A Kiss to Build a Dream On (4 page)

“I can help,” Willa blurted out suddenly. Both Layla and Audrey looked up.

For a moment, they all looked at one another.
Shut up now
, part of her brain commanded.

Her mouth was uttering words she could barely comprehend. “I mean, I'm out of practice, obviously, but I can help you. I ran track, remember?” She swallowed nervously.
No doubt
Audrey remembered.

Audrey studied Willa's face.

As the silent seconds ticked by, Willa was overcome by the urge to take it all back. She should have just let well enough alone. But something in her wanted to help, maybe even wanted to atone for the past in White Pine by lending a hand. Frankly, it would also be nice to be part of something that involved a
team
again. Willa knew she'd been a bitch to her track mates back in the day, but underneath everything, running had made her happy.

“We have practice three days a week,” Audrey said slowly. “You're going to have to…jog a bit.”

Willa squared her shoulders. “I can run just fine. And I can coach some girls over hurdles and make sure there's not crap in the middle of the track if that's what you need.”

“We can't pay you.”

“I'm
volunteering
.”

Audrey exhaled. In that breath, Willa knew that Audrey likely doubted her ability to coach anything, much less a gaggle of girls. No wonder. Standing here in her tailored jacket and jewelry, Willa knew she looked out of place. She could feel the heat of embarrassment mottling the base of her neck. She felt so much shame, about both the past and the present.

And she had to admit: She might not let herself volunteer, either.

A breeze picked up on the other side of the field, swaying the tops of enormous pines along its grassy edge. Audrey watched the dance of the boughs for a moment before taking a breath.

“Thank you,” she finally acquiesced. “That's very kind. Next practice is tomorrow, three thirty sharp. Afterwards, we can head over to Knots and Bolts for the recipe exchange.”

Willa didn't know whether to be happy or horrified.
What had she just signed up for?
It had been years since she'd run track. Good grief, if she needed to atone for the sins of the past, there was probably a better way.

Except she hadn't been able to
find
a better way. Hell, she had barely been able to scrape together
this
way. She had no friends, very little money, no college degree, and only one thing of value—a falling-down house—that could generate any kind of income.

Six months ago, Willa would have pitied the small existence of everyone in White Pine. People like Audrey who worked hard and made smart choices. People who had lives and friends and steady jobs. Now she was beginning to realize she'd had it all backward. That she was the one who had been living the joke of the existence—not them.

“This will work, Audrey, I'll make sure of it,” she said, and knew she meant more than just volunteering. She meant
everything
.

Audrey nodded, and returned her gaze to Layla's injured ankle. Off in the distance, Willa saw a flutter of white and realized the nurse was approaching from the brick school building. She'd be here in moments. That meant there was no time to figure out what Audrey had meant when she'd mentioned the recipe exchange.

What
was
a recipe exchange, for starters? And was Willa really going to have to face more high school classmates at Knots and Bolts?

The answer was looking like a resounding yes. Willa told herself she'd better get used to it. She shifted uncomfortably in the afternoon sunlight.

The good people of White Pine didn't need her—but boy, it was looking more and more like she was going to need them.

W
illa's eyes flew open. She sat up straight and glanced at the alarm clock: seven fifty-eight. She'd overslept. And now, there was a furious pounding on the door.

Burk was already here.

“Coming!” Willa hollered, and rolled off the ancient brass bed, the worn mattress squeaking in protest. Getting new furniture was high on the list of things to do, but it would have to wait until the walls were replastered and painted and the floors refinished and—

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Burk was going to break down the door. “I said I'm coming!” Willa yelled, shoving her feet into slippers and shrugging into her robe. She fumbled with the robe's belt as she flew down the staircase, the warped wood nearly tripping her and sending her face first into the banister.

Wham! Wham! Wha—

Willa yanked open the door furiously. “I said I was coming!” She drew herself to her full height, glaring at Burk, whose enormous frame was back-lit by the golden sun climbing in the sky. As a halo of rich morning light ignited Burk's chiseled form, she suddenly wondered if she was still dreaming. Even in a flannel work shirt, his broad shoulders and rippled muscles made him appear like a Roman god. His ebony hair was like coal set aflame. His skin, tan from all the outdoor work, was suddenly bronze perfection. Her heart hammered involuntarily at the overpowering sight of him.

Burk stopped, mid-pound, and dropped his fist. For a moment, they both stared at each other.

After all the noise, it was suddenly, eerily quiet.

Willa's chest heaved from racing to the door, her robe falling slightly open. She watched Burk's eyes slide from her flushed face to her breasts, which she could feel brushing against the fabric of her nightgown with every breath. Her nipples were tight and hard against the cotton, and she suddenly pictured Burk's mouth on them, kissing and sucking with wild abandon. The thought sent flames along her skin, even in the cool morning.

Burk snapped his eyes back to Willa's face, but it was too late. They both knew what he'd been staring at. Willa quickly began belting her robe around her body, both mortified and thrilled at what he'd seen and what she'd felt. It didn't help that she fumbled with the material, thanks to a trembling in her fingers that hadn't been there a moment ago.

When she looked back up at Burk, she wondered if she'd find his stony expression unmoved. Just like yesterday. Instead, he was gazing right at her, a small smile creeping into the corners of his mouth.
He was laughing at her.

Just like that, her embarrassment flipped to anger. Who did this guy think he was, pounding on her door, staring at her tits, and then
grinning
about it all?

“Good
goddamn
morning to you, too, Burk,” she said angrily.

“Rise and shine,” he said, his grin widening.

Willa barely held back from slamming the door in his face. Instead, she shot him the fiercest glare she could, and stormed off toward the kitchen.

She swore she could hear him swallowing back laughter as he followed her inside.

Willa made sure her robe was secured tightly as she brewed coffee and pulled down her favorite mug—a chipped ceramic behemoth that had been her mom's. It was one of the few things she'd salvaged from the New York apartment and brought to White Pine.

When she wanted to remember the best parts of her mom, it was through this mug. Like how her mom would use it to fix Willa warm soup for fighting off the flu, or bring her hot tea as they sat outside in the sharp springtime air, both of them shivering but desperate to enjoy the outdoors after a long winter.

Willa also couldn't recall her mom serving anything to Uncle Max from the old mug, which was another bonus. Especially since Uncle Max turned out to be more than just a family friend (the “uncle” was honorary, not literal). Her dad's coffin had barely been lowered into the ground when her mom raced off to Minneapolis to spend more and more time with Max.

Willa's throat tightened, even though she'd paid an Upper East Side shrink thousands of dollars to try and make it so her eyes wouldn't smart every time she remembered the crushing ache of her mom's abandonment. Her eighteen-year-old self had feared she'd driven her mom away and that the one person who was left—Burk—would leave her, too. The therapist had helped her see that her mom's bad decisions weren't Willa's fault, and by the end, Willa had forgiven Edna, even flying into Minneapolis for the funeral a few years ago.

Still, it didn't help that being in this old kitchen made the memories that much sharper and more vivid. Willa pulled the mug closer, wanting suddenly to pad off into the living room alone, to study the ceramic and see if there was some clue in the glaze, something that would make all the pain of the past make sense. Because whatever peace she'd made with Edna didn't take away from those first brutal months after her dad's death.

Willa was suddenly afraid to look at Burk, afraid she'd focus on his strong workman's fingers and recall the way he'd run them through her hair, over and over, soothing her battered heart and mind after the funeral. “It'll be okay, I'm here,” he'd say. And she'd weep, wanting to believe him but feeling cold dread sink into her bones nevertheless. She'd tremble with fear, wondering what she'd do if he took off as well.

So she hurt
him
instead. She winced with the memory of how awful she'd been.

The coffeemaker gurgled, and Willa started. She shoved aside the old memories and grabbed cream from the fridge. She tried not to think about how she could still feel Burk's eyes on her. She prayed he couldn't tell what she'd been thinking, because the last thing she needed was him knowing she was reliving their relationship in her mind's eye. Not that she'd ever know by the way he leaned in the door frame, casual as could be, not to mention as
silent
as could be. His mouth was a hard line as he took in her movements. His strong neck was unmoving, and she saw with odd satisfaction that it was the same warm brown color it had been in high school from shirtless days in the sun. She could recall putting her lips to his salty skin when he finished mowing a neighbor's lawn or trimming hedges or weeding flowerbeds.

A shiver prickled her flesh, and Willa peeked down, making sure every part of her was still tucked neatly into her robe. It was. But she couldn't help wondering—had Burk registered anything when he'd stared at her, when they'd faced off at the front door? The thought of his eyes on her breasts sent a scarlet heat burning through her. She blinked, alarmed by how much she enjoyed the idea of Burk hungering for her.

You don't want your contractor leering at you
, she reminded herself. This was business. Professional. Willa set a spoon in the old porcelain sink, hoping Burk didn't see how flustered she was.

This was ridiculous. She felt like she was in high school all over again, with Burk Olmstead suddenly occupying her every thought.

To her relief, the coffeemaker beeped and she poured a mug for herself. She didn't offer any to Burk.
Two can play rude
, she thought, resting against the peeling linoleum counter and taking a sip. She arched an eyebrow at him, daring him to ask for some.

Of course, he didn't. He just stayed in the doorway, never taking his dark blue eyes off her.
They're like a tumultuous ocean
, she used to tell him. Like waves crashing against the rocks.

Suddenly her
heart
felt like it was crashing against the rocks, too. Every beat was like water slamming against stone, over and over. Her chest quite nearly ached. Burk's proximity was starting to unnerve her.

Thankfully, he spoke, interrupting her thoughts. “I think we should tour the house this morning, and I can gauge what specifically needs to get done. I'm not going to lie, though—I don't think it will be a short list.”

Willa nodded, even though his tone was downright ominous. Were things really that bad? She hoped not. Her dad had run the White Pine Bank and Trust for years, and he'd built a fortune over his lifetime. It was a fortune that had passed to Willa, and a fortune that Lance had squandered. Still, she'd salvaged enough of what little was left for some house repairs. When her now-very-small pile of cash ran out, however, there was no more to be had. She needed to be careful. And get her B and B up and running as soon as possible.

“All right. Where should we start?”

Burk pulled out the notebook from his shirt pocket again. Willa noticed how strong—how big—his hands were. They must have doubled in size from high school. She tried not to think about how they'd feel against her skin.

He joined her at the linoleum counter. She could smell him, even over the coffee—a mix of citrus and pine and fresh-cut wood. She set down her cup with a thump, suddenly aware of how close he was. Their bodies could actually touch if they each scooted in a few inches.

He showed her the scratches on his notepad, written in his blocky, angular hand. “I already have a project list started here. Obvious stuff I can see just by looking at the place. It's in order, from basement to roof, and subcoded by cost. The most expensive projects are in red. Midlevel projects are in blue. And relatively inexpensive projects are in green.”

Willa squinted at the pad, wondering if the whole thing was alphabetized to boot. “That's a lot of red.”

“There's going to be more. I haven't been inside in a while. Your mom left me a key, but I haven't seen that much up close yet.”

Willa chewed her lip. She'd anticipated the house would need some work, but she hadn't planned on it needing a total overhaul. Her stomach clenched with worry.
Please let what I have be enough to cover it all
, she prayed silently.

“You should change,” Burk said, closing the notepad. “We need to get started.”

Willa bristled. She'd change if and when she wanted. “I'm fine,” she insisted. “Let's go.”

Burk glanced at her slippers, as if questioning her footwear, but didn't say anything else. Instead, he headed toward the basement, Willa following.

“See the crack there?” he said, standing on the cement floor at the bottom of the stairs and pointing to a wall behind the ancient washing machine. “That's a foundation issue. We're going to have to dig out around it and see how things have shifted before we can fix it. It's serious. And it'll be expensive.”

“I have no idea what you're looking at,” Willa protested. In the dim light, all she could see were cobwebs and dust.

Burk switched on a flashlight. Of course he would have one at the ready. His beam illuminated a small crack, around six inches long.

“That?” Willa asked. “You're calling that little line a serious issue?”

“It's foundational,” Burk replied, his tone sharp. As if that explained it.

“If you say so.”

Burk rapped his knuckles on top of the water heater. “Have you showered yet?”

“What, today?”

“No. In general. Since you've been here.”

“No, Burk, I've been here for
three days
without cleaning myself. Of course I've showered.”

“And it's been hot?”

Willa hesitated. “Well, not hot, no. It's more like lukewa—”

“New water heater, then.” He shifted the flashlight to his back pocket while he wrote it down. Willa was starting to hate that notebook.

“There's some old knob-and-tube wiring down here. It's not up to code. I gotta call in a buddy to do that. So you're looking at another couple grand there in electrical.”

He flipped the page of the notebook. The list went on.

“New insulation is a must; you're letting in cold air underneath the floors above. It's inefficient.”

“I can live with inefficient,” Willa said.

Burk shook his head. “No. You can't live with it. It's critical.”

Willa tilted her head. “Insulation? Is critical?”

Burk just kept writing. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Her gut tightened in response. Surely he wasn't inflating the seriousness of all this, was he? Burk was a lot of things, but he wasn't crooked. He wouldn't swindle her.

Would he?

He might if he was still mad
, Willa thought. If he was still furious for the way she'd abandoned him twelve years ago without a phone call or a note and started over—Poof! Just like that!—in New York.

Words she'd never said were suddenly bubbling in her throat. In the basement's musty darkness, she suddenly wanted to grab him and explain to him why she'd fled. Burk knew the basics, of course—her dad's death, her mom's absence, Willa's loneliness—but did he really understand how afraid Willa was that she'd lose him, too?

Burk had a job lined up with a landscaping company after graduation, and told her he wasn't going anywhere, even as all their friends were getting ready for college. But a needling doubt had Willa questioning everything as summer waned. As her classmates began to disperse for school, Willa convinced herself that she had to leave as well. She had to get out before Burk left her first.
Because he would. Everyone did.
Or so she believed at the time. And once he took off, she'd have no one.

So she fled to New York, reinventing herself as a socialite and cutting herself off from the boy she loved, and from the town where the life she'd known had crumbled.

Would it make any difference to say all this now? She opened her mouth to try, but the timing was all wrong. Burk was focused on the repairs, and he barreled ahead with his list.

“New paint and caulk down here,” he continued, oblivious. His blue eyes swept from floor to ceiling. “And I recommend a new washer and dryer.”

Willa shook her head. Questions about the past faded amid the demands of the present. “Does it matter if I don't want a new washer and dryer?” she asked, eyeing his notebook. “Because you just keep writing, Shakespeare.”