by Dora Hiers
She had a month off from work. Long enough to prep the house for the real estate market. Long enough for Chase to reignite those sparks all over again.
Thirty days of torture.
Chapter 2
Chase heaved himself from the couch and moved over to a bar stool, the tug to be near Camille, to watch this woman as she moved around the kitchen—no, more like danced around the kitchen—irresistible.
A movement over by the French door snagged his attention. “Oh, no. Diesel!”
He scrambled off the stool, but his vision immediately blackened. Swaying, he pressed a palm against the counter, waited until the dizziness subsided.
“Keep your seat. He’s all right. I don’t have any doggie bones…” Camille stuck her hand in the fridge, came out with a plastic bag. Pizza? She tore off the crust from a couple slices. “But this might work.”
She walked over to the puppy, busily chomping on a throw rug, and held out her offering. When the puppy dragged it out of her hand, Camille snatched the rug and hid it behind her back. “Sweet boy. You don’t want that dirty old rug when you can have a nice, chewy pizza crust, do you?” she cooed, scratching around Diesel’s ears and under his chin.
Chase sank back down on the stool, shock and awe jellifying his legs. How strange that world traveler Camille had a kind word and showered affection on his stray, yet the small town gal he’d dated for over a year never paid Diesel any attention. Not even in the beginning, when the little dude required extra hugs and cuddling after surgery.
Even stranger, Ashleigh never once made his heart blip like Camille. His pulse never stuttered or stalled. His legs never threatened to give out on him. Like now.
Of course, the frying pan might’ve had something to do with that.
Camille stashed the rug in a closet and washed her hands. “Do you like omelets?”
“I like anything I don’t have to cook.”
Drying her hands, she chuckled and turned around. “Well, that’s honest.”
“I never say things I don’t mean, Camille.” Or voice the things that I should.
Her features clouded, and condemnation stabbed him. Were they both remembering the same moment? The day after graduation, when she made a special trip to Steepleview to give him the news that her father was sending her to Italy for culinary school. Big fat drops of moisture clung to her lashes, purple hollows rimmed her cheeks, pouty mouth quivered. Oh, how her expression pleaded with him. As if he held the power for her to stay.
That face had haunted his sleep for a decade. Still did.
How could he hold her back from chasing her dreams? And it wasn’t as if he had the means to make it happen for her. No, it was best that he had kept silent and trapped the words that threatened to spill out.
He didn’t hold the key to her future, then. Not now, either. They belonged to two different worlds, and no matter that he now owned Where Wishes Live, that fact would never change.
She bent her head to chop veggies and prep the eggs, hiding her expression behind her long bangs.
He swallowed a giant wad of regret and sorrow, almost scoffed at the irony of it all. Here he was, owner of Where Wishes Live, but he couldn’t make his own wishes come true.
That’s right, Son. You can’t, but I can. Trust Me. The small voice whispered reassurance to his spirit.
God knew his heart, and Camille was back in Steepleview. That was enough.
Breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving, he stared at the clutter on the quartz counter. A stack of mail. A purse, and next to the expensive-looking bag, a few bills. Not dollar bills, though, too oddly shaped. What were they?
Chase scooped up a handful of the foreign money, studied the currency. “So this is what a Euro looks like.”
Camille glanced over a shoulder then refocused on the skillet. She slid the omelet onto a plate and ladled a cup of wassail, set it in front of him. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” He tossed the ice bag on the counter and carefully placed the money back near her purse. Picked up the fork, hesitated. “This looks too pretty to eat.”
She laughed and sat down next to him. “Well, they say you eat first with your eyes. But that’s all meaningless unless you actually get it in your belly.” Her floral scent mingled with the onions, peppers and ham, and the citrus from the wassail.
Mercy! Maybe he had ended up in heaven after all. He shoveled the heaping forkful in his mouth. Flavor exploded on his tongue. Like fireworks, each bite setting off a new, brighter essence, even after it slid down his throat. He might’ve moaned with delight.
“Glad you like it.”
“Like it?” He closed his eyes, sighed. “I love it.”
“Wow. I never get that response from Antonio.”
His eyelids jolted open and stuck in that position. His fork clanged against the plate, appetite spoiled.
She went on, as if she didn’t know the bomb she’d just launched. “He prefers to eat out. Says he wants to give me a break from work, but I enjoy cooking.” Her pretty face puckered into a frown. “Well, I used to, anyway.”
“Who’s Antonio?”
She eyed him over the rim of her cup. Sipped, then lashes fluttered closed over ivory cheeks. “My boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. The word swirled around on his tongue. Finally spiraled down to thud like a brick in his gut. “A boyfriend?”
She sighed, loud and frustrated. As if she wasn’t quite sure how to categorize the man. Odd. “Right now.”
Right now? Only two words, but packed with so much meaning. So much confusion. “So, why are you here?”
Confusion tightened her forehead. “What do you—”
“Come on, Camille. If you want more out of your relationship, why are you here—” he waved a hand toward the family room “—and not in Italy?”
“Who said I wanted more?”
“You don’t?” Hope cranked its rusty engine and roared to life.
“I’m…I’m not sure.” Pink swallowed her cheeks and moisture hugged her lashes. “He asked me to marry him, but I need time. Time to figure out who I am and what I want.”
She’d had a decade to figure out those things, and yet she’d run home, to him. Wonder tingled in his toes and worked its way north. Thank You, Lord!
But, what was Antonio thinking, letting her go trotting off to another country by herself with that looming over them? Why hadn’t he come with her? The dude had just made a colossal mistake.
Just like Chase had made ten years ago. One he didn’t intend to repeat.
She turned sideways on the stool, and their thighs touched. Boom! As if he could deny the power she still held over him, that clinched it.
He inched their legs apart. Not just so he could maintain a reasonable level of conversation. But to show her that he wasn’t the same man she’d left behind. He hoped that he was better, more in control of his hormones. Calling up your power, Lord, for Your spirit of self-discipline. Help me show Camille that I’ve changed, all because of Your Grace, Your mercy.
“Camille, how can you need time to figure that out? You’re the same person you've always been. Sweet. Generous. Kind. Always seeing the best in a person.” Like him. She’d looked beyond his poverty and befriended him when many others turned their backs. “And a woman of faith.” Her confident assurance in the Almighty was what got him through those first few years. Until his own faith took over.
Her swallow was loud. “You don't know me anymore, Chase. After my parents divorced, I followed a different path.”
She got up and wore a path across the kitchen tile, arms crossed. Then, she leaned down and scooped up the sleeping Diesel, cradling the pup against her chest and rubbing his back.
Nah. She hadn’t changed that much, he was certain. But even if she had, she wasn’t beyond Grace.
“Anyway, I’m here for a month. Long enough to prep the house to put it on the market.” She pressed her cheek against Diesel’s fur. Sighed.
“So your daddy finally decided
to sell it, huh?” Why hadn’t the old man let him know?
“Actually, when I told him I was coming back, he suggested it.”
Chase would need to thank the man the next time they got together. If they met again. Might not be a reason much longer.
So, one month. That's all the time Chase had to convince her of all the reasons to stay. Because he didn’t plan to watch her plane take off from the truck, parked on the side of the road, like the last time.
A month wasn’t nearly long enough, but God was still in the business of miracles. Right, God?
Miracles…wait a minute! Hadn’t he just prayed for a miracle? Wow! God, You work fast!
“Hey, think the work on the house will keep you busy for a whole month?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and flashed a sheepish look. “Probably. It’s not really something I have much practice with.”
“What’s necessary to get it ready to list?”
She surveyed the family room. “Well, Daddy has professionals coming to paint the interior while I pack up everything. I promised I’d take care of letting them in and out, but I don’t plan on being cooped up inside the whole time, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her gaze landed back on him, question marks in those soft blue eyes. “Why?”
His fingers twitched to tuck a rogue wisp of wet hair behind her ear, to frame those smooth, make-up free cheeks. He stood and moved closer, shoving those rebellious hands in his pockets. “The resort chef is a good friend of mine.”
She arched one eyebrow, waiting. Her hand stilled on Diesel’s back.
“Katherine and her husband are expecting their first baby.”
Was it his imagination or did she just exhale? With relief? Impatience? What?
“Aww. That’s sweet. I’m sure you’re happy for them.”
“Definitely. Her and Samuel have tried years for a baby. Anyway, she’s been to the hospital a couple times with false labor already. The doctor wants her to take it easy, says any day—”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He scrunched his forehead. Scratched his head. “Yes, what? Woman, I haven’t even asked the question.”
“Resort chef. Baby due any day. Come on, Chase. It doesn’t take rocket scientist to figure that one out. I can help. For a month, anyway.”
He whooped and lifted her off the floor, twirled her around the kitchen. Thanked God that the pup separated them.
“Put me down, you nut.” She giggled and swatted him on the arm. Diesel barked his displeasure.
When he set her bare feet back on the floor, and she tilted her smiling face up at him, the pup still cradled against her chest…
Desire swelled like a flooded river, about to spill its banks. It took every ounce of self-discipline he could scrounge up not to stake a claim on her full lips. Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of her head and stepped back, way back. “Thank you, Camille. And I will help around here. I had already planned to come by this week and anchor the shutters and trim the bushes, and I’m sure a few things will need tending inside.”
And a couple hearts that needed healing. Heal our hearts, oh Lord, and show Yourself to Camille again in a big way. Grant me the courage, the words, to make up for the first time when I couldn’t ask her to stay. Oh, and thank You for second chances! Please don’t allow me to blow it.
Chapter 3
Maybe filling in at the resort would be the exact prescription to get her cooking groove back. Working with Chase on the job and in the privacy of her home would give her a chance to get to know him again. Then, she could shelve those wonderful memories and banish the man from her dreams. Finally, she might be free to move on with her life!
Camille pulled her rental car into the employee parking lot at Where Wishes Live and collected her purse. The car fob beeped, cutting through the eerie early morning stillness. In a few hours, this place would be swarming with people, laughing and screaming with joy and exhilaration as they careened down the slopes, either skiing or tubing, or making their way back to the top to do it all over again.
Pleasure at being back rippled through her, and she smiled. Her breath puffed out in front of her, white clouds of arctic air, as she scanned the entrance.
Chase stood on the porch, rooted to the spot because the pup sprawled out on top of his boots, chatting with another employee. Frigid temperatures, and the man wasn’t even wearing a coat! He’d even rolled up the long sleeves of his uniform polo. His shoulder nudged against a post, and with his arms crossed, the flimsy material stretched taut against his massive chest. Did he get that from a gym or hard labor on the job?
Just then, he glanced her way, caught her open-mouthed stare. That slow smile spread across his face, the one that had always melted her heart. He winked then returned his attention to the other employee.
Was he waiting for her? Because he surely didn’t seem to care about being on the clock. He made no move to get back to work. Almost as if he owned the place.
Her heart stalled, along with her trek to the employee entrance. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Might be more than she could handle. He might be more than she could handle. Talk about a dose of reality. What had she agreed to? How could she possibly work alongside him here and then later at home?
Deep breaths, Camille. Focus on the end goal.
Which was?
Take some time off of work to get her cooking mojo back. She glanced at the sign above the restaurant, nodded. Check.
Take care of some minor details with the house. Pack. Let the painters in. Easy enough. Got it covered.
Fly back to Italy, rested and ready to give Antonio her answer. Her gaze whipped to Chase, and her resolve floundered. Uh…
She closed her eyes and Antonio appeared dressed in his crisp striped shirt, his black curly hair barely skimming the collar. Yes. That was better. After all, she was practically engaged to Antonio, a man who spouted endearments in Italian and wore designer suits to work. A man who was married to his job, judging by the headset constantly connected to his ear.
Her eyelids jerked up, shot to Chase, wearing khakis and steel-toed boots. Who spent most of his workday outdoors, whose clothes were scented with the natural fragrance of pine and woods and fresh air. And she’d only seen him pick up his phone once, so far.
Give him time.
****
“Good morning, sw…sunshine.” Oops. Sweetheart almost slipped out, and Chase barely caged the satisfied sigh in his chest. She’d come! When he’d finally crawled under the covers last night, doubt on whether she’d actually follow through had slithered in.
“Good morning.” Camille’s questioning glance bounced between him and Samuel.
“Camille, this is Samuel, Katherine’s husband. He’s the excited daddy-to-be.”
“Oh, great to meet you, Samuel. I hear the baby might make an appearance any day now.” She held out a hand, and the pair shook. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks. Katherine’s hoping sooner rather than later. Those contractions have worn her out. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet you.”
Thrilled? Not any more than him, but he stifled the urge to kick his feet in the air.
“Well, I better get to work. Catch you later, Chase, and thanks for filling in, Camille.” Samuel waved and hustled out to the work truck.
“Come on inside. I’ll show you around, introduce you to Katherine.” He put a hand on her back, nudged the dog off his boots. Diesel shifted and plopped down next to the door.
She turned worried eyes on him. “Don’t you have to get to work? I’m sure I can find my way to the kitchen.”
He smiled. “It’s all right. The boss goes easy on me these days.” Well, maybe not quite so easy. Why had he scheduled three straight days crammed full of meetings? He ached to spend more private time together, had plotted up excuses to get out of the consultations and get started on her house, instead.
He led her to the kitchen and opened the door. The strong aroma of onions and garlic and tom
ato sauce blasted them. “Smells like lasagna’s the special tonight. Yum.” He held the door for Camille and when she stepped underneath his arm, her fragrance wafted into his zone, melding some of his favorite things together. Vanilla. Gardenias. Fruit. Lasagna. He breathed deep.
Maybe the meetings were a blessing, not a curse. Because right now all he wanted to do was follow her into the kitchen like Diesel might, tongue hanging out, hoping for a crumb of affection. How would he ever get any work done?
Lord, I’m going to need all the self-discipline You can spare today. And peace in my spirit. Help me to be a better man than before, to show her the difference You’ve made in my life.
****
“So, that’s my life in a nutshell.” Katherine stooped and slid the lasagna pan in the oven. When she stood back up, she planted hands on her hips and groaned. Tiny jabs poked from her rounded belly underneath the apron. Katherine sucked in a pained breath, splayed palms over her tummy.
“Is that the baby?” Camille asked, awe making her voice throaty. How could such a tiny dude or dudette make themselves so visible from their mother’s womb?
Antonio didn’t want children. Not yet, anyway. Always joked that he couldn’t spare the time to devote to babies and children. Truthfully, though, between his job and after-hours client schmoozing and her chef’s schedule, they barely squeezed in a handful of hours together every week.
He was right. It wouldn’t be fair to start a family when time was at such a premium. Maybe later, when they were more settled in their careers.
She squashed the longing, but it rocketed right back up when Katherine grabbed her hand and pressed it against the pregnant woman’s belly. The baby kicked again. Or punched?
“Oh!” Camille’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Katherine.
Her new friend laughed. “Apparently, she didn’t appreciate the doctor saying she couldn’t make an arrival just yet.”
