’d offer one. If it meant learning how to cook to be part of a recipe exchange, fine. And if she had to run laps on a track with some girls, she’d do that, too.

  Suddenly Willa looked down, realizing she hadn’t been back to the house to change for track practice. The gas crisis and the encounter with Burk had wiped her afternoon to-do list from her head entirely. Her wedge heels weren’t going to accommodate running long distances, and her woven wool pants were lovely but they weren’t the kind of thing you wanted to sweat in.

  She bit her lip, worried, until she figured she’d just borrow some clothes from the school. Surely they had something she could wear. Willa tried not to think about how the borrowed clothes might smell, or how she might look in them. She was not going to give up on her promise to help Audrey. The high school appeared in the distance, and she lengthened her strides, ready to do whatever it took—on the field and off.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thursday, September 20, 4:06 p.m.

  Willa began to have second thoughts when Audrey shoved a pair of scratchy old gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and a busted-up pair of sneakers at her.

  “Here, it’s all I could find. Meet on the field when you’re changed.”

  She took off at a clip, ponytail bouncing, leaving Willa alone in the high school locker rooms. The smell that permeated the space was the same smell Willa could remember from long ago—sweat and musty showers and chlorine from the nearby pool.

  Willa stripped off her wool slacks and jacket slowly, wondering what in the world she was doing. The clothes Audrey handed her smelled like old socks. They were the most unflattering gray she’d ever seen. What would the girls think when they saw her in this? Willa wondered. With her out-of-shape butt jiggling and her lungs wheezing—she could only imagine.

  They are going to laugh at me, she figured. The same way Willa would have laughed if she had seen this version of herself six months ago.

  Willa could feel her brows knitting together, and she knew she must look worried. She supposed she was. She took a deep breath, trying to relax her face.

  She buried the idea that helping Audrey and the track team was a mistake. So what if this wasn’t the kind of volunteering she was used to? She tried not to think about the Bishop Gallery, with its fresh white walls and clean, dark floors. There was hot Jasmine tea and an even hotter intern, Raoul, who once told Willa that her eyes were as vivid as a Chagall painting.

  Willa pulled on her dingy gray sweatpants, figuring the Bishop Gallery employees had all flattered her because she was one of their biggest donors. They’d also let her curate exhibits or weigh in on where and how to hang pieces. She loved rearranging things and making the space complement the art just so. She’d gaze with pride at the pieces she’d positioned, even while her feet tapped impatiently in her designer shoes, wondering if she wasn’t capable of more. The artists all around her had such vision, such a voice. Surely I have one, too, Willa had thought, while wondering what in the world she’d say if even she could figure out a platform.

  It was a moot point anyway.

  She’d stopped her donations and visits to the gallery when Lance lost her cash. Lance had made a series of terrible, short-term investments with her money and with others’. Since he was a financial manager, that wasn’t so bad in and of itself (investments often had a risk quotient, after all), but then he’d taken more from the accounts to try and make up for the losses. He wasn’t authorized to touch the additional funds, but he did it anyway. And of course, he never stemmed the financial hemorrhaging.

  Part of what he’d squandered was the retirement fund belonging to the Bishop Gallery’s wealthy landlord. Willa was so mortified, she never returned to the space. It was hard to go anywhere, in fact, without people glaring at her or hissing insults about her and Lance.

  Never mind that Willa had lost out, too. Never mind that she was listed as a plaintiff on the civil suit against Lance. In spite of her innocence, she had still been linked with his crime—at least socially.

  Willa stood, clad head to toe in her scratchy gray clothes, and headed toward the track, working to ignore the past the same way she was ignoring her smelly outfit. Volunteering with Audrey had to end better than her stint at the Bishop, she figured. At least she couldn’t leave White Pine High humiliated and broke. She was already both.

  She strode out onto the field with her chin up. That is, until a fall wind whipped her dark blond hair into her face and she couldn’t see. She tucked the errant strands behind an ear, just as Audrey trotted up. “Most of the girls are still warming up. Why don’t you join the group on the track. Get a couple laps in, and then lead them in some stretches. Make sure none of them trip on any equipment.”

  Audrey smiled, but Willa couldn’t return it. A coup
le laps? If Willa remembered correctly, that was at least a half mile. And unless she was hailing a cab in the city, she hadn’t run more than a few steps in years. Still, she nodded. “Sure thing,” she replied, forcing her feet to take her over to the cluster of long-legged girls on the red clay track.

  They stared at her unabashedly as she joined them. Their wide eyes traveled from her battered shoes to her dumpy sweatpants to her disheveled hair. Willa reminded herself she’d sparred with New York’s elite—she could handle these girls.

  “I’m Willa,” she said, “and I’m helping Ms. Tanner out for a bit. Let’s all do two laps around the track, and then we’ll stretch and go from there.” She supposed she sounded authoritative enough, because the girls nodded and took off. There was nothing to do but follow them.

  She was going to have to run.

  A few yards in, her breath became ragged. Halfway around the track and the girls were already lapping her. “You can do it, Willa!” one of them shouted. It was Emily, the one who’d stayed with the injured girl, Layla, the other day. “Tha-anks,” Willa huffed, her face burning with embarrassment. Who was coaching who?

  A quarter mile in, and Willa was still running while the rest of the girls were finished. They stared at her as she shuffled past. She could quit now, she supposed, but how would that look to all of them? How would they listen to anything she said if she didn’t complete what she set out to do?

  You didn’t get to quit just because you were slow, she knew. She could hear her old track coach, Mr. Iverson, shouting at her through his bristled mustache. “Everyone does all the work! No one gets a pass around here, Masterson.”

  “Ca-alf st-retches,” she wheezed at the girls. “Qua-ads, too! I’m a-a-almost do-one.” The girls did as she said. Willa wound her way slowly down the track, putting one foot in front of the others as her muscles ached and her lungs burned and the sweat poured off her face.