by Jessica Kate
“Research art?” Jem held up another sticky note.
She knelt before the cupboard and pulled Jem’s flashlight out of the toolbox. Water soaked the knees of her jeans. “Lili loves it so much, I wanted to learn something so I could talk about it with her.” She resigned herself to a wet backside, sat on the floor, and poked her head into the cupboard.
Jem’s bare feet splashed across the tiles. He lowered himself beside her, stretching his body across the cold floor. She gripped the flashlight and tried not to think about the fact he was eight inches away.
Jem’s face appeared on the other side of the S-bend. His hand closed over hers on the flashlight. “That is why I leave my son with you.” His gaze never leaving hers, he repositioned her hand to shine the light in the right spot.
Her palms, already slick with soapy water, added sweat to the mix.
Jem turned his attention to the pipe between them and grabbed a tool from his box while Natalie scoured her mind for a normal thing to say. “How are we going to dry the carpets?”
“We’ll have to rent some industrial fans or a shop vac tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you have a lot of towels.”
“Not really.”
“I brought extras.”
She leaned against the cupboard wall and propped her flashlight arm up with her spare hand. “How can I ever thank you?” The words came out with some difficulty. Did she appreciate the fact she wouldn’t have to go begging to Mom or Mrs. Dinkle for towels? Yes. Did she enjoy owing Jem? Not at all.
Metal clinked on metal as Jem rummaged around for another tool. The pipe was almost done. “You can feed me dinner. I hadn’t eaten yet when you called.”
She grimaced. “Ummm . . .”
“I’m not fussy. Whatever you’ve got in the cupboard.” He ran his hand over the pipe. “That should do it. Turn the tap on to test.” He turned the valve back on.
Natalie backed out of the cupboard and flicked the tap on and off.
“Success! Now, dinner.” Jem righted himself with a satisfied smile and opened her panty. His smile faded. He stepped back so she could see the shelves, bare except for a jar of coffee, a bag of sugar, peanut butter, and half a loaf of bread. “Babe.”
She bristled. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I eat a lot at your house. And why do you keep calling me ‘babe’?” He’d done it on Saturday too—though she still wasn’t sure if he’d been talking to her or Lola Bunny.
“Old habits die hard. I’ve been saying it in my head.” He closed the pantry door. “And you might eat at my house a bit, but you never have dinner there.”
“By the time I get home I just heat up noodles and work on Wildfire stuff or Mom and Dad’s bills.”
“That’s not healthy. No wonder I’ve been showing you up on the basketball court.”
She punched his arm.
“That would have hurt if you ate greens once in a while.” He picked up his toolbox. “We’ll clean this up, take you home, and get you some decent food. In the morning we can get the fans and go grocery shopping.”
“No.”
“Okay, then, join us for dinner every night. That would save you time shopping and cooking. We can take turns for who cooks.”
“No, I mean the tonight thing. I have to get this presentation to Steph and Sam.” Kimberly had been killing it lately. The woman’s proposed youth drop-in center was gaining community support, and her organizational skills had whipped the next six months of Sam’s speaking schedule into shape. Natalie needed an edge, and this presentation to the board to gain support for her festival outreach was her chance.
Jem looked around the house. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen, babe.”
She sighed. “I can work late.”
“No point. Once you’re tired, you become inefficient. Might as well take a night off with your favorite boss and start again tomorrow.”
“Who says Sam isn’t my favorite boss?”
“Is he the one here saving the day?”
“Touché.” But she didn’t move toward the door.
He kept looking at her.
She huffed. She shouldn’t take a night off. But she was starving. Sick of peanut butter toast. And . . . maybe his company wouldn’t hurt. “Fine, I’ll come to your place for dinner.”
Jem headed for the car. “I’ll get the towels. Let’s get this place fixed up.”
The corners of Natalie’s mouth tipped up as he walked away. Maybe some downtime wasn’t such a bad idea.
She walked across the tiles to her linen cupboard. Her left foot slid out from under her and she nearly toppled as Jem entered the room again.
“Careful.” He dropped the towels and grabbed her arm.
Natalie latched onto his shirt with one hand as her right foot also lost traction, her other arm sweeping over the kitchen counter and knocking her lifeless miniature rose into the air. “Blaaar-eep!” She clutched Jem’s arm and pulled her feet back under her. He grasped her upper arms until she found grip.
“Are you okay?”
She tested her balance and, once convinced she was secure, reached for her plant.
“That’s got a bud on it,” Jem said as she placed it on the bench.
“What?” She inspected the rose. Sure enough, a tiny green bud sprouted from the end of the brown stick that had once been a plant. “Huh. I’d given up on this one. I gave it one more chance and watered it last week, but I didn’t think it would make any difference.”
Jem smiled at her. “Surprises happen.”
Warmth spread through her core. She tucked a curling piece of hair behind her ear. “Yes, they do.”
* * *
Three missed calls flashed on Natalie’s phone.
She frowned at the screen, still half asleep as she watched cartoons on Jem’s couch. What did Steph need so badly at 9:15 a.m. Saturday?
She’d bunked on the floor of Lili’s room last night, as Mom and Dad would’ve already been in bed and she had no desire to sleep in her wet-dog-scented apartment.
Jem’s fingers closed around hers on the phone and tugged it from her grasp. “No phones during Looney Tunes.” He set the phone on the coffee table beside him and turned the volume up a little.
She eyed him. He was rumpled and delicious, with his eyes half open and boyish delight on his face. Oliver, sitting in his lap and dressed in a Despicable Me minion onesie, only increased Jem’s appeal.
Olly wriggled in Jem’s lap.
He put him down on the floor, and the baby crawled straight to Natalie’s feet and whined.
“What?” Jem looked from his son to her.
She scooped him up with a triumphant smile. “Hey, little man. Did you want to upgrade?”
“Traitor.” Jem flopped back against the couch.
“I’m surprised you two don’t have matching minion onesies.”
“Mine’s in the wash.”
Lili tugged her blanket closer. “He’s not joking.”
The cartoon ended after ten minutes, and Jem peeled himself off the couch to go start the pancakes. Lili had gone to shower, so Natalie muted the TV and dialed Steph’s number. The scent of cooking pancakes teased her senses.
“Hey, Steph, what’s up?”
“Where are you? Are you up? Can you be here in five minutes?” Her words shot from the speaker, rapid-fire.
Natalie jumped up from the couch. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Sam got overexcited at the board meeting and pitched your festival idea early. We’ve only really got half a pitch here. I’m assuming you’ve got more details with you, but . . . Anyway, it’s done now. The board members are having a quick break, but we need to get the second half of this pitch, and fast.”
She face-palmed herself. She’d not finished her presentation last night. “I’m not . . . Um, I didn’t realize . . . My house flooded.” She took a breath. Whole sentences would be helpful. “I’m not at home at the moment. How soon do you need me?”
“You’re already out at nine th
irty on a Saturday?” Steph’s tone changed from business Steph to friend Steph—a tone she heard less and less these days.
Natalie held her breath.
Lord, I will never roll my eyes at my mother again if you stop her from asking what I’m doing right now.
“What are you doing?”
Natalie placed Olly in his playpen and walked toward the shelf Jem had labeled “Natalie’s junk” on a piece of masking tape. “I’m heading to grab my laptop right now,” she said to Steph. Still the truth—part of it.
But the shelf just held her grocery sack, toothbrush, about fifty sticky notes, and eleven green M&M’s. Second face-palm moment. “It’s at home. I’ll go there now.”
“Natalie?” Jem’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Do you want choc-chip pancakes or plain?”
She cringed and braced.
“You’re at Jem’s? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. My apartment flooded and he helped.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Steph’s tone was loaded with suggestion. “Look, Nat, you’ve got a chance here to really impress the board. So if my brother-in-law values his life, he’ll deliver you to our front door in ten minutes. Fifteen tops.”
Uh-oh. She dragged a hand down her face. Yesterday’s jeans were dry—well, dry-ish—but her shirt had picked up a mud stain somewhere along the way. The Wildfire office was close, but to go home first . . . “I’ll be there. Just let me figure something out.” Her pulse quickened. A chance to impress the board—this opportunity was too good to miss. She’d make it work.
“See you soon.” Steph ended the call, and Natalie pressed the phone to her forehead. She could come up with ideas on the fly. But she had to get there first.
“Jem?”
He turned at the mention of his name, spatula in hand and clad in Lili’s red-checked apron.
“Can you take me home?”
“Pancakes are in the pan and Lili’s in the shower.” Jem frowned. “What happened?”
“I just got a chance to impress the board. They love the festival idea. But they need me there to pitch it in ten minutes.”
His face lit up—until his gaze flew to the clock. “Is Steph crazy? It’s nine thirty on Saturday morning.”
“The board is all volunteers. They meet when they can.” She ran last night through her memory. “We didn’t bring my bike, did we?” Even without the bike, she could splurge on an Uber.
“No. And don’t even think about it, Nat. Your jeans are still damp, and you’re wearing One Direction pajamas. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll take you home.”
She zipped into Lili’s room as he spoke and yanked on her jeans, then pulled last night’s hoodie over Harry, Liam, Louis, Zayn, and Niall and popped back out into the kitchen. “It’s early on a Saturday. They’ll forgive the hoodie.”
She ran out the door.
16
Natalie twisted her fingers together as Steph gave her a rundown on what Sam had pitched to the board so far, the two of them huddled in the corridor outside the Wildfire conference room. It was hard to hear anything past the voice in her head reminding her that in her haste she’d forgotten to put a bra on under that hoodie and PJ top.
“Nat.” Steph snapped her fingers. “You listening?”
She started. “Sorry. Just—nervous.” At least half the people would be on the conference room’s big-screen TV, teleconferencing in from various locations across the country. It’d be difficult for them to assess her attire from the screen. Still . . . “Are you sure the hoodie’s alright?”
Steph shrugged. “Sam told them he was calling you in unexpectedly to talk about it.”
Nevertheless, it was difficult not to compare her wardrobe to Steph’s sleek black pants, heels, and silk top.
Steph nudged her arm. “He likes you, you know.”
Natalie blinked. “Who?”
“Sam. I told him to ask you out.” A smug smile accompanied the words.
A door closed nearby. Natalie lowered her voice, brain scrambling. “I—he—um, but he’s my boss.”
Steph waved the concern away. “I told him you were fine with it. You can thank me later. You don’t want people getting the wrong idea about you and Jem.”
“Me and Jem?” Her voice jumped an octave.
“Exactly. It’s ludicrous. But there’s your history, you’re there all the time . . . Sam might get the wrong idea.” She raised her eyebrows at Natalie. “You’re single and quite the catch. You need to act like it.”
Act like it? She’d be lucky if she could tie her shoes in front of Sam now. And in five minutes she had to walk in there and give this presentation.
She pretended to flick through the notes in her hand while turning the thought over in her head. Could Sam really be interested in her? A thrill tickled her nerves at the thought. No man had spared more than a passing glance at her since Jem, despite what the movies said about being single and in your twenties. And Sam was . . . well, Sam. Australian. Genuine. Warm. Talented. Australian. Passionate about the very field she wanted to work in.
And Australian.
Okay. She could do this. She straightened her shoulders and entered the board room. Most board members were still out on a short break, but a woman in smart skinny jeans and a form-fitting gray blouse occupied a chair on the edge of the room.
Kimberly.
Natalie’s stride faltered.
Kimberly shot her a smile. “Hey.”
Natalie pasted her smile back on. “Hi. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Kimberly shrugged. “I wanted to hear about your idea. Sam’s been really enthusiastic about it. And I like to see how other people pitch. It’s not my strongest suit.”
Steph joined them. “Kimberly’s being modest. She pitched business ideas back in LA all the time, and her pitch to this board was terrific.” To Natalie: “Did you know she worked with start-ups in Silicon Valley?”
No, she did not. And wasn’t that just a great confidence boost? She gave a feeble, “That’s awesome.”
Kimberly shrugged it off. “It was Mom’s company. But this is what I want to do.” Certainty filled her voice.
Like the job was already hers.
Board members filed back in. Kimberly nodded to the front of the room. “Break a leg.”
Natalie walked to the front of the room on wooden limbs.
Sam strode through the door, all broad shoulders and flannel. The man’s vibe could be summed up as “preaching lumberjack.” He sent her a thumbs-up and took his seat.
Natalie gripped her notes.
God, please help me.
She took a deep breath. Okay. Professional mode. She clicked to her first slide, and her brain slipped into its groove.
Ten heart-pounding minutes later and she was done. She exited the room, head high, legs wobbly. Leaned against the wall. She’d done it. The rest was out of her hands.
A door quietly opened and closed. Sam joined her in the corridor, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “That was fantastic!” He offered his hand in a high five.
She slapped it with a relieved laugh.
He gestured to the room. “I’ll be tied up here for another hour or two, but are you hanging around? Celebratory lunch?”
Natalie hesitated. Was this a date? Did she want it to be? What exactly had Steph told him?
Snap out of it, Natalie. It’s just lunch.
And lunch with an attractive single man never hurt.
She smiled. “Sounds great.”
17
Something was wrong with Lili.
Jem sat at his dining table, fingers suffering the death of a thousand paper cuts, and watched his niece staple schedules and pass them to Natalie on the girls’ side of the table. Stacks of fliers, balloons, and lollipops for the Wildfire festival promotional bags covered the room in preparation for the announcement of the event at church on Sunday—just one week after Natalie’s festival pitch got the green light from Wildfire’s board.
Pa
cking goodie bags wasn’t his favorite Friday night activity, but this was the first time they’d drawn Lili from her room in the last week.
Besides, in the days since Natalie’s apartment flooded—which had dried out with minimal damage to the carpet-over-concrete floor—the only way he could get Natalie’s attention was by working with her. She’d been busy since the board endorsed her pitch last Saturday, planning budgets with Steph, organizing volunteers, and having coffee with some of the town’s biggest church leaders. She seemed so excited about this opportunity the festival was giving her, she’d worked 24/7 to make sure everything was perfect.
Even now, after folding sixty million festival fliers for the woman, he was losing to his niece and a dead painter.
“So why did Picasso start painting everything blue?” Natalie asked Lili as she stuffed another bag full and dropped it on the growing pile.
“He had this friend called Casagemas who committed suicide over a girl who didn’t love him.”
Lili went on to explain a love triangle that made a soap opera seem tame, but Jem’s brain got stuck on Natalie’s question . . . and the dried paint on Lili’s forearms. Flecks speckled her skin, as usual, but her normal riot of colors had disappeared. A streak of gray blue ran up the inside of her forearm, left over from her latest artwork. She’d painted that freaky sad clown about six times in the last week. All blues and grays, no bright color.
He picked up another blasted flier, slapped the edges down to form rough thirds, and ran his mind through recent days. Lili hadn’t been the same since he’d taken her to Target to meet Nick. Was it boy trouble?
If it was, she hadn’t told Nat. He’d managed to distract her from work for twenty minutes yesterday to strategize about Lili. Natalie offered to talk to her, but Jem had learned one thing from growing up with teenage Natalie: when bringing up a touchy topic with a girl, do your homework first. You never knew when you were going to hit a trip wire. He’d left a message with Mike yesterday but still hadn’t heard back.
He reached for another flier and cursed himself for suggesting these bags in the first place.
