Sierra couldn’t help but feel a few pangs of jealousy.
“Jax, I want a baby!”
Jax snorted. “We’re not even fully settled in the house yet.”
Cassie huffed but grinned. “When we are…we’re having a baby.”
“Fine,” he growled, but love and excitement clearly showed in his eyes, overriding the gruff tone, and he kissed her forehead.
“I’m so happy for you guys. Honestly.” Sierra was. Truly. Still, she wanted to fall in a heap and cry for herself which only piled on guilt. These were her friends. They had the right to fall in love, marry, and have children. Maybe she was supposed to be like Paul the apostle and remain single—serving others and God.
But the pang to have a husband and family needled her. Confusion overwhelmed her but she couldn’t leave now. Not on that note. Instead, she smiled and served homemade ice cream then helped with a second round of cleaning.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, the crickets opened up in a grand symphony and lightning bugs weaved through the woods. Sierra leaned against a tree and watched as they blinked off and on.
Rustling behind her drew her attention.
Ezra.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was down here. I thought you’d gone.”
She sighed. “No, not yet. I’m about to, though. I just needed a minute.”
“I came to sketch the fireflies.”
“Like a million tiny moons.” She smoothed her dress. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
His jaw ticked. “I didn’t mean to run you off.”
No, he typically did the running. “Why aren’t you married, Ezra?” The question tumbled out before she had the chance to corral it.
He dropped his jaw then recovered and gripped the back of his neck. “Well…I guess I’ve been too busy.”
“Painting?”
He hung his head. “Painting was all I had left.”
Did he really believe that? He could have returned in the fall. That was the plan. Spend the summer in France, come back and get engaged while Sierra went to culinary school in Chicago and then they’d marry. Spend their lives together.
“I should get home.” She slipped through the heavy silence and said her goodbyes then went to her adorable two bedroom home, collapsed on the couch, and cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ezra sat on an eggshell-colored cushion next to a three-sided mirror while Jemma fussed about looking fat in every single dress she tried on. He’d sketched the women huddled around her, while she stood in the center, scrutinizing herself. He even noted the frown after she caught her butt in the mirror. At five foot five, she might weigh a buck-twenty. Now, he was hungry, irritated, and had nothing to sketch since Sierra, Eden, Audrey, and Cassie were crammed in the dressing room with the door shut.
“You are not fat.”
“I thought that last one had your name on it.”
“Quit crying or you’ll ruin your make-up and then you will look terrible in a dress, and we’ll be here all the live long day.” That one from Cassie. They’d already been here all the live long day.
“Cassie, I should have recorded that. You sound exactly like Jax,” Eden said.
“Then you have my deepest apologies, but I’m hungry and it’s true.”
“Everyone calm down,” Sierra said. “What’s really going on? You can’t possibly think you look fat. Are you getting cold feet?”
Ezra perked up at that. He’d laid down a fortune already. Jemma better not think about backing out now.
“No,” Jemma wailed. “I just want it to be perfect. I’m overwhelmed.”
The door opened and everyone except Sierra spilled out. Amongst a sea of white, she stroked Jemma’s hair while the rest of them congregated around the dressing room door, peeking inside.
Ezra went to work sketching Sierra console Jemma. So big-sisterly. Motherly even. His own mother couldn’t come until the day before the wedding thanks to work, and his sister Adah was… Adah. She was as wild as wind and wasn’t flying in until the day of the wedding. Ezra loved her, but she’d never been sisterly. She’d been too involved with herself, and parties, and drugs, and drinking. Cassie had been one of her best friends in high school and equally as wild, but she’d changed. Gave him hope for Adah. As if Cassie could tell he was thinking about her, she eyed him.
“Talk some sense into Jemma,” Cassie said.
“Ha!” As if he could. He continued to sketch as Sierra spoke to Jemma.
“Give me a few minutes.” Sierra signaled the attendant to follow her into the bridal area. The girls shuffled back inside the dressing room, leaving the door open for Ezra to watch and sketch.
“So are the bridesmaids wearing pink or what?” Cassie asked Jemma.
Jemma sniffed and Eden passed her a tissue. She blew her nose. “Eden, what do you think? I like pink but what about an assortment of colors but the same style of dress?”
Audrey folded her arms. “Who are your bridesmaids? The same style doesn’t always look good on every body type.”
“A couple friends from the city. You don’t know them. Ashton Watts. I know you know her.”
Eden nodded. “We need to pick the dresses so they can get fitted, Jemma. You realize we’re only weeks away, right?”
“I know. I know.” She inhaled and Sierra came back into the private dressing area with a dress in her hands.
“Here, try this. I think you’ll feel magical inside it.” She closed the door and a few minutes later Jemma cried again.
Great.
“I love it. How did you know this would be perfect?”
Sierra’s voice sounded distant. “We’re about the same build, and I happened to think it was magical.”
Sierra had a few more curves and a bit more bust. Ezra wasn’t complaining.
“Well, are you going to let us see or do we have to be surprised right along with Ansel?” Cassie asked, and the door opened.
His sister looked amazing. He took a mental snapshot; no way he could sketch that fast.
Ooohs and Aaahs commenced.
The attendant stepped inside. “Nothing needs altered if you can believe that. Let’s get your undergarments and shoes.”
“I’m out on that note. That cool?” Ezra stood and packed up his sketch pad.
“You want to go to lunch with us?” Jemma asked.
“No.” He grinned. “I have some work at the gallery.” Since they were in the city, he’d take a cab over.
“Oh, I’d love to see your gallery, Ezra.” Eden checked her cell. “Can we come by after lunch?”
Ezra cast a glance at Sierra. She busied herself with her phone. “It’s empty right now. But if you want to…”
“We do.” Eden typed the address into her phone as he rattled it off. “We’ll see you in a couple of hours. That give you enough time to get some work done?”
“Sure. But you might have trouble parking if it’s after three.” He strode from the bridal shop and hailed a cab to Wicker Park. The sign had been installed outside. Beaudoin & Alcott. Sophisticated. Inside, he inhaled the fresh paint scent. White walls. Open. Light wood flooring. Track lights hung and silver exposed ducts ran the length of the ceiling.
The sound of heels clicking came from the back area and Genevieve appeared. Dressed in a short black dress, a long crystal beaded necklace hung to her navel, blonde hair pulled into a tight and meticulous bun at her neck. Ruby red lips spread into a wide grin. “Surprise! I’m a day early. I wanted to see the sign. White on Black. Fantastic. How are things progressing?”
Ezra leaned against the wall. “I’ve had several artists send portfolios, some old school, some digital.” They wanted the best of the best local artists showing on opening night.
“Food?” Gen asked.
Food.
“I want the best.”
Of course she did. Could he ask the best? “I’ll have it together.”
The next couple of hours they worked on l
ogistics and perused portfolios, making notes.
“Ezra!” Jemma’s voice echoed down the hall into their office.
Genevieve raised her eyebrows.
“My sister and some friends wanted to come by.” He met them in the gallery area. They stood at the round circular desk with a charcoal-gray counter. “How was lunch?”
“Yummy,” Jemma said. “This place looks bare.”
“Once we secure our artists, it won’t be. Patience.” Patience wasn’t one of Jemma’s virtues. Wasn’t one of his either. He waved his hand across the room. “So this is the gallery. We’ll display local art and host showings—groups and solo. We’ve sectioned off cubbies or art walls. Not much to see…now.”
“Nice sign out there. You’ve done well, Ezra. I’m proud of you.” Eden wandered around.
Genevieve entered the gallery and stood beside Ezra. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Of course,” Ezra said and made introductions.
Genevieve paused at Sierra, glanced at Ezra. Yes, this was her. She needed no introduction to Gen. She’d recognized her immediately. But he gave one anyway.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Gen shook her hand.
Sierra was polite, but her eyes seemed guarded, lips tight. She laid a hand on her throat and perused the empty walls.
Seemed like a decent time to ask about catering. “We’re opening in August, the weekend before Jemma’s wedding. Would you be interested in catering the event? Simple hors d’oeurves.”
“We’re?”
“Yes, Genevieve and I are partners.”
She brought the tip of her unpainted index nail to her lips. “I don’t know. I’ll have a lot going on with catering Jemma’s wedding. Especially since it’s a formal dinner.”
“It’ll pay well.” Would the money coax her to say yes? She might want to stash some extra away for the bed-and-breakfast if she decided to go for it.
“Excuse me,” Gen said, “I need to talk to Jemma.”
Sierra scratched the nape of her neck. “Can I think about it a day or two?”
“Of course, but not much longer than that. We’re pushing the envelope here. Maybe Jemma is more like her older brother than I thought.” He smirked, but asking Sierra to cater must have really thrown her for a loop. “No pressure, Sierra.”
“How did you meet Genevieve? You seem to go way back.” She shifted her weight to her left foot. A light blush tinted her cheeks.
What did that have to do with catering? “Gen is the daughter of a professor at the Paris Art Institute. He introduced us.”
“When did he introduce you?”
At a time when he needed a friend. “July…of the summer I left.”
A few rapid blinks. “I see. I’ll let you know on the catering.” She whirled through the gallery, out the front door and down the sidewalk.
He caught Gen’s eye and shrugged. She grimaced and returned to her conversation. He was sure to get an earful from her later. About what, though?
***
Wednesday morning, Sierra busied herself beating eggs for an omelet. Jaynie waltzed into the kitchen. “Who ticked you off?” She motioned with her chin to the bowl of eggs Sierra was destroying.
“No one.” Ezra. No wonder he hadn’t come back after that summer. He’d met someone else. They’d been together all these years. Partners. Oh, she wasn’t stupid. He’d meant business partners but her mind had run wild and was still on a rampage.
“Things are under control here, Sierra. Go have a cup of tea on the patio or something.” Jaynie nudged her on and added mushrooms to the concoction.
Sierra untied her apron, tossed it on a work table, and slipped into the eating area. The place wasn’t packed but several diners enjoyed the newspaper and conversation over a fresh breakfast.
“Hey, Sierra, how much are you asking for your house?” Dean Waldrip, a regular customer here now that he wasn’t a regular at Knox’s used-to-be-bar, asked.
Sierra frowned. “I’m not asking anything. I’m not selling my house.” Where did that idea come from? Had he seen her snooping in the vacant Monteith house one too many times?
“Huh.” He slurped his coffee and went back to the newspaper.
She might want to lay off sneaking over there and dreaming. Not that it was for sale anyway. Would she sell her house if she did buy the Monteith place? Anxiety slid into her chest, tightening it. She scurried back into the kitchen. “I need to do something.”
“Well, you can’t beat eggs. Dough. You should knead dough. Some in the fridge that could stand a pounding.” Jaynie giggled and went back to humming a random tune. “So I have one semester left, Sierra. Can you believe that? I’ll have a business degree.”
Good. Sierra might need some business advice. Some day. One day. Maybe.
Greta Cannery, a high school student dating Corey Phillips—who used to have a crazy crush on Audrey—breezed into the kitchen with a couple of orders. “Angie Delgatto just made a to-go order and she asked me to ask you why you’re selling your house.”
Sierra paused, hands-deep in dough. “I am not selling my house. Where did she hear that?”
Greta shrugged and grabbed two plates of pancakes and bacon. “I didn’t ask. You want me to?”
“No. Just get the orders moving.” She’d do it.
“Andrea is coming in at nine,” Jaynie added. “We’ll be fine.”
Sierra rolled out the dough then washed her hands and made her way into the eating area. Angie was gone. Somehow the rumor of her moving had gotten around. She hoped it didn’t get to her parents. They’d hate being blindsided. Sierra stopped Greta. “I thought Angie came in for a to-go order.”
“She did. Lunch order. Pick up at noon. Guess she’s sick of eating pizza. I, myself, never get sick of pizza.”
She was sixteen, too. “Okay, well if I’m busy when she comes in, find me.”
The day ebbed and flowed with customers, and Sierra kept busy in the kitchen. Finally, the dinner shift had lulled; her back ached.
“Go on home. I’ll lock up.” Jaynie patted Sierra’s shoulder and nudged her from the kitchen. “You’ve been distracted. Go take a bath or read a book or something.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“And don’t worry about coming in early tomorrow if you have wedding stuff. We’re fully staffed.”
What would she do without Jaynie to help lift some of the stress? “You’re the best, you know?”
“That’s what I keep hearing. Along with the fact that your place is for sale.” She giggled and pointed at the front door.
A pull drew her toward the Monteith home. She ought to steer clear. Apparently her interest had garnered some rumors. This was new—being the center of town gossip. Except for a brief stretch when Gabe had come to town and Sierra had been mildly interested. Mostly she wanted to help him out. But he was attractive. Available. And for half a second she thought she’d try to move on.
He was never Ezra, though.
She ditched the Monteith house and opted for a stroll through town. Sometimes it helped to walk out the mess in her mind. She prayed for wisdom and guidance. Hoped it’d shine in her heart. Lord, I want to serve you. I just don’t know the best way to do it. Do I keep The Bistro? Buy the Monteith home for a bed-and-breakfast? I don’t think I could afford to do both. The house isn’t even for sale!
She hadn’t quite gathered the nerve to approach Paul about it either. Ezra was right. She had a hard time making leaps. Once you jumped, nothing but air below. What if she didn’t make it to the other side? What if she fell flat on her face? Let someone down. Let God down by making an error.
Now this catering job? For Ezra? She could use the money, but she’d be pressed for time. Did she owe him a yes after the last no? If she said yes, it might buffer some tension between them. And he was short on time, too. It’s not like she’d have to see him more because of it. Just do the job and be gone.
By the time she pulled herself out of the batt
lefield of her mind, she was at Ezra’s lake cottage. Guess she was going to say yes to him. For once.
Ezra stood in front of a canvas. Looked like he was painting a lake scene. Absorbed in his creativity, he didn’t seem to notice her presence. She admired his broad shoulders under a faded gray T-shirt. A few paint splatters mottled his frayed jeans. Hair thick and messy on top, shorter around his ears and trimmed to the nape of his neck. Very James Dean. But he’d never been rebellious. Brooding. Withdrawn. Definitely.
“I’ll take that job.”
Startled, Ezra dropped his paintbrush. Grass-green paint peppered the wooden planks. His gathered brow smoothed. She’d irritated him at first.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head and picked up the brush. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to watch you turn that brown stick into a lush tree with birds on the branches.” She grinned.
He took a rag and wiped his hands. “Okay. Good.”
They spent the next few seconds staring at each other.
“Have you eaten anything?” Sierra asked. Looked like he’d been at this for hours.
Ezra scratched his head. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven.”
“Not since toast this morning. But I’m fine.” He stretched. “You want to paint?”
She laughed. “I’m not dressed to paint.”
He let his gaze roam her head to toe then grinned. “Ah, I had no idea there was a dress code.” He traded his canvas out for a blank one. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Taking the paintbrush he held out, she sighed. “Menu for your gallery?”
“No.” He swapped out oils for watercolors, focused on the blank canvas. “I love a clean slate. So much promise. Nothing marred or flawed. Just white pristine possibilities.” He scooted closer to her, and she caught the faint scent of soap and fabric softener.
“Then I probably shouldn’t dip this brush in the paint.” A strand of hair fluttered in her face. Ezra gently tucked it behind her ear. Her skin hummed.
“I’d like a clean slate between us, Sierra. We’ve been throwing darted words at each other for weeks. I don’t like the tension. I can’t work well when I’m tense. My sketches are off.”
It's Always Been You (Seasons of Hope Book 4) Page 5
