Every Little Kiss (28 page)

Willa sat back, shocked by his tone. She suddenly debated hitting the yellow pages, maybe trying to find someone else to do the work. But if it had been Burk caring for the house all these years, then he'd know it better than anyone. It would only make sense to keep him on the job.

“No,” she replied.

He scratched something on his notepad, then shoved it back into his flannel pocket. When his eyes met hers again, she thought she saw a softness there—a spark of kindness. Her heart fluttered in anticipation. He was going to tell her how good it was to see her, and that it made sense for them to collaborate on this project together.
Finally.

Instead, he stood up. “We'll get started tomorrow. Eight o'clock sharp. I was late today, but it's only because my truck wouldn't start. That's the exception, not the rule.”

Willa pressed her lips together, more disappointed than she wanted to admit at his gruff manner. It shouldn't matter to her whether Burk Olmstead was glad to see her. She didn't need him to be
nice
to her, for heaven's sake. All that mattered was that he was willing to work on the house.

Or so she thought until he gave her a small smile. Instantly, her breath caught. She leaned forward, tensing with an inexplicable desire to hear him say how glad he was to have her back in White Pine again.

“You have melted cheese on your upper lip,” he said instead.

Willa raked her napkin over her mouth, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as he strode out of the diner. As she heard the cowbell clunk over the door, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back in New York, breathing in the dense air of the city as she threaded her way down packed sidewalks, past galleries and shops and restaurants where she could pop in and get sushi anytime she wanted. She rubbed her forehead, knowing that if she asked for an eel roll here, they'd probably send her down to the Birch River with a pole.

Taking a breath, Willa flattened her palms on the table's slick wood top and steadied herself. Two days in, and she already wanted to flee Minnesota. It wasn't a good sign, that was for sure, but New York was in the past. She was going to have to make White Pine work now. She was going to have to make her bed-and-breakfast work, for that matter.

She paid the bill, marveling at how little her meal cost and at how the waitress, Cindi, had dotted her
i
with a heart on the handwritten ticket.

People like Cindi-with-a-heart needed what she had to offer them, Willa reasoned. They were behind the times, and she had a New York aesthetic to bring to the town. People like Cindi would positively eat up the level of culture and sophistication she'd give them with her B and B.

Right. Because shacking up with a fumbling investor and then leaving town when you're on the edge of broke is so high-class
, a voice inside her chided.

Willa swallowed. Her past wasn't blemish-free, that was for sure, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. And she wasn't about to let Burk Olmstead stand in her way, either.

He could give her attitude all day long and it wouldn't matter. He could yammer about the Great Lakes Inn and it wouldn't make an iota of difference.

Her job was to think of him as a contractor now, and nothing more.

She stepped out of the diner into the crisp sunshine and tilted her face to the sky. A breeze rustled the leaves of Main Street's trees. The smell from the nearby bakery floated on the air, warm and sweet.

Behind her was New York and all the mistakes in her life she couldn't fix. The embarrassment of it was right there, a tar pit of humiliation bubbling just under her skin. But she refused to crack. She blinked away the tears that sprang into her eyes. A herculean wave of embarrassment was trying to drown her in the idea that she was just a stupid, shallow socialite, and she'd lost everything as a result.

But she wouldn't go under just yet. Because ahead was the one thing she
could
fix: her house.

Or more precisely, Burk Olmstead could fix her house.

Briefly she wondered if she could trust herself alone with him for weeks on end, but then she shook off the thought and the all-over tingle that accompanied it. She exhaled to cool the heat in her body. The girl who had loved Burk Olmstead was long gone, and the boy who had loved her back had disappeared into an exterior as hard as concrete.

Which was just as it should be.

Houses needed lots of concrete, after all.

A Kiss to Build a Dream On

And Then He Kissed Me

One More Kiss
(e-novella)

     

  
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