The Wishing Season (A Chapel Springs Romance Book 3) Read online

  PJ couldn’t tear her eyes away as Keaton drew her close and bent for a slow kiss. As one mass, they disappeared into the house, shutting the door, leaving PJ out in the cold, broken and alone.

  Keaton had been lying about everything. The realization carved out a hollow shape in her middle. Worse than that, she’d been dating a married man! Had been kissing a married man. She was in love with a married man. She was the Other Woman. The empty place filled with shame until it swelled, spreading to every space inside her.

  Now a ding pulled her from the nightmare as a voicemail hit her phone. She waded through the shame, reached for it, and deleted the message, dropping the phone as if it were poison. Because really, that’s exactly what Keaton was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MONDAYS WERE QUIET WITH THE RESTAURANT CLOSED AND the kids in school. The perfect day to finish PJ’s closet.

  Cole grabbed the wire shelf and began attaching the top one into the clip. The extended closet was tight for two people with the shelving in stacks. The sweet flowery scent of PJ teased his nose. He’d put in a brighter light, but now the heat it gave off was too much.

  “A little lower,” PJ said. “I can’t reach.”

  “Here?”

  PJ edged around him and rose on tiptoe, reaching up. “Should be fine. The purse cubbies are going over here, right? With the wire cubbies under them?”

  “Uh-huh.” He popped the first end into the slot and proceeded to the other side. “Excuse me.”

  “Sorry.” PJ eased into the corner. “Need help?”

  “No.” The shelf popped into place. He jiggled it to make sure it was secure before moving on to the next.

  “Not there.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to hang dresses on that side.”

  He eyed her up and down. “You own dresses?”

  She narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. “Just move it down.”

  “Just saying, I don’t remember moving any dresses out of here.” Never mind the red skirt she’d worn to her presentation. He happened to know those long legs deserved to be on display.

  “What do you call this?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the pink ball of froth in her arms. “A cotton candy explosion?”

  “It’s a bridesmaid dress. It was a lovely wedding—and the happy couple are still together.”

  He squatted down. “I find it hard to believe that anything that started with that could end happily.”

  “Marriage cynic.” Her eyes teased. “I had you pegged from day one.”

  He couldn’t help thinking of his parents. “Marriage is fine for some people.”

  “Not you?”

  Anxiety swirled through him at the thought. He craved that kind of intimacy. Nights got lonely, even with a houseful of kids. Sometimes he just wanted someone to pull close, to hold against him and know she was his alone. Someone like PJ.

  You don’t deserve it, Evans. Not after what you did.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” PJ said.

  He couldn’t even remember the question.

  “Well, when I get married someday,” she said, “I’m not going to pick some ugly confection in a hideous color.”

  “So you admit the dress is ugly.”

  “It’s . . . aesthetically challenged.”

  He looked for the next shelf. “Why do brides do that anyway? Are they trying to make sure their friends don’t outshine them by putting them in the silliest thing they can find?”

  “Doraphine would never do such a thing.”

  “Doraphine? Well, that explains it all.” He squinted at the dress. “Are those feathers?”

  She set it aside. “So I won’t wear it again—ever. I still plan to buy dresses someday, and I’ll need a place to hang them.”

  “Fine, fine. This suit you?” He held the shelf against the wall.

  “Perfect. No, wait, up a little. Down, down. Right there.”

  “When you said ‘supervise,’ I didn’t think you meant it so literally.”

  She shoved his shoulder, hardly enough to budge him. He liked this side of her. She was playful and fun when she wasn’t working so hard to prove herself.

  “This is my first real closet. I shared with Jade growing up, then with my roommate at college. And now I finally have a whole big closet all to myself—with purse cubbies!” She gave a happy little clap.

  His lips twitched as he stood, moving to the next shelf, high enough to accommodate stacked rows of shirts and pants. His mood had been in danger of a major dip, but somehow she made him forget all that.

  He worked the wire into the clip, but this one didn’t go easily, and the longer shelf was making it awkward.

  “All right, Sunshine, settle down and help me with this clip.”

  She moved in closer. “Where? Here?” She reached around and began pushing with him. “No leverage. Let me in.”

  He moved aside, letting her in front of him, his arms on both sides of her. Big mistake. Her sweet scent wafted up his nose and seemed to curl around every cell in his body.

  Arms extended, she pressed against the shelving unit, her back coming up against his body. He held the shelf in place, swallowed hard. The shelf, Evans. Focus on the shelf.

  But she was so close. She felt so good against him, and if he lowered his arms, his palm would fit right into the curve of her waist, her back into the cradle of his chest. He could slide his hands around to the planes of her stomach, draw her flush against him, and bury his nose into the side of her neck. That spot he was always wanting to kiss.

  His arms trembled as he pushed the shelf, leaning into her.

  Pop. The wire snapped into the clip.

  “Got it.” PJ turned to him, her lips turning up.

  She was inches away. His lips nearly grazed her temple. A strand of hair, resting against her cheek, fluttered under his breath.

  Her smile fell away.

  His eyes scrolled over her face, stopping at her big brown eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at him like that, like she was melting under his gaze. He didn’t allow himself in these situations.

  He should pull back. Step away. Now. But then he made the mistake of inhaling her sweet scent, and his body was having none of that.

  Instead he tucked the strand behind her ear. Then he couldn’t seem to stop his fingers from following a path down her long hair. It was so soft. Like silk.

  She shivered. “What—what are you doing?”

  He swallowed hard. Denial. Denial was always good, especially when it let him keep touching her. “Installing shelves.”

  If installing shelves felt this nice, he’d do it every day. Heck, every hour.

  “We probably shouldn’t be . . . you know.”

  Was it his imagination or had she just leaned a fraction closer? His fingers took another heavenly trip down the silk of her hair. Last time. Then he’d step away. But his hand continued its trail down her back, settling at the curve of her waist. And he was right. It fit there like the hollow had been made with him in mind.

  With him in mind? What was he thinking? PJ hadn’t been made with him in mind. No woman had. He’d had a family once and what had he done? Who was he to think he deserved a woman like PJ? Any woman at all?

  His hand fell to his side. He stepped back, clearing the thickness from his throat. “I need to—go.”

  PJ blinked, a look coming into her eyes he didn’t want to see.

  He left the closet, strode from the room, and escaped out the back door. He was in sore need of some fresh air.

  PJ’s breath left her suddenly, leaving her as limp and wilted as week-old lettuce. She could still feel Cole’s touch. Still feel his fingers sliding down her hair, sending every follicle into a frenzy. Still feel his strong hand settle into the curve of her waist like he was staking his claim. She’d never liked the thought of that, but then, she’d never known Cole.

  This wasn’t good. She wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Someday, yes. But she didn’t trust herself to make good choices, to see beneath the good looks and rippling muscles. Not after Keaton. She seemed to be missing the good sense gene when it came to men, because by all appearances Cole was taken too. She’d heard him on the phone, using the tender tone reserved for a woman. He had a girlfriend tucked away somewhere who might have no idea he was holed up in a house with another woman. Installing her shelves, tucking her hair behind her ears, making her shiver.

  There was no way she was going there again. Bad enough she had to dodge Keaton’s calls and texts. She didn’t need to add Cole to the equation.

  Besides, he was her rival. In nine months one of them would be leaving, and she fully intended it to be him. There was no chance of a future here, girlfriend or no. And the way he took off like oil across a hot skillet, he was in complete agreement.

  Chapter Twenty

  SEPTEMBER FADED INTO OCTOBER, BRINGING BRIGHT autumn foliage and chilly days. They switched the air conditioning to heat at night. Fewer people chose to dine on the wide veranda, and PJ became anxious about the long winter months ahead.

  She and Cole had made it through the cooking classes, but he’d been pretty scarce since the closet incident. She was glad. She was. If she was a tiny bit hurt it was only because she was a people person. She got lonely for adult company.

  November arrived with cold, gusty winds, and the tourists were suddenly gone. How would her restaurant survive the off-season? Her first cooking classes were over and round two hadn’t drawn the crowd she’d hoped. At her worst moments, when she tallied up her profits for the week, a terrible dread filled her.

  She was going to lose the contest. Lose the house, her restaurant, all the money she’d put into it. Sometimes it was enough to bring on a panic attack. She’d work through it, then give herself a pep talk and go through her routines and somehow put the negative thoughts behind her.

  Meanwhile, things upstairs seemed to be going swimmingly. Cole’s kids had jobs, and she’d heard nothing but good things from Dan at the garage and Wanda, the manager at Sassy Nails. Yeah, she’d splurged on a manicure. Probably not the best idea she’d ever had.

  She was glad it was going well for them, but living with a bunch of teens had its frustrations. One day in September she’d come home to find half the flower garden mowed down. She took a deep breath and told herself at least the weeds were gone too.

  The next week a huge oil stain blotched her beautiful new concrete parking pad where Zac had changed his oil. Rather than confront Cole—because that would require a conversation—she grabbed the dishwashing liquid and a scrub brush and went to work. It came out. Mostly.

  Josh continually used her front door, Shaundra did her dance squad routines above the dining room during restaurant hours, and someone liked to pilfer food from her fridge.

  Through it all, PJ gritted her teeth and reminded herself they’d be out in six months. She didn’t even let herself worry about where they’d go. After all, they had jobs, and they’d be graduated by then.

  Adding to her stress, Keaton continued texting her. Sometimes she read them before she deleted—it was impossible not to, when they were only one or two lines.

  MY MARRIAGE IS OVER. ARE YOU THERE, PJ? PLEASE CALL ME.

  The texts made it impossible to put him behind her. They were a constant reminder of her poor judgment, covering her with a blanket of shame. Was he really divorcing? Had she caused the divorce?

  Worse yet, she sometimes remembered their tender moments together, their laughter, the space she’d given him in her heart. At her loneliest moments, she was tempted to text him back. If his marriage was really over, what was the harm? Then she’d feel horrible for being tempted. What kind of person did that make her?

  Keaton, the kids, the restaurant, Cole. It was all simmering on the back burner, ready to boil over as she headed into the holidays.

  On the Monday before Thanksgiving, she went Christmas shopping with her mom. The season’s first snowflakes drifted down as they made their way back to her mom’s Enclave, arms laden with bags.

  Mom lowered her chin into her scarf. “It’s freezing!”

  “I hope the snow sticks,” PJ said as they piled the bags into the back.

  Her mom smiled. “You would.”

  “It’s so pretty . . .” PJ spun around, arms out. “And it’s our first snowfall. How can you not like it?”

  “Someone’s in a good mood.”

  “Spending money always puts me in a good mood. Especially when it’s someone else’s.” Plus, she’d managed another Monday away from the house, avoiding a quiet day at home with Cole.

  Her mom chuckled as she started the car, and the strains of “White Christmas” filtered through the radio.

  “You want to grab dinner somewhere?” PJ asked. “You can bring something home for Dad.”

  “I should probably get home and do some laundry.” Mom backed from the parking spot. “I was hoping you’d make it to church yesterday. We miss you. Everyone asks about you.”

  PJ knew her concern was really about her spiritual walk, not her vacant spot in the pew. “I was going to let Callie handle brunch, but her little girl got sick.”

  “Maybe next week. I know the restaurant is important, but if you don’t set priorities, life has a way of setting them for you.”

  “I know. I’ll try and make it.”

  A text dinged in. PJ felt the vibration in her pocket. She thought immediately of Keaton and ignored it.

  Mom pulled onto Oak Street. “I think that’s yours.”

  On the other hand, it could be any number of people. She was being paranoid. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. Her mood took a dive to the floorboard.

  “ ‘I miss you’?”

  “Mom!” PJ shut off the phone.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to look over your shoulder. It’s none of my business.”

  PJ hated that he’d texted her. And why now, of all times? It was almost as if he were sitting in the car with them. If her mom knew what she’d done, she’d be so ashamed.

  PJ was glad they weren’t going out to eat now. She wanted to go home and put her phone down the garbage disposal. The commercial one. Maybe it was time to change her number.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but that text . . .”

  PJ looked out the passenger window so her mom couldn’t read her face.

  “Honey, if things are heating up between you and Cole, I think you should be careful.”

  “Me and Cole?”

  “He seems like a nice man, don’t get me wrong. But he’s had a rough time of it—and I know it sounds callous, but honey, you don’t go through all that and not come out with a lot of baggage.”

  “Mom, there’s nothing going on between me and Cole.” She brushed away the memory of him in her closet.

  “Oh? That’s not who the message was from?”

  She’d done it now. Last thing she needed was more prying questions. “Everything’s under control. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Her mom’s blue eyes burned into PJ, until she was sure her mom saw everything, right down to the butterfly tattoo she didn’t know about.

  “He’s an awfully attractive man.”

  “You too?”

  “And I’m sure you feel bad for him—you’re softhearted, and I’ve always loved that about you. But relationships are challenging enough without that kind of baggage. From what I understand, he was in foster care for a long time. I don’t know what put him there, but it can’t be anything good—and that’s without all the experiences he may have endured once he was there.”

  “I know, Mom. You don’t have to worry.”

  “So there’s nothing going on between you two?”

  “Mom.” She thought of Madison’s husband and his baggage—an alcoholic father and a mother who abandoned him. Had her mom butted in as their relationship progressed? She doubted it.

  Mom put her palm up. “Sorry. None of
my business, I know. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise.” PJ was nothing these days if not careful.

  A few minutes later, Mom pulled up to the curb behind PJ’s car. The exterior lighting, set on a timer, was on, and Wishing House glowed under a velvet sky.

  “Good heavens, what happened?”

  PJ followed her mom’s eyes to the back of her red Monte Carlo where the Enclave’s headlights shone. Onto the heavily dented bumper.

  “What in the world?” PJ got out and marched to her car.

  It was no little fender bender. Someone had bashed in the whole back side.

  “That’s pretty bad.” Mom bent to examine the damage. “Surely it wasn’t a hit-and-run. Not here in Chapel Springs.”

  It wasn’t. PJ knew exactly who’d done it. Josh always parked his Oldsmobile beater right behind her. She’d wanted to complain to Cole because it was an eyesore but she hadn’t.

  But she was going to now. “I have to go.”

  “You should probably call the police,” Mom called. “And your insurance company.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  “And take pictures! What about your bag?”

  “I’ll get it Thursday.”

  Cole fanned through the mail, picking out the one piece addressed to him and setting the rest back on the table. He climbed the steps to the second floor, then to the attic.

  The house was quiet, the kids still working their after-school jobs and PJ having left early in the afternoon.

  He closed the door to his room and ripped open the blue envelope. Lizzy was sweet to remember. He smiled at the funny caption on the card and set it on his nightstand beside the empty soup bowl and Coke can.

  He flopped into bed and flipped on the TV. It was still an hour until Monday Night Football, but there was plenty of pregame commentary. He’d looked forward to the game all week. How lucky was he that the Colts played on his birthday?

  He arranged his pillows and settled against the headboard. He’d thought about buying a cheap sofa for his room, but it seemed like a waste of money. He liked to be out in the community living room as much as possible when the kids were home.