“Oh. It’s okay.” She dropped her head to stare at the plate, and a long curl fell onto her cheek. His gaze got caught on the shaft of light that spilled from the front window onto the side of her face.
“I just wanted to― Here.” She thrust the plate of cookies at him.
He resisted the urge to snatch them from her and eat the entire plate in one bite. “Why?”
Her eyebrows pulled down into a sharp V. “What do you mean why?”
“Why are you giving me cookies?”
The sound that escaped her was a combination of exasperation and something else―amusement maybe. “To thank you for getting me to the hospital last night. And to welcome you to the building. To Hope Springs.”
Nate could only look at her. He hadn’t done anything to deserve cookies. Even if they did smell divine.
Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. “You don’t have to take them if you don’t want. It’s kind of cliché, isn’t it? How much more small-town America can you get, right?” She pulled the plate back, and it was all he could do not to lunge for it.
“No.” His voice was louder than he intended, and he forced himself to lower the volume. “I mean, thank you. They look delicious.” He took the plate. Then he lifted it to his face and inhaled. He didn’t care that she was giving him a strange look.
“Sorry.” He lowered the plate. “I haven’t had anything homemade in a long time.”
A soft smile lifted her lips. “Okay, well, enjoy.” She took a step back.
Nate moved to close the door, but something stopped him. “Wait. Want to have one with me?”
She hesitated so long he was sure she was going to say no, but she finally gave a slow nod.
He stepped aside and held the door for her to enter the apartment.
They settled at the kitchen table, and he grabbed a jug of milk and two glasses.
As soon as he sat down, he sank his teeth into a cookie. The dough was soft and sweet, the chocolate melting on his tongue. He closed his eyes and savored it. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
His eyes snapped open. “Wait. How did you make cookies with a broken arm?”
Violet choked a little on her cookie. “Busted.” She took a long drink of milk. “I didn’t exactly make them. I mean, I was going to. But then I couldn’t figure out how to do it one-handed.” When she smiled, her eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit at the corners. “My friend Peyton owns a bakery. She made them.” She gave a sheepish grin. “But I did walk there to pick them up.”
Nate laughed to cover up how much her admission touched him. She had a broken arm and was supposed to be resting, but she’d taken the time to go out and buy him cookies?
He wasn’t worth that kind of effort. And yet it warmed him to know someone had thought of him.
“Well, tell your friend Peyton these are the best cookies I’ve ever eaten. Seriously.” He shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and reached for another.
“I will.” She popped the last dainty bite of her cookie into her mouth and slid her chair back.
But he didn’t want her to go yet.
“You’ll have to tell me where else to go in town. Seems I’ve been missing out.”
Her face lit up. “Did you see the fudge shop right next door? My friend Ariana owns it, and she gets orders from people all over the world.”
“Do you know everyone in Hope Springs?”
“It’s a small town. If you need groceries, Trig’s is the best. It’s―” She turned as if orienting herself. “About four blocks that way.” She pointed to the west. “And then three blocks that way.” She pointed south as she rotated her whole body.
Nate couldn’t hide his amusement over her method of giving directions. Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she laughed. “Sorry, my husband always said I give the worst directions. But it’s the way that makes sense to me.”
Ah, so there was a husband. Nate wondered where he’d been. His eyes went to her hand. No ring. And Mrs. D’Angelo had said there hadn’t been a man in the building for a while. Maybe Violet was divorced.
Not that it mattered. He had no business wondering about her marital status.
“Let’s see. What else should you know?” She tapped an unpainted nail against her lips, then lowered it and pointed at him. “The Hidden Cafe has the best burgers in town. Oh, and if you’re looking for a church―”
“I’m not.” The smile inspired by her enthusiasm fell right off his face. Time to shut this conversation down.
She stopped talking, eyes widening. “Not what?”
“Not looking for a church.” He checked the time on the microwave. His supervisor would be here any minute. “Thanks again for the cookies, but I actually have an appointment in a few minutes.”
“Oh, of course.” Hurt and confusion warred in Violet’s eyes, and she looked away.
He felt bad about that, but it was for the best. She wouldn’t want to get too friendly with someone like him anyway.
She crossed the room as if it were on fire and yanked the door open with her good arm.
“Oh, excuse me.” Another woman’s surprised voice came from the hallway. “I’m looking for Nate Benson’s apartment.”
Nate groaned inwardly. His appointment was here. He moved closer to the door, where a tall, light-haired woman he’d guess to be in her early thirties stood blocking Violet’s exit.
“You found it.” Violet’s response rang with false cheerfulness as she neatly stepped around the woman.
“Thanks again for the cookies,” Nate called to her back, but she disappeared into her own apartment.
The blond woman glanced over her shoulder at Violet’s door, then at him. “Mr. Benson?”
He nodded and shook the hand she held out.
“I’m parole officer Linda Jensen. It’s nice to meet you.”
Nate supposed he should return the sentiment, but he wasn’t terribly excited about meeting the person who was going to be keeping tabs on him for the next two years.
“Come in.” He stood aside and let her pass into the apartment.
She marched straight into the kitchen and deposited her briefcase on the table, then started opening his cupboards.
It’s not like he’d had any privacy for the past seven years, but it still felt like an invasion. This was supposed to be his new home. His new life.
The woman pulled out a pad of paper and made some notes. “Not a lot of food here.”
“Yeah, my neighbor was just telling me where the store is. I’ve been living off gas station food for the last week.” He gave a meager laugh. “Actually, she brought these cookies. If you want one.”
The parole officer kept writing. “Not right now, thanks. What happened to her arm?”
Nate regarded her coolly. What was she getting at? Did she think he would hurt his neighbor? That he would hurt anyone?
He took a deep breath. He was overreacting. She was just curious.
“She was working in her antique shop and a big piece of furniture fell on her.”
He swallowed. What if she asked how Violet had gotten to the hospital? He didn’t want to lie. But if he told her―
Officer Jensen nodded vaguely. “I have a series of standard questions I’ll need to ask you each time we meet. You are expected to answer honestly.” She didn’t give him time to respond before launching into the first question. “Have you had any alcohol since your release?”
Nate stared at her. Was she serious? He’d never touch another drop. One time had been enough to ruin his life forever. “No.”
She made a notation on the sheet, then rattled off a slew of questions about his actions over the past week. He wanted to tell her he’d done nothing―had no intention of doing anything aside from getting through the days―but he answered her questions with yes or no. Finally she put the sheet aside.
“And the job?”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re working for your father, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The words barely made it past his gritted teeth.
“You’re lucky.” Officer Jensen rummaged through her briefcase. “A lot of people’s parents do nothing for them when they get out.”
Nate clamped his mouth tight. She thought what his dad was doing to him was out of kindness? It was simply another form of imprisonment.
“I know mine wrote me off. That’s part of why I became a parole officer. Everyone deserves a second chance.” She grabbed something out of her bag and held it out to him.
Nate took the small plastic cup.
He knew what it was for, and it didn’t exactly scream second chances.
He fought down the shame that tried to swamp him and went to fill it.
Chapter 8
Violet circled the armoire, trying to determine how much damage it had sustained in the fall. It looked okay from the front and sides, but it was still lying on its back, so it was impossible to tell if it had suffered any structural damage. She’d have to wait until Spencer got home to find out. She’d learned her lesson about moving big pieces herself.
She eyed her cast again. She’d spent the whole morning going through bills, pecking numbers on the keyboard with one hand. But as the numbers on the bills had added up, that had quickly become too depressing. So she’d decided to get some projects done back here.
Except she couldn’t figure out anything she could do one-handed. She scanned the shelves. She could probably wash the Spode blue Italian china set she’d picked up at an auction a few weeks ago.
The only problem was she’d placed it on a fairly high shelf for storage.
She moved toward the ladder perched next to the back door of the workshop. If she could get up high enough, she could probably hold the box in her right hand and use her left to balance it.
As she approached the door, she glanced out the small window in it. She hadn’t seen Nate since he’d disappeared into his apartment with that pretty blond last night.
She didn’t know why the sight of the woman had made her stomach sink. It’s not like she cared what Nate did one way or another.
She grabbed the ladder and dragged it across the floor, cringing as its foot squealed against the polished concrete.
She wrestled it into place next to the shelf, then looked up to examine the box’s position.
This was a bad idea. But she didn’t have any other options right now.
She gripped the ladder with her right hand and took a tentative step onto the first rung, holding her left arm as close to her body as she could with the bulky cast.
She slid her grip up a couple inches, then brought her other foot up to the step.
There.
One rung done. Only four more to go.
She pressed her lips together in concentration and worked her way up another step.
On the way to the third rung, the ladder wobbled, and she almost lost her balance, but she grabbed the shelf until she was steady.
Her breath came in short gasps.
She reached for the next rung.
The door behind her banged open and footsteps pounded across the floor. “What are you doing?”
She jumped, almost losing her balance again.
But this time a hand landed on her leg to steady her.
She worked to slow her breathing. It was a second before she could look down. But she already knew who it was.
Nate.
Her heart shouldn’t have skipped at his voice.
Which didn’t change the fact that it did.
“I need to get this box down.” She tried to move her leg to the next rung, but his hand tightened.
“Get down. You’re not going up there.” Nate’s voice was stern, and indignation rose hot in Violet’s belly.
“I was under the impression this was my store.”
“Yeah. And it’s my building.” Nate grabbed her right arm and tugged.
She had no choice but to step down or fall.
The moment her feet were on the floor, she rounded on him. “I can’t sit around here doing nothing for the next six weeks. My store will fall apart.”
Nate studied her for a minute. “You don’t have to do nothing. But no ladder climbing with a broken arm, okay? Or moving furniture. If you need something, come knock on my door. I have to be at my office from eight to five. But I’m around any time after that.”
She flicked a glance at the clock behind him. “It’s only three now.”
The slow smile he gave her softened his whole face. “I decided to skip out early today. I wanted to―” He broke off and looked away. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t doing anything else that could get you killed. Good thing, too.”
He moved to scale the ladder, and she used her right hand to steady it.
She kept her eyes on the floor. But that didn’t stop the warmth climbing up from her toes. He had wanted to make sure she was okay?
“Which box is it?”
She looked up to point to the box, but he was gazing down at her, and their eyes locked for a second. The storm she’d seen swirling in his the other day was still there, but it seemed calmer today.
Her throat was suddenly too dry, and she shifted to look past him. She pointed to the box. “That one. Labeled Spode blue Italian.”
He reached to grab it, then backed down the ladder, his movements sure. “Where do you want it?”
“By the sink. I need to wash them before I put them out.” She followed him as he crossed the room to the oversize sink.
He set it on the long countertop Cade had installed for her.
“So what is Spode blue Italian, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She grinned. If she didn’t mind him asking? She loved finding new people who wanted to know more about antiques. “It’s a kind of china made by Spode, one of the great ceramic manufacturers in England.” She opened the box and pulled out a bowl. “See the blue and white designs? They were incredibly popular on ceramics imported from China in the 1700s. But imports couldn’t keep up with demand, so Spode started making its own blue and white designs. They’re called blue Italian because they show scenes from the Italian countryside.” She passed him the bowl. “See? Can’t you just picture yourself there?”
Nate wrinkled his nose. “What’s wrong with new dishes?”
Violet stared at him. Was he kidding? “Well, they do still make blue Italian, but the new ones have no story yet. No history. Imagine all the people these dishes have seen. All the eras of history they’ve been through. It’s just―” She broke off at the look he was giving her. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and moved away.
“You don’t like antiques.”
“I have no strong feelings about antiques one way or another.” He came to a stop next to the armoire. “It’s just―sometimes history is better left buried. For all you know, these plates belonged to a mass murderer.”
“Yeah.” Violet couldn’t hold back the sarcasm. “I hear Ted Bundy ate off blue Italian.”
Nate shrugged. “I’m just saying. Not everything about history is good. Sometimes it’s better to get rid of everything and start fresh.”
Violet considered him. She thought she sensed something deeper under the surface. “Is that what you’re doing in Hope Springs? Starting fresh? Is that why you moved in with only a suitcase?”
Nate watched her, and she held completely still. For a second, she thought the storm in his eyes might break.
“I just don’t think it’s healthy to hold onto the past is all,” he finally said. “It can keep you from moving forward.”
Violet swallowed hard. The past was all she had to hold onto. Without it, she would come unmoored.
Remembering the past didn’t keep her from moving forward. It gave her a reason to get up every day.
Nate turned to the armoire. “I think I can pick this up for you. If it’s not too damaged?”
She wanted to ask more about why he’d come to Hope Springs. But h
e didn’t owe her any explanations.
She pushed her curiosity aside and crossed the room to stand next to him. “I’ve checked it out as much as I could. I think it’s okay.”
Nate moved to the spot where the top of the armoire rested on the ground. His biceps strained against his sleeves as he lifted. He grunted as he got the wardrobe to waist level and repositioned his hands. Then he maneuvered it the rest of the way upright.
Violet hurried behind the armoire as Nate bent and braced his hands on his knees. “That’s heavier than it looks.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She set a hand on his shoulder without thinking but yanked it away the moment she felt the warmth of his skin on her fingers. “It’s okay.”
“That’s good.” Nate straightened and moved to grab the cart she’d been trying to load the armoire onto the other day.
“What are you doing?”
“If you can hold the cart still, I should be able to get it on there.” He spun the cart so that the handle was facing her, and she gripped it with her right hand, bracing it with her hip. Nate moved to the far side of the armoire.
Maybe she’d been too quick to judge him. The first day she’d met him, she’d decided he was rude and standoffish, and so she’d been rude and standoffish in return.
But now she could see he had a generous heart, even if he tried to hide it.
Nate loaded one end of the armoire onto the cart, then braced it with his hand as he moved to the other side.
“Careful.” She bit her lip. If that thing fell again . . .
Nate shot her an exasperated look, and she ducked her head. He probably didn’t exactly consider her the world’s foremost expert on safety at the moment.
With a few more grunts, he managed to maneuver the armoire onto the cart. She stepped aside as he grabbed the handle.
“Where do you want this?”
“I have a spot ready for it in the front corner.” She opened the double doors and moved aside so he could steer the cart through.
For someone who didn’t like antiques, Nate sure was moving the piece carefully. He stopped every few seconds to check the clearance at the top of the doorframe. The armoire squeaked through with only a centimeter or so to spare.
Not Until You (Hope Springs Book 3) Page 5
