by Jessica Kate
“What if we make you unfireable?”
“I haven’t been hired yet.” The words came out scratchy, and she cleared her throat.
“I’m serious.” His blue eyes lit with an idea. “Have they given you anything else to help out with? Mentioned anything we could work on to prove how useful you are?”
“Ummm . . .” She tried to focus. “Sam mentioned he wants to plan a new type of event. An outreach that can connect with families as well as teens. But I don’t think he’s started work on it yet.”
“So do it. Work up some ideas, something that convinces him you’re too valuable to lose.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll help you. Come on, you want this. Let’s fight for it.”
Her bones felt hollow from lack of energy, her face throbbed, and her brain still screamed for caffeine.
The corner of Jem’s mouth pulled up. “I have ten minutes left before I have to head back to work. I’ll bet you one diaper change that I think of more ideas than you before then. Then you can go back to hating me.”
Competitive Natalie arose from her nap in the corner of her mind and stuffed a sock in Whiny Natalie’s mouth. This festival idea could be her chance to get a new photo on Dad’s wall, even if the price was working with Jem.
She pulled a pen from the pocket of her jeans, sniffed back the rest of her tears. “Fine. You’re on.”
12
“We need to talk.”
Natalie’s gut somersaulted—not in a good way—at the sound of Sam’s voice when she answered her cell. It was 8:00 a.m. on Saturday, and she stood before Jem’s front door, finger-combing her windblown hair. “Oh?” Her chance at the internship was down the toilet. She knew it.
“How about we meet at Bodo’s for lunch? I want to chat about how Thursday went.”
At least she’d get a good bagel out of the meeting that sealed her fate. “Bodo’s sounds good. Which one?”
“The one near UVA. I’ll meet you there at twelve thirty?”
“It’s a date.” Her face flushed. Had that sounded flirty? Not that there was anything wrong with flirting . . . was there?
“I’ll see you then.” The call disconnected, and she stared at the phone for a moment. She and Jem had worked for the past two days on her proposal for Sam’s event, but the sick twist of her gut told her it wouldn’t be enough.
She shoved her phone into her jeans pocket and rapped on Jem’s door.
No answer.
“Jem?”
She knocked once more, then checked her watch. They’d agreed to meet at eight. All their work was on Jem’s laptop. And now the countdown had started.
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out her key and slid it into the lock. She opened the door a crack. “Hello?”
Lili’s door remained closed and displayed a crayon reproduction of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night below a new sketch of Jem and Olly. That girl had more artistic talent in her pinkie toe than Natalie’s whole family tree combined.
She tiptoed through the dining nook, a socked foot in view ahead in the living room. Wind howled against the window, covering any noise she made. The sock—covered in pictures of Bugs Bunny—led to the rest of Jem, sprawled across the floor. He lay facedown with his nose buried in the carpet, fingers inches from the laptop sitting before him.
The door to his bedroom stood open. Inside, Olly cooed to himself in his crib.
Her gaze shifted back to Jem, snoring on the floor. No way would she wake him, but maybe if she could just get the laptop . . .
She slipped around him on toes lighter than a ballet dancer. Made it to the laptop. Bent down and closed her fingers around it and—
“Whah?” Jem sucked in a breath and flipped himself over into a half-seated position.
She started and dropped the computer. “Jem.” The momentary rush of adrenaline faded, and she scooped up her prize. “Why do you always wake like someone screamed ‘fire’?”
His eyes stayed unfocused.
“Jem?”
He jolted, blinked, looked at her. “What time is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he flopped back to the floor and tossed his forearm over his eyes.
Natalie sat down next to him, back against the couch. Her fingers tapped the keys as if she were typing, but she just sat there and looked at him, lying there in his sweat pants and Chicago Bears hoodie. She’d bought him that hoodie for his eighteenth birthday.
They’d reached a cautious holding pattern over the past two days, spending every spare moment on this project. She didn’t know if Jem helped her for friendship’s sake or because he knew that no internship meant no more nannying or because of . . . something more.
Despite their uneasy truce, questions still swirled like the leaves outside Jem’s windows, caught in the forewinds of a coming storm. What did Jem expect from their friendship? Did he feel the stubborn tug of magnetism that she did, despite her logical reasoning against it?
Friday’s fight had reinforced one frustrating truth: Jem could still affect her in a big way. And that made this residual attraction all the more infuriating. They had no future. And that was that.
She tapped the mouse pad and logged in with the password Jem had told her yesterday. The screen lit with an employment website. She scrolled down and checked the search terms. Part-time, flexible hours, no qualifications required.
She hit the minimize button, but another browser window was open behind it. College scholarships? She minimized again, and a third page popped up: ministry internships.
Jem mumbled something. The words sounded like gibberish, except for the last one—“babe.”
She poked her toe into his gut.
“Ooof.” He scooted away and cracked an eye open. “What gives?”
“Why don’t you tell me, babe?”
“I was dreaming about Lola Bunny.” He sat up with a groan. Dragged himself to lean against the couch beside her. “Whatcha doin’?” His shoulder pressed against hers as he peeked at the screen. His expression changed. “Oh. You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You were looking up opportunities for me?”
He shrugged, eyes guarded. “I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d want to look into, but I thought I’d see what’s available. You know, if you still wanted to stay working here.” A hint of uncertainty entered his voice in the final words.
She paused. Thanking Jem for anything ran against the grain, but this . . . She nudged him. “Thanks.” She glanced back at the computer screen. “Even if it looks like there’s not much out there.”
He flashed her a grin, his face close enough that his breath tickled wisps of hair against her cheek. “I’m a sweet guy.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
Natalie’s breath caught. Every muscle in her body tensed as old attractions hit her nervous system like a one-ton crate of chocolate strawberries and Barry White records.
Jem moved forward a fraction of an inch.
Oliver cried.
She jerked back from Jem and scrambled to her feet. “I’ll get him.” She dashed to the crib. What momentary insanity had that been? Two whole days without a fight did not mean she was interested in kissing the man. Whether he fell asleep looking up jobs for her or not.
When she reached the crib, Olly had pulled himself up against the rails. She blinked. “Jem.”
“Yeah?”
“Olly’s standing.”
There was a flurry of movement, a thump, and a bang against the wall. Jem staggered into the room, a hand over his left eye. “I tripped over the computer when I stood up.”
A giggle escaped her. Poor Jem, with his sleepy eyes and worn sweat pants. There were moments she wished she could forget the last seven years and pretend they were still overgrown children.
Well, in moments like these, Jem still was.
She picked up the crying baby, and he quieted after a moment. She blew a kiss against his neck. “Who’s a clever baby?”
Olly giggled and grabbe
d her nose. She kissed his palm, and he planted an open-mouthed kiss against her cheek. One hundred percent drool. His little tongue licked her as he pulled away, leaving a wet smear across a quarter of her face.
Jem came up behind her, trapping her between him and the crib. He leaned over her shoulder and brushed a kiss against Olly’s blond forehead. “Did you inherit Daddy’s kissing skills?”
Her nerves exploded into a full-blown riot.
Jem paused for a moment, and she held still, unable to move and unsure if she wanted to. But he slipped an arm around Olly and took the baby from her. “Come on, little guy, it’s time for breakfast. We’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Sam was nowhere to be found.
Natalie stretched in her seat to scan the restaurant again. The door opened and she whipped her head around. Three college students stumbled in, looking like they needed a hangover cure more than a bagel.
She checked her watch. Twelve forty. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of bacon and eggs on the table across from hers, but she wouldn’t order till Sam arrived. They had agreed on the Bodo’s by the university, hadn’t they?
The only thing worse than being turned down for her dream internship was being stood up and turned down for her dream internship. She propped her chin on her hand and gazed out the window as storm clouds rolled over the University of Virginia campus. At least it hadn’t rained before she arrived. She’d had to slather on the makeup to cover her black eye from that soccer ball. Though now it looked like the effort was in vain.
The doorbell jingled.
“Natalie.”
If sound were a chocolate cake, Sam’s voice was rich, sweet, and thick with frosting. And it struck a gong of fear in Natalie’s heart.
She sat up straight and painted a smile on her face. “Sam. Hi.”
He bent down to give her his customary hug, then slid into the seat opposite her, dark hair spiked with water. “Sorry I’m late. I was running a boxing class with some college students and lost track of time.”
“Boxing?” That would explain the shower—and the spicy smell of fresh cologne.
“One of our new outreach ideas. Building relationships via sports. Boxing is my specialty, though I’m trying to convince your friend Jem to join me.”
She tilted her head. “Jem told you he can box?” As far as she knew, he hadn’t touched a pair of gloves since he was seventeen. What else had changed that she didn’t know about?
“He mentioned it when he interviewed me for the paper. One of several things we have in common. Including you.”
“Me?”
“Well, maybe I’m jumping the gun. You haven’t accepted my offer yet.”
“Internship offer?” A spark of hope flamed in her chest.
“Yes. Why else do you think I asked you here?”
“I— Well, Steph didn’t seem particularly encouraging after Thursday.”
He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “Teething problems. Happens to the best of us. My first sermon, I set the pulpit on fire.”
Natalie suppressed a laugh. He sure didn’t suffer from false humility.
“I mean literally. A woman put it out by dunking her shawl in the water we had ready for a baptism.”
She chuckled, and her rigid posture relaxed. “I thought I’d put together some ideas for that event you mentioned.” She slid a manila folder across the table.
Sam picked it up. “Initiative. I like it. But let’s get some lunch first. We’ve got big plans to make.”
* * *
“And if you’re the intern that gets the permanent position in three months’ time, Wildfire will pay for you to finish college.”
Natalie nodded as Sam pointed to a paragraph on the paperwork in front of her. Times New Roman had never looked so beautiful.
Working for both Jem and Sam would involve many hours, but that concern barely registered. Since she was a teen, she’d worked a succession of mind-numbing, life-wasting jobs. Today she’d start a career and carry on Dad’s legacy.
The thought was sweeter than the next bite of her strawberry-cream-cheese bagel.
“So what will the internship—and, if I got it, the eventual job—actually involve?” She leaned forward as she asked.
Sam shrugged. “What will it not involve?” He took a long draw from his second lemonade—the man’s sugar addiction seemed to rival hers—and looked to be in thought. “At the moment I spend my time speaking in Christian schools, youth groups, churches—that sort of thing. But I’m open to new ideas. Kimberly, our other intern, suggested a youth drop-in center. The board liked her pitch and agreed to a trial.” He held up her folder. “You’ve got some great ideas here for using a festival as a form of outreach. I say we pitch that to the board as well and try both. They’re interested in expanding from just my speaking ministry.” He placed the folder back on the table and laced his fingers over his stomach with the smile of a man who’d eaten two bagels. “Apart from that, we’re looking for someone to replace Steph. She’s made it clear she only wants to help us get off the ground. I need someone to run the administration side of things but also be willing to do some public speaking or lead youth Bible studies.”
She finished her bagel and swiped her face for crumbs. It sounded like more public speaking was in her future. Not ideal, but doable. “That sounds good.”
He gave a sheepish shrug. “I’m really just making it up as I go along. Wildfire’s been a complete whirlwind. Two years ago I was staying with my dad’s relatives in LA, working the dinner shift at Sonic and preaching on weekends.”
Gorgeous and honest. How was he still single?
She tried to tone her smile down from squealing-excited to enthusiastic-but-professional. “Wow. That’s awesome.”
A strange expression crossed his face—almost a wince? “There’s pros and cons.” He shook his head and the expression disappeared.
Natalie made a mental note of it. Looked like there was a story there, but today wasn’t the day to push.
“If your boss can spare you for a few hours on Monday, drop by the office and we’ll show you around.”
She shrugged off his concern about Jem. They’d already agreed that Lili was capable with Olly, so her days now finished at 3:30 p.m. “I’ll be there. Jem will be fine with it. He helped me come up with ideas for the festival.” He’d even found a group of motocross riders that could headline the event, help draw a young crowd.
Sam folded the papers away. “Sounds like you two have a unique friendship.”
He had no idea. “We’ve got our own way of working together.”
“You guys go far back?”
“Since the day he knocked my tooth out in a basketball game. Fifth grade. My first day of school when we moved to Charlottesville.” She’d given him a black eye the following week, and their teacher put them on the same team to avoid further injuries.
Sam offered a handshake as they rose from the table. “Hopefully I can also prove to be an interesting boss-slash-friend.” He turned up the wattage in his smile, and a dimple peeked out from one cheek.
Natalie gripped his hand. Solid muscle. He probably had the power to crush her bones, but he held her hand like it was a delicate flower. The twinkle in his eye shone a little brighter than any business deal warranted.
This was going to be an interesting job.
13
“Mom, I’m not pregnant. Or on drugs. Or on a secret spy mission to Mexico.”
Lili jabbed her pencil at a math book to punctuate the point. Friday afternoon homework was the pits. Her fingers twitched, dying to throw her cell phone out the window where Mom couldn’t nag her.
Instead she leaned back in her desk chair and silently screamed at her bedroom ceiling. Her painting of Emmett Kelly’s famous sad clown, Weary Willie, stared back at her with sympathy. Two weeks at her uncle’s apartment, and she’d already covered the walls of her room with art. When she’d painted Willie last week, she’d had to stick hi
m to the ceiling.
Now his mournful eyes watched her, like he, too, understood the torturous combination that was math homework and uptight mothers.
“Well, what else explains this sudden trouble with school?” Mom’s voice faded at the end of the sentence, and an indistinct voice spoke. She was probably at the church, working on yet another project.
“I didn’t say I was having trouble at school. I said math is hard and do you know how to do logarithms?”
Any other day she’d have asked Grace, but Grace had moved to North Carolina yesterday and hadn’t yet replied to Lili’s message. Not her one about homework, anyway. She’d sent eleven pictures of her new bedroom.
So Mom was the last resort. All Lili had wanted was to ask a simple question, but with Mom it was never that easy. Lili tossed her math book aside and picked up her latest sketch. Her gray pencil skated across the page, darkening the outline of two figures in a shadowy street.
“I ran into your math teacher at church last Sunday.” Mom continued as if Lili hadn’t spoken. “She said you’ve been distracted lately.”
“Mom, I—”
“I told your father we need to hire a tutor for you. Excelling at art isn’t enough to prepare you for a career in this economic climate. I’m putting my foot down. You should come home, and we’ll get you some proper help.”
Lili dropped her pencil—the sketch wasn’t working anyway—and rested her forehead against the windowpane. No afternoon sun to cheer her up. Instead, dull clouds hung around like bored kids, unsure if they wanted to rain or not.
“You don’t need to put your foot anywhere, Mom. I’m not failing.” Yet.
The important point was she couldn’t let Mom run away with the idea of a tutor. Mom and Dad had fought for a week the last time the subject came up. Dad said they couldn’t afford it. Mom said he was a cheapskate. Dad said her shoe collection could feed an African village . . . Well, Lili had turned up her stereo at that point.
“Not failing isn’t the standard we’re aiming for, Lilianna.”
She tapped her forehead against the glass.
