“It’s almost seven-thirty.”
Hadn’t Sierra just left? Where had the time gone? His muscles had loosened and his heart wasn’t quite as scorched, just a dull thump. He’d poured his frustration and hurt into the painting. Missed the feel of a brush in his hand, the way everything faded into the background until nothing was left but the colors, contours, angles, and beauty.
“I don’t have to be at this soirée, do I?”
“One, it’s not a soirée. It’s an early breakfast meeting before The Bistro actually opens.” Jemma raised her sunglasses onto her head and folded her arms across her chest. “And two, you’re sketching. Laying it out in print instead of video. So put your paints away and let’s get moving.” She marched toward the car.
“Where’s Ansel?”
“Who cares. I don’t want to talk about it.” She stopped and pivoted. “He’s going to be on the golf course. The golf course! I mean you’d think he’d want to be a part of his own wedding, right?”
Ezra lifted his eyebrows. “Not really.” The whole production didn’t matter to men. But he’d learned quick, it mattered a lot to women. Mattered more than the actual marriage in some cases. He huffed and carried his easel and paints inside. Just what he wanted to do. Spend a morning sketching women sitting around talking about weddings.
CHAPTER THREE
Sierra pulled into her spot and climbed out of her car. The town square was quiet as she strode to her bistro.
Can you handle that?
If she hadn’t known Ezra better she’d say it came off pretty arrogant. As if she’d been pining all these years. As if she’d committed a travesty by stating clear facts of why they should wait to get married. But then it’d been a long time. Maybe Ezra wasn’t the same boy she’d fallen in love with. Kind. Considerate. Humble. Respectful.
She fumbled with her keys and skimmed the square. Something seemed off. Missing. The sound of a car jerked her from her thoughts.
Cassie Woodall clambered from her pickup truck, a huge bag hanging off her shoulder, weighing down her right side. “If Jemma Alcott changes her mind even once today, I may go back to drinking.”
Sierra opened the door to the air-conditioned restaurant. Jaynie, her right-hand, popped out of the kitchen into the work station area. “I set everything up in the back room.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jaynie.”
Jaynie snorted. “You’d do it all yourself like before you hired me. I love this place.”
One more person counting on her. What would Jaynie do if Sierra closed shop? What if she couldn’t afford to hire her at the B&B because the business failed?
Like everyone else, Jaynie would find a new job. Still, Sierra felt responsible. Eden and Audrey stood statuesque by the front door instead of coming inside. “What’s going on out there?”
Cassie dropped her bag with a thud on the stained concrete floor and marched in their direction. “I don’t know.” She yanked open the door; Eden tumbled inside with a scowl. “What are you guys looking at?”
“It’s what we’re not looking at,” Audrey offered.
Cassie poked her head between them and Sierra squeezed through the door, standing under the awning.
“Oooooh.” Sierra stared at Last Course Creamery and shook her head. Last Course had been around for over forty years and for as long as Sierra could remember, a huge metal ice cream cone graced the top of the old brick building. Not today.
Eden sighed. “It’s like losing baby Jesus all over again.”
“What?” Cassie squawked.
Audrey giggled. “A couple years ago someone stole the baby Jesus from the nativity set in front of the church. Eden had a meltdown.”
“I had a lot going on at the time.” Eden defended herself, but playfulness danced over her features.
“Yeah, like falling for Knox.” Audrey nudged Eden’s shoulder and grinned. “Anyway, he’s been bolting the baby to the manger ever since.” She cocked her head. “Summer prank, or you think Carol had it taken down?”
Sierra groaned. “Guess this class wants to beat out last year’s. I hope they bring it back. That’s a fixture. Should we call Carol? Or wait for her to show up and have a heart attack.”
“What’s going on?” Ezra and Jemma rounded the corner. He’d changed into another pair of frayed jeans—must be his new thing. Couldn’t quite make out what the graphic tee said for the short-sleeved gray and blue checkered shirt hanging over it.
Eden pointed to Last Course.
“What am I missing?” Jemma slung her hair over her shoulder.
“The ice cream cone that used to sit on top of the building. Summer prank?” Ezra asked.
“Looks like.” Sierra stole another glimpse at the empty roof. “I’m going to call Carol. Make sure she didn’t have anything to do with it and if not, she can call Sheriff Riley. Come on in.”
Ezra caught her eye and held it then busied himself digging through his canvas art bag, withdrawing a sketch pad as they made their way to the back room.
“I don’t remember this place being so cool,” Jemma noted.
“I remodeled after Nana left it to me.” Scored and stained concrete floors. Red walls. Rich earth tones. Walnut tables and chairs thanks to Jax Woodall.
Ezra slowly scanned the walls. “Nice prints.”
Black and whites of bistros in France.
“I’ve been to that one.” Ezra pointed, tossed her a look she couldn’t register. “Amazing crêpes.”
A twinge formed in her chest, and she darted into the back room which she used for parties and meetings. She caught her breath and everyone entered. “Have a seat. Jaynie will bring breakfast, and I’m going to call Carol.” She made the call, and unfortunately they’d been pranked. Vandalized really. How had they climbed up there and removed it? It was bolted down. Come Christmas the baby doll in the manger might not have a fighting chance.
Ezra sat in the corner already sketching the scene. Decorating books had been splayed across the table, and a stack of magazines graced the floor next to Cassie’s chair. Jaynie brought fruit and muffins to start.
Ezra looked up. “None for me.”
“Oh good, we didn’t plan for you to be here anyway.” Cassie playfully batted her lashes and flipped open her iPad. “Jemma, I pinned some simple ideas that can be done in the short amount of time we have.”
Jemma had the same brooding look Ezra did, but she plopped next to Cassie and flippantly scrolled through the pins Cassie had put together. “Whatever. I don’t even care.”
Cassie scratched her head. “What? You don’t care about what?”
Looked like Cassie was doomed to drink again.
Letting out a dramatic sigh, Jemma flopped her arms on the table and laid her head on her forearms. “Ansel wouldn’t even come today. He had a golf game. So if he doesn’t care, why should I?”
Sierra cleared her throat. “Because this day is about you. I mean, it’s about you both, but it’s about you. Everything you’ve dreamed about.”
Ezra peeped over the sketch pad and caught Sierra’s eye, held it a moment, then went back to sketching.
“Why are you having such a hard time making a decision?” Sierra asked. “I remember dressing up Barbies and marrying them off to Ken dolls. This is the first day of forever for you and Ansel. Let him play golf. He wouldn’t be any good at this kind of stuff anyway. He can help pick out the flavor of cake and the menu. But flowers and dresses…that’s not a guy thing. They wouldn’t understand.”
Ezra hadn’t. And he was an artist. Creative. Sensitive. She’d fully expected him to know that she wasn’t going to elope. She’d dreamed of a wedding.
In the end, he hadn’t understood at all.
“I just wanted us to do it all together. I guess I expected it to be romantic. Our engagement was. None of this feels romantic. More like excruciating.”
Cassie opened her mouth then clamped it closed.
Audrey leaned across the table.
“We could do it all for you but then it wouldn’t really be your wedding. It’d be ours.”
Jemma’s lip quivered. “Did your husbands help you plan?”
“Knox planned the honeymoon and not really so much the location as the indoor activities.” Eden snickered. “The rest was all me and Audrey planning over lunches and dinners.”
“Gabe wrote his own vows and refused a bow tie. Other than that, he didn’t come up with any ideas….he did veto the cats as ring bearers.” Her upper lip curled. “Guys don’t do that, Jemma.”
“But would he at least look at a decorating magazine?”
“With glazed eyes.” Audrey squeezed Jemma’s hand.
“More than what Jax did. Although he did build this amazing arch that we stood under. It’s in our garden now.” Cassie sighed all dreamy like.
Sierra sat silent, uncomfortable and jealous. Envious. Coveting a marriage. A family. It was hard not to when that’s what she wanted but had forfeited her chance. God, did I make a mistake? I didn’t feel any peace about running off like that—didn’t feel any when I stayed either. But here I am a spinster of sorts. And I feel utterly convicted because I know I shouldn’t feel those things and yet…I do.
Her chance at love may have run off to France, leaving her behind to feel empty and alone.
“I just want you all to know,” Ezra said, “that every sketch is Jemma frowning. Do you really want frowny faces hanging from the big oak tree?”
“You don’t have to be so testy, Ezra.” Jemma pouted but it didn’t remove Ezra’s broody glower. “You’ve never gotten married. Never had to deal with this kind of frustration.”
“You’re right, Jemma,” he clipped. “I know nothing about marriage.” He snapped his sketch pad shut, gave Sierra a hard glare, then stalked from the back room.
“Well, what crawled up him and died?” Cassie asked.
Jemma rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure.” She poked a finger at Sierra. “But I’m guessing you’re involved. He said you came by the house this morning. Did you fight? Because he was painting like a madman, then short with me on the ride over.”
Everyone’s focus landed on Sierra; heat crept up her neck. “I didn’t know he was there.”
“So you’re a squatter now?” Audrey huffed. “Since when do you hang out in empty houses?”
“I don’t.” Sierra smoothed her hair. “I just…I don’t know. I like the view from that dock.” That was a lie. She’d lied! “That’s not true. I mean it is a gorgeous view…” Didn’t matter why she went. Ezra asked if she could handle being around him for several weeks. She knew it would be an issue. Looked like it was one for him, too.
“Fine. Let’s focus on wedding details, shall we?” Eden asked. “As for Ezra, he’s going to have to deal with the fact you two have a past. And, Jemma, you can be difficult. There I said it.”
A past that had involved a marriage proposal. A proposal Sierra had never confided in anyone.
Jemma gaped then resigned to the truth. She was difficult. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “What do you think, Sierra? Do we go all glass or tin?”
Thankful for the subject change, Sierra pulled herself together. “I’d go both. Use a big tin washtub to hold drinks and use mason jars, like these, to hold tea lights.” She spent the next ten minutes sharing her own dreams. Jemma finally grinned. “I like it. Let’s do it. I also love the idea of lighting the posts on the dock and the trees with white lights. It’s going to be a beautiful twilight wedding.”
Sierra’s heart plunked straight into her stomach. “Yeah. It will.”
***
Ezra had spent the last five days sulking and angry at himself for acting like a complete fool.
Wedding talk had clearly eaten at him. All he could think about was what he’d lost. The years he’d lost. But it was time to stop acting like a spoiled child who’d dropped his ice cream.
Which reminded him that the ice cream cone from Last Course Creamery ended up in one of the local teen girl’s tree with a note attached letting her know she had a cold heart.
Summer prank or love gone wrong?
Ezra had woken early and tossed the idea of going to church around. It had been awhile for him. In France, he’d been too hurt and angry at God. Then it had simply become too easy not to go. Life happened. Work happened.
All poor excuses, but where had God been when Ezra’s heart was breaking? He’d prayed for it to go away and God never took it.
Painting had eased his sore heart.
That’s why he ended up at the gallery earlier today, painting and planning instead of praising and praying. They’d scheduled the opening for the third weekend in August—before Jemma set her wedding date for the following weekend.
He pulled his phone out and called her. He owed her an apology. Jemma accepted it with a few reprimands and sniffs before hanging up. He pocketed his phone and strolled through the square. Sunday afternoons were sleepy, and the heat wasn’t quite as scorching. Rounding the corner, he spotted Sierra on Ms. Monteith’s lawn.
She didn’t climb the stairs to the porch. Didn’t knock. He drew his pad and charcoals out, making fast time of her standing there. Realizing on paper the longing in her eyes, the way her hands pressed against her abdomen as if it pulled and tugged until she had to hold down the yearning.
For the house? For who was in it? Did Paul now own his mom’s house? Ezra was certain Paul had a crush on her in high school, the way he always touched her hair, complimented her outfits, and hung out at her house. Were they dating? Ezra nearly pressed his own hands against his stomach, but instead he continued to feverishly sketch. The gray home with white trim and greenery flanking the sides and front.
Sierra’s hair flowed down her back. He worked on the defined muscles of her bare calves. Creamy but not ghostly. Finally, she climbed one step then two until she was on the porch.
He closed the sketch pad. Later, he’d finish the final touches. He trotted up the sidewalk, up the stairs. “What are you doing?”
She startled and clutched her heart. “You’re like a ninja-painter.” Her laugh undid him. Tinkling. Sweet. Like cotton candy and pastel confetti.
“You looking for Paul?” He braced himself for the answer.
“Ms. Monteith passed six months ago and the house is vacant.”
“You have a thing for vacant homes? You thought Gramps’s cottage was empty, too.”
“I have a thing for this home. I’ve always loved it. Original wood flooring. Arched doorways. Wooden doors and glass knobs.”
“Kind of big for just one person, don’t you think?” Or was she seeing Paul? Dreaming of raising a family in this house? Ezra faltered a step as if he’d been sucker punched.
Her cheek twitched. He’d touched a nerve. “You assume it’s for one person. But you don’t know me or anything about my life anymore.” She spun and peeped inside the window.
“I’m sorry. I did assume.” Ezra laid his hand on her shoulder; she stiffened and he let go. “I’m also sorry for blowing up last week and storming off. I asked you if you could handle us being around each other. Maybe I should have asked myself.”
She slowly faced him, but didn’t speak.
Ezra continued. “All the wedding stuff just brought up old memories. Guess I’m still sore about it.”
One slender eyebrow rose. “I see. Well, if you plan to sketch these behind-the-scenes events, you’ll have to get over it. And learn to stop walking away.”
Sierra tossed back words he’d thrown at her when he’d asked her to get over the idea of a big wedding and elope. He hadn’t meant to be harsh, but he wanted to be more important than the actual event and deep down he was convinced Sierra had been using that as a cop out. If she’d loved him enough, she would have foregone a big wedding and ran away to France.
Unlike her, Ezra had no choice but to walk away. She’d basically sent him packing.
Looked like she might still be sore over the whole ordeal, too. And feistier than he remem
bered. He had to admit, he was diggin’ it.
“I guess we both will.” He scratched the back of his head. “So why are you going all Peeping Tom on this place?”
She scraped her teeth against her bottom lip, drawing his attention to the voluptuous mouth he’d kissed hundreds of times. He craved kissing them even now. That would be a terrible idea. Besides, it might end with him getting cracked in the jaw. Sierra had never been one to mess around or throw kisses out frivolously. He’d liked that about her. While other girls flaunted their stuff in his face, Sierra simply was who she was. Modest. Sweet. Kind.
“I know that face,” he said.
“What face?”
“The I’m-scared-to-fess-up-face.” He trailed his finger down her cheek, enjoyed the familiar thrill. “Guess I still know some things,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered. He’d stirred something in her. That was another look he still recognized. “I…”
“Back to pronouns again?”
She fiddled with the strap of her dress. “I might want to…I mean I don’t know if I can or should…but it’s been on my mind…”
“Well, that’s something new about you. Tongue-tied dialogue.” He touched her bare shoulders, as much to feel her skin as to hopefully calm her down. “It’s me, Sierra. You can talk to me.” He’d been her best friend. Would she trust him with whatever had her freaking out? He wanted her to.
She stared at him a moment more then relaxed under his hands. Good.
“The past year I’ve toyed with the idea of opening a bed-and-breakfast. But it’s just a thought. Nothing concrete.”
“Never did take leaps well,” Ezra quipped. He’d gained her trust and shredded it with his comment. But he wasn’t referring to the rejected marriage proposal. “I meant in general.”
“No. I guess you took the lion’s share of impulsiveness. Speaking in general.”
Sierra Bradley being a bit snide to add to feisty. Perish the thought. “You’re probably right. How often do you gawk in this window?”
“Why?” she asked cautiously.
“I wanna know.” He followed her down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
It's Always Been You (Seasons of Hope Book 4) Page 3
