Lakeside Sweethearts

by Lisa Jordan

A shout from the yard drew her attention to where the others played cornhole. Josie did a victory dance with her hands punching the air. Shaking his head and laughing, Nick retrieved the corn-filled bags and handed them back to her.

  Stephen and Lindsey’s eighteen-month-old daughter, Gracie Ann, left her friends and toddled over to her daddy. Before Stephen could pick her up, Ian swooped down, grabbed her and gave her a gentle toss in the air before catching her safely. She giggled and begged for him to do it again.

  The relaxed expression on his face warmed her from the inside out. He needed to marry a good woman and raise his own family. He’d dated through the years, but had never hinted about settling down. Not even with Emily. Though thinking back on seeing Ian with his ex, caused Agnes’s stomach to ache. Just like it always had.

  If only she could be the one to make him happy. If she could give him what he needed, then she’d take Josie’s advice and go for it.

  The patio door slid open, pulling Agnes out of her thoughts and back to the barbecue.

  Mama carried out two blue glass bowls, one filled with potato salad and the other mounded with coleslaw. “Agnes Joy, grab the pinto beans and macaroni and cheese off the stove please?”

  Favorites from her childhood. And what better way to host a picnic than to share with her closest friends?

  “Sure thing, Mama.”

  “Okay, looks like everything’s set.” Casting a glance over the laden table, Mama pressed her pinkies to the corners of her mouth and whistled, catching everyone’s attention. She waved them toward the deck. “Food’s ready. Let’s wash up and eat!”

  Stephen and Lindsey’s baby son, Thomas, squalled from his carrier in the shaded corner of the deck at the sound of Mama’s raised voice.

  Mama unbuckled him, lifted his tiny body and cradled him against her chest. “So sorry, little man, did I disrupt your nap?”

  The kids raced for the deck and thundered up the steps, only to be stopped by Mama, who directed them to the kitchen sink like a drill instructor, only with a sweeter smile.

  Having traded Gracie Ann for Josie’s son, Noah, Ian led the way with the child clutching his thumb as they walked slowly to the deck.

  A longing as gentle as the afternoon breeze whispered across her heart. Agnes sighed.

  Ian buckled Noah into his portable high chair, then wandered over to her as she plated the ribs. He put his hands on her upper arms and looked over her shoulder into the grill. “Spread looks good, Red.”

  His presence created more warmth than the open grill heating her face and neck. The scent of his cologne caused her to toes curl. She wanted to lean into him, to be captured by his embrace and allow the moments in time to stand still while she savored his closeness.

  Swallowing a couple of times, she nudged him back with her elbow and handed him the platter. “Set this on the table please. It’s mostly Mama’s doing. As soon as the kids get settled and someone blesses the food, we can eat.”

  Life would be so much simpler if her heart didn’t overreact every time the guy came within a three-foot radius of her personal space. But ever since she’d brushed that kiss across his lips… Once the kids returned to the deck with somewhat clean hands, everyone moved into a circle. Sandwiched between Hannah and Ian, she grabbed his outstretched hand, his rough palm warm against hers.

  They bowed their heads while Mama prayed.

  Once Mama concluded with amen, Ian gave Agnes’s hand a gentle squeeze. For a second, she focused on the way his fingers entwined with hers, the heat of his skin and the gentleness of his touch. She imagined how it would be to have that kind of relationship with him. Just for a second…

  Noah yelped, returning her attention back to the present.

  What was wrong with her?

  She pulled her hand out of his grip and wiped it on her capris, then held up her arms to get everyone’s attention. “Before we raid this feast like ants at a picnic, I just wanted to say thanks for today. All y’all’s support and help means a lot.”

  “Moving all that furniture was worth it for this Texas barbecue, Red.” Ian picked up a paper plate and fanned Noah’s face, causing the little one to giggle.

  Once everyone was settled, Agnes set her full plate across from Ian.

  Laughter and raised voices drifted over the treetops as everyone talked over everyone else. Mama’s house was meant to be filled with people. It was much too big to be wasted on one or two people. They had hoped for grandchildren one day.

  If only…

  “You okay?” Ian glanced at her from across the table. Sunlight glinted off the top of his head, turning his sandy-brown tousled hair almost white.

  “Just dandy. Need anything?”

  He wiped a smear of sauce off his mouth. “I’m good. I may need a nap after this feast…or maybe a walk to burn off the calories.”

  “Calories have never been your problem, Ian.”

  “Is that so?” Puffing his chest and patting his flat stomach, he waggled his eyebrows, sending a surge of heat across Agnes’s cheeks.

  She took another drink of tea, suddenly feeling parched, then stood and carried her nearly empty plate into the kitchen.

  What was her problem? She needed to get a grip.

  After all, she was going to be next door to the guy for the summer and couldn’t act like a fifteen-year-old every time they were together.

  She ran water into the sink and added a squirt of dish soap.

  The patio door slid open. Josie entered the kitchen carrying a stack of paper plates. “You left the table in a hurry. Everything okay?”

  Agnes took the paper plates from her and dropped them in the trash. “Yes.”

  “Agnes…what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” She wrung out the sponge and moved to the stove, scrubbing the top clean enough to win Mama’s seal of approval.

  Josie plunged her hands in the dishwater and scrubbed Mama’s favorite bean pot. “Every time Ian comes near you, you practically jump out your skin.”

  And almost into his arms.

  “I told you—I’m fine.”

  “I’ve seen how he’s been watching you all day. He can’t take his eyes off you.” After rinsing the dishes, she dried her hands and targeted Agnes with a direct look.

  Not Ian.

  “He just wanted to be sure I wasn’t burning the ribs.”

  “I doubt it. It’s more than that—the guy looks at you like a man in love. What do you say about taking a wrecking ball to that wall around your heart and giving the guy a chance?”

  “He doesn’t want me, Sugar Pie. He made it clear years ago we were nothing more than friends.” Agnes leaned against the fridge, resting her shoulder against the cool stainless steel. “Ian and I are just friends. In fact, if Ian’s moved on from Emily, I have half a mind to fix him up with Breena Nelson—she’d be just his type.”

  Breena was a regular at Cuppa Josie’s who owned a clothing boutique down the street from the coffee shop.

  “No way. Ian wants a woman of substance. Breena’s sweet and cute, but her conversational skills rarely venture past fashion. I can’t see Ian talking about styles and colors.”

  “Well, there’s got to be a woman out there for him. The guy’s been dragging his feet about finding his own wife, and let’s face it—he isn’t getting any younger.”

  Wasn’t that what friends did for one another—look out for their interests? If so, then why did the idea of Ian dating someone else make her heart mourn?

  *

  He didn’t want Red playing matchmaker—he wanted her.

  Crazy woman. What did he have to do to get that through her head?

  Ian counted to twenty before pushing through the sliding glass door. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but maybe they didn’t realize the window over the kitchen sink was open. And he heard every word of her conversation with Josie.

  Every heart-stabbing word.

  Most guys would probably consider him an idiot for pining over the one woma
n he couldn’t have, but when he dated other women, he kept measuring them against Red’s yardstick. Not fair to them or Red, but that’s how it was.

  And Mom’s subtle hints about more grandchildren haven’t gone unnoticed. With forty only a couple of years away, he needed to up his game if he was going to have children and be able to keep up with them without a wheelchair and an oxygen tank.

  Did men have biological clocks?

  He loved kids and wanted his own, but only with Red.

  And she kept him firmly in the friend zone.

  He carried the nearly empty platter of ribs and set it on the counter. “Toss me a cloth, Red, and I’ll wipe down the tables for you.”

  Josie glanced at him, at Red, then at the open window.

  Red wrung out a red plaid dishcloth and tossed it to him. He caught it one-handed and pivoted to head back to the deck.

  Josie followed. “Ian, you got a minute?”

  Ian glanced over his shoulder at the open window above the sink. He dropped the cloth on the table. “Sure.”

  They left the deck and headed toward the koi pond. Ian shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “What’s up?”

  Josie folded her arms in front of her. “I didn’t realize the window was open until you came into the kitchen. I’m going to assume you heard our conversation.”

  “Yeah.” He watched a dragonfly flit from one yellow flower to another.

  “I’m sorry if I was out of line with anything I said.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Ian shaded his eyes against the sun and looked at her, wishing he had grabbed his sunglasses off the picnic table. “Are you always this direct?”

  “Only with people I care about. I care about Agnes. Her ex did a number on her.”

  He didn’t need to be reminded. “Yeah, I know.”

  Josie sat on the stone pond wall and looked at him. She pulled on a long blade of grass and wove it through her fingers. “You’re welcome to tell me to mind my own business, but are you in love with Agnes?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just don’t want to see her hurt again.”

  “Believe me, I’m the last guy who’d ever hurt her.” Ian looked over his shoulder to find Red running barefoot in the grass chasing Gracie Ann and Noah. Her laughter swirled with their giggles and zeroed in on his heart.

  “Hurt comes in many forms, my friend.”

  Ian turned back to Josie. “Like I said—you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I guess what I’m saying is if you do love her, maybe now’s the time to start showing her.”

  She was right. He needed to show Red just how great they’d be together, but he wasn’t sure how to do that without spooking her…or worse, driving her away for good.

  Ian focused his attention on the fat orange and white fish playing tag. “So, if a guy wanted to move out of the friend zone, what would you suggest he do?”

  “I’m going to break girl code and let you in on a secret, but it’s because you’re both driving me nuts with the way you’re refusing to talk about the one thing keeping you apart—your relationship. Agnes thinks you see her only as a friend. If you want her heart, then woo her and show her how much you care.”

  He didn’t want to do a bunch of meaningless actions to get her attention. He wanted her to know he was the right man for her…for the rest of their lives.

  Chapter Eight

  One man’s trash was another man’s treasure. Or in her case, another woman’s treasure.

  Agnes’s eyes swept over the front yard littered with mismatched furniture and tables of household goods. The estate sale offered promise. Hopefully she could find something to restore for Agape House.

  At the sound of a car door closing behind her, Agnes turned and pushed her oversize sunglasses on top of her head.

  Ian climbed out of his white Ford Escape parked behind her convertible. He smothered a yawn, then finger-combed his damp hair away from his face.

  She handed him a steaming Cuppa Josie’s cup and smiled. “Mornin’, Sunshine.”

  He removed the lid and breathed deeply. “What flavor? Actually, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s caffeine.”

  “Drink your coffee, and wipe the cobwebs from your eyes.”

  “Red, why does every harebrained idea of yours have to happen this side of seven o’clock? You know it’s Saturday, right?” The morning sunshine streamed through the stocky sycamore tree, casting leaf-shaped shadows on his face.

  “Hey, Mr. Cranky Pants, when I mentioned going to yard sales this morning, you’re the one who offered to come with me. Just because you think morning begins at ten, some of us have things to do. The best deals are found first thing before everything is picked over like a stewed chicken.”

  “Speaking of chickens—if you lived on a farm, you’d be kicking the rooster awake.” Creases puckered the corners of his eyes, showing laughter fit him as well as his faded jeans.

  Why was she checking out his jeans?

  She tugged on the hem of her fitted pink T-shirt and nodded toward the small crowd rooting through the tables. “The buzzards started circling before dawn.”

  “Aren’t you one of those buzzards?”

  “No way, I’m much cuter.” She bumped her shoulder against his.

  “You’re right about that.” He waggled his eyebrows over the rim of his cup.

  Agnes rolled her eyes.

  Ian stretched his arms out in a wide Y before smothering another yawn, causing his untucked green pinstriped button-down shirt to ride up. “Okay, Red, what’s the game plan?”

  “We’re on a treasure hunt for Agape House.”

  “That thrift store explosion in your mom’s garage isn’t enough?” He tugged on her ponytail. “You’re a sucker for a lost cause, aren’t you?”

  “Lost cause, my foot. Repurposing furniture keeps us in line with your precious budget. Plus, the more we display at Agape House, the more advertising for Tattered Daisies.” She poked his chest. “Don’t be dissin’ my dream.”

  “I wasn’t.” He swept a hand across the yard. “Face it—some of this stuff looks like junk.”

  “You see junk—I see potential for a second chance. With a little TLC, these pieces can have value again.”

  “Kind of like a mouthy redhead I know. Okay, let’s do this. If I’m going to be your muscles, better use them while they’re fresh.” Ian flexed his biceps.

  Agnes tried not to notice the bulge that tightened against the cotton fabric of his shirt. For a geek, he did have some strong arms. Not that she’d dare admit that to him…or anyone.

  Squinting, she leaned close to his arm and poked his upper arm. “Hmm, maybe I should’ve called someone else.”

  “No respect, I tell you.” He pulled his sunglasses out of his front pocket and settled them on his nose.

  Agnes looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and guided him toward the sale.

  A dented toaster, a Crock-Pot without a lid, mismatched coffee mugs, grungy linens, musty books and faded toys waited to be chosen. Every item had a history, some tie to the past. And now they sat in the early morning sunshine waiting for someone else to give them new life.

  Agnes leafed through an old Fannie Farmer cookbook. Maybe Josie would like this. “Why haven’t you called Breena yet? I gave you her number last week after the barbecue.”

  “Forget it, Red. I can find my own dates.” Ian leafed through a book on basement remodeling, the pictures suggesting a mid-’70s copyright date.

  “Well, you’re not doing a very good job at it.” She dropped the cookbook on the pile and headed for a small pedestal table marred with water rings. She ran a hand over the scarred top and imagined it repainted a light aqua—maybe with chalk paint—and holding trailing ivy. Or a cup of tea. Perfect for a small reading table.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He grabbed her hand as she searched the table for a pr
ice tag.

  “You’re a great guy, Ian. Any girl would be lucky to lasso you.”

  “I’m not a rodeo steer. Besides, I’m not looking for just any girl.” The pad of his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. Almost a whisper of a touch. He gave her a slow smile, revealing white teeth, and winked. At her.

  Ian James winked at her.

  The fool must’ve had an eye twitch or something. Why would he do such a thing?

  Gently she pulled her hand away and rubbed at the warmth flowing to her shoulder. Stifling a shiver, she picked up the table to check for a price tag. “Leave it to me—I’ll fix you up with the perfect girl.”

  “How about a sassy, ginger-haired transplanted Texan?”

  Agnes’s heart shimmied. Must be too much caffeine. “That makes about as much sense as hip pockets on a hog. You don’t want a throwaway whose heart has more dents than a junkyard wreck.”

  Ian tipped up her chin and leveled her with a direct look. “He really did a number on you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Agnes pulled her gaze away from Ian’s insightful stare.

  He scoffed. “Right. You go on believing that.”

  Forgetting the table a moment, Agnes crossed her arms over her chest. “Ian James, I know who I am.”

  His voice lost its teasing tone, and a look of compassion brushed across his face. “No, Red, you don’t. You’ve been poisoned by his decade of lies. It’s time you listened to the truth about yourself.”

  Tired of their conversation, she pointed at a dresser near the front porch. “I’m going to check out that dresser. Be right back.”

  Agnes hurried across the yard without waiting to see if Ian followed. At times, his probing touched on those tender spots her emotional armor couldn’t quite cover.

  A ripped piece of cardboard with FREE scrawled in black marker had been duct-taped to one of the drawers.

  Free—definitely in her price range.

  She ran her hands over the curved edges of the tall highboy with its six drawers, missing handles and beaten exterior. Why hadn’t anyone claimed this beauty?

  Sanded down with a fresh coat of paint and a vanished top, this dresser would be a nice addition to one of the bedrooms at Agape House. It still had potential, yet it had been set out with the rest of the unwanted stuff.