Mr. February (5 page)

She didn’t want to get involved with him, not when she hoped to meet her Mr. Right, settle down, and start a family. The sooner she stopped thinking about him, the better.

Resolved, she pulled into the mini-mall that housed Rosemary’s Breakfast Nook.

By the dozen or so parked cars grouped around the restaurant, she wasn’t the only one out before eight a.m. But then, Rosemary’s served the best breakfast in town and was packed daily, from the second the doors opened at six a.m. until it closed at one.

The second Jillian entered the bustling restaurant, two things happened simultaneously. The delicious smells made her weak with hunger. She also spotted Rafe.

And just when she’d pushed him firmly from her mind. Why couldn’t he have stayed home?

He and another male almost as handsome shared in a booth with an attractive woman about Jillian’s age, and a small boy seated next to Rafe. The boy chattered away at Rafe, and the man’s dimples winked charmingly.

Maybe that was why Jillian suddenly felt weak.

The angel sitting on one shoulder warned her to turn around and make a hasty exit, but the devil on the other shoulder prodded her to stay.

She was torn and hesitating when Rafe looked straight at her. For one long moment, their gazes locked. Jillian couldn’t glance away.

She hadn’t planned to approach the booth, and yet, suddenly, there she was. “Um, hi,” she said, awkwardly fingering the strap of her purse. “I’m here to pick up some Samantha’s cinnamon rolls.”

Rafe nodded at the short, black-haired female. “Meet Samantha Everett, the woman behind those treats.”

“Wow,” Jillian gushed. “I love all your stuff.”

Samantha beamed. “That makes me happy.” She elbowed the man beside her. “This big guy is Adam Healey. He and Rafe work together. The boy next to Rafe is my son, William.”

“I recognize you from the firefighters calendar,” Jillian told Adam. “You’re Mr. January.”

“One and the same.” Like Rafe, he looked pained, as if the notoriety embarrassed him.

“Hey, it’s a good thing,” Samantha said. “That calendar raised a big chunk of money for the Benefit Fund. They’re already talking about doing another next year.”

“I’ll definitely get one,” Jillian said, exchanging smiles with Samantha.

“Me, too,” William said. “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a firefighter just like Adam and Rafe.”

Jillian smiled at the adorable boy. “That’s great.”

In the beat of silence that followed, her empty stomach rumbled. Embarrassed, she placed her hand over it.

“We haven’t ordered yet,” Samantha said. “Why don’t you join us?”

Not wanting to intrude, Jillian shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s no big deal. We spend a lot of time together,” Adam said. “Tell her, Rafe.”

“A lot. Sit down.” He nudged William over and then scooted across his side of the booth to make room for her.

There it was again—that intent, interested look. Jillian’s heart fluttered and she went soft inside. But what was the point of eating with him and getting all worked up and even more attracted, when nothing would come if it? Nothing that would lead to what she really wanted—love and a baby.

She decided against sitting down.

“I really need to get back to the house,” she said. “My first class is tomorrow night, and I still have tons to do.”

“Class?” Samantha asked, raising her eyebrows a fraction.

“She makes pottery and she also teaches the craft,” Rafe said.

Jillian nodded. “This will be my first class in my studio.”

“I wish I had time to try my hand at pottery,” Samantha said. “But with business booming… I’m getting ready to move into a commercial kitchen and hire my first assistant. Someday, though… Do you have a card?”

“I do. I also have a flyer.” Jillian fished through her purse and handed over both. “My work is in several stores in the area. If you check my website, you’ll find links to the stores and photos of some of my pieces. Or you can come to the Rogue Valley Arts Festival in Medford next month. I’ll have a booth there. It was nice meeting you all. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Rafe said. “Adam, order me the usual.”

“Coffee, the Rogue Valley omelet with hash browns, a side of bacon, and a warm cinnamon roll. Got it.”

“You don’t have to walk me out,” Jillian said. “I haven’t even bought my cinnamon rolls yet, and there’s a line.”

“I’ll wait with you. We should talk.”

As they took their places behind some half-dozen customers, Jillian gave him a sideways look. “What are we supposed to talk about?”

“Tell you when we get outside.”

She wondered what he wanted to say. If it was about those kisses on the back porch, he had nothing to worry about. She wasn’t about to chase after him or expect anything.

An attractive female behind the counter placed three cinnamon rolls into a Rosemary’s Breakfast Nook sack. She handed them to Jillian and gave Rafe a flirty smile. “How you doing today, Rafe?”

His dimples flashed. “Hey, Jana. Not bad. You got a new ’do. Nice.”

“Thanks.” Jana tossed her head, making her chin-length hair sway seductively. “I got it cut yesterday.”

A jealous pang had Jillian frowning. Which was ridiculous, as well as confusing. She had no claim on Rafe and certainly didn’t want one.

So why did she feel like clawing the waitress’s eyes out?

Chapter Six

‡

O
utside, eager to be alone with Jillian, Rafe shepherded her around the building toward the delivery area at the rear of the restaurant. At this hour on a Sunday, it stood empty.

“Hey,” she said, digging in her heels. “My car is the other direction.”

“And I’ll get you there in a little while.”

“You’re not making sense.” Jillian frowned. “I thought you wanted to talk about something—”

“I’m not interested in talking just now,” he growled. Then he kissed her.

After a stunned intake of breath and a brief hesitation, she let go of the bakery sack, letting it drop to the ground. She twined her arms his neck and kissed him back.

When Rafe finally released her, she blinked a couple of times. “Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to see if you taste as good as I remembered.” For good measure, he kissed her again. “You do.”

With her eyes unfocused, her skin flushed, and her lips open a fraction, she looked thoroughly aroused. Sweet Jeezus, she was sexy. He was going in for more when she pushed hard against his chest with her palms.

“Stop it, Rafe.” Her gaze had become razor-sharp, and displeasure turned her lush mouth down at the corners.

Clueless as to what had just happened, he eyed her. “What’d I do?”

“I don’t hear from you for over a week, not even a text. Then I accidentally run into you. You say you want to talk, but instead you drag me out back and kiss me? I don’t think so.”

Her enthusiastic response belied her words, but he wasn’t fool enough to point that out. “I haven’t been in touch because I’ve been trying to stay away from you,” he explained.

That was true. He wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted in woman in a long time. Ever. That scared him.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because when I’m around you, it’s all I think about.” And also when he wasn’t with her. This past week, he’d thought of little else.

Her exhale was pure scorn. “If you were the tiniest bit interested in me, you’d call or email or text. You’d ask me out.”

While he worked out how to respond, she dropped a zinger. “I wouldn’t go out with you anyway. I’m not interested.”

He wasn’t used to hearing that. “You kiss like you are.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. Her pupils dilated, and her mouth relaxed into fullness. Satisfied, he grinned. “You want me, all right.”

She batted his hand away. “That has nothing to do with it.”

She’d totally lost him. He gave her a sideways look. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. I want to have a baby.”

Say what?
Rafe stepped back. “Not with me, you don’t. I like you, and I’m attracted as hell to you, but I’m not nearly ready to be a dad. I’m not sure I ever will be.”

Her eyes sparked with anger. “Of all the cocky… I don’t want to have a baby with you. We don’t know each other well enough to even consider it. I just thought you should know I’m looking for a man who’s ready to settle down, get married, and start a family.”

The statement stunned him. “The other day, when I mentioned my mom and how she never married because she didn’t want to be under any man’s thumb, you said you understood.”

“I do, but I don’t necessarily agree with her.”

He put both hands up, palms out, and stepped back. “I’m not the marrying kind.”

“I know. You’re a stud.”

“The guys only call me that because they know it bugs me.”

“All I know is, what you want and what I want are two different things. That rules you out for me.”

“You got that right.” Rafe couldn’t get away from Jillian and her need to get married and procreate fast enough. “You dropped your cinnamon rolls.” He scooped her bakery bag from the pavement and handed it to her.

He didn’t draw a normal breath until they turned in opposite directions and went their separate ways.

*

As the first pottery class wound down Monday evening, Jillian mentally swiped her brow. So far, so good.

The six pottery novices sitting at the studio worktable, all female, ranged in age from about thirty to sixty-something. Tonight’s session had been devoted to the basics—working with clay and getting familiar with the potter’s wheel, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

With less than thirty minutes remaining, it was time to field any final questions.

Patty, a self-described middle-aged housewife with empty nest syndrome, raised her hand. “I’m worried my clay will dry out before class next week. How do I keep that from happening?”

“It can easily dry out, so I’m glad you asked.” Jillian demonstrated how to wrap the clay in wet paper towels and seal it in a plastic bag. “Go ahead and do that now. There are paper towels in the dispenser next to the sink at the back of the studio.”

She waited for everyone to comply before she nodded at the shelves JR and Chelsea had installed. “The empty shelf space is for you to store your clay and whatever you make during class. Be sure to label your space so you don’t accidentally take someone else’s clay. Next week, you’ll be throwing the pots we’ll eventually fire in the kiln.”

Excited murmurs filled the studio.

“I hope mine looks half as pretty as yours,” Edie, a grandmotherly woman, commented.

Jillian had showed her students her own work-in-process drying on the shelves, along with photos of the pieces she’d sold through the years. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” she said. “It took me years to get where I am now. With time and practice, you’ll get there, too. That reminds me. When these sessions end, I’m planning to teach a more advanced class. I’d love to see you come back. Are there any last questions before you leave?”

Wanda, a hair stylist about Jillian’s age, posed the next question. “Even though I wore an old smock, I got clay on my tights and under my nails. How do I get it out?”

“I use a nail scrub brush on my hands. For clothes, I let the clay dry and then brush the excess off. Any residue usually washes out.”

A pretty redheaded woman named Nora spoke next. “This has nothing to do with pottery, but it is related to this class. Being divorced and on the market, I hoped to meet guys here. Why didn’t any sign up?”

Jillian grinned. “When I taught at the Artist Cooperative, I did have one or two men in my class who went on to become decent potters. I did hand out flyers to some of the firefighters from the Guff’s Lake Fire Department, but as you can see, none of them signed up.”

Not that she’d expected anyone from the crew who worked with Rafe. Monday nights, they were all on duty.

Nora glanced at the calendar on the wall, and the color photo hunky Mr. March, the same Gus Jillian had met the other day, and sighed. “Too bad. Maybe you can introduce me around?”

“I don’t know the firefighters that well,” she said.

Except maybe Rafe. But the thought of introducing him to Nora or any other woman didn’t sit well with Jillian. Even if his negative reaction to the idea of marriage and kids made her all the more determined to steer clear of him.

But, oh, when he gave her that intent, steamy look… Ignoring the warmth flooding her, she ushered her students out. As soon as they drove away, she headed to the house to find JR, who had promised to help clean up after class.

She couldn’t find him anywhere. She peeked in the spare bedroom he and Chelsea had taken over. Chelsea was alone and curled up under the covers. Lying on the floor next to her, Pooh raised her head and woofed softly. The girl stirred and offered a sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten.”

“I was so tired, I climbed into bed early.”

“No wonder. You’re pregnant. You need your rest. Where’s JR?”

Chelsea yawned. “He went out with a friend from high school.”

Jillian hadn’t realized he’d reconnected with any of his old friends, guys he hadn’t seen since before he’d moved to Seattle. “Which friend, and where did they go?”

“I think his name is Pete? They went out for a beer.”

With what money? JR didn’t have any to spare. Jillian remembered Pete as a partier and a troublemaker. Of course, he could have changed since then. Still, she was uneasy. She frowned. “JR was supposed to help me clean up the studio after class tonight.”

“I didn’t realize. I can do it.”

Not about to interrupt the rest of the mother-to-be of her niece or nephew, Jillian shook her head. “Never mind. Go on back to sleep.”

Chelsea didn’t argue. She lay back down. Jillian slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

While she scrubbed clay off the work table and vacuumed, she muttered and worried about her brother. He’d better not fall in with the wrong crowd, not with a baby on the way.

She was fed up with his sneakiness and broken promises, and done letting him off the hook while she did everything and he goofed off. It was time he grew up, found work, and moved out. Which he apparently wasn’t going to do without a push.