by Jessica Kate
When Jem had first come back to town, he’d dreamed of winning Natalie back in the same way he dreamed of a tropical holiday home or a full night’s sleep. Not gonna happen. Then she’d kissed him, and for one magnificent day he’d hoped—until reality crashed back in. Things had happened so quickly, Jem hadn’t had the chance to tell Natalie how he felt.
Now she’d been dating that Australian preacher for weeks, but she wasn’t exactly turning cartwheels with happiness. So maybe there was still a chance.
Natalie deserved to know how he felt about her. Then she could choose. He just needed the chance to tell her.
“I’ll have Wildfire work.”
“Take one night off. Between Wildfire and your dad, you’re beyond stressed. This will be good for you.”
Natalie pressed her lips together, face awash with indecision. “Maybe.”
“It’s next Saturday. You’ve got time to decide.” Jem unbuckled Olly and pulled him from the car seat, lips moving in a silent plea to God.
He’d given her ten days to decide.
Ten days for him to pray.
* * *
Natalie really should have been moving faster.
She folded her arms over her worn duffle coat in a vain effort to keep the wind out as she walked to Bodo’s on Saturday morning. Her faux-leather knee-high boots tapping on the pavement restricted her speed to a degree, but as much as she’d like to blame them, the cold headwind, or the college student who nearly ran her over on his skateboard, she couldn’t. It was her own fault.
She didn’t know what to do.
Bodo’s came into view, and her speed decreased even more. The bagel eatery had become her and Sam’s favorite hangout. But before she arrived, she needed to make a decision. What would she do about Jem’s invitation?
Was it fair to go with him to his awards ceremony while she was dating Sam? Should she tell Sam? Should she say no? Should this be such a debate if she was meant to be over Jem? And did that even matter because committing more to Sam was probably what would cleanse Jem from her brain?
Her mind had run a marathon already, and it was only noon.
She crossed the Bodo’s courtyard with a grimace. It was clear what she should do. She should ask Sam out next Saturday night. They could go ice skating, something that the Australian had never done, and it would probably prove hilarious. With Sam, the night would be light, fun and easy.
So why couldn’t she get more excited about it?
She paused outside the door.
Because she wanted to see Jem dressed up. She wanted to sit next to him and smirk at the host’s bad toupee, wanted to share Jem’s dessert and cheer when he won.
Because she was insane.
He’d blindsided her by leaving once. What made her think it wouldn’t happen again?
She pulled the door open with determination. She’d ask Sam to go ice skating. It was the only rational decision.
She looked around the restaurant. No Sam. Huh. She checked her watch. Twelve-oh-seven p.m. And she’d thought she was late.
The door opened behind her.
“Kim, I’m meeting Natalie. I’ve gotta— We can talk about it later, but I’m not keen on the idea.”
She turned and encountered Sam’s apologetic smile. He mouthed, Sorry. Kimberly’s voice still emanated from the phone, and Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m hanging up now. See ya later.” He ended the call and tugged a seat out for Natalie. “Sorry about that. She wants to pitch new ideas for Wildfire.”
Natalie took her seat as a vise gripped her chest. She’d put in more hours than ever on Wildfire work since Dad came home from the hospital. Was Kimberly getting an edge with this?
Or really, more of an edge?
Sam seated himself across from her. “She has . . . Well, she has a lot of ideas.” His tone did not indicate that it was a compliment.
“Too many?” Natalie hazarded a guess.
Sam’s smile turned rueful. “You could say that.”
An interesting tidbit of information. Natalie tucked it away for further pondering later. She picked up a menu and pretended to consider it while she tried to form her next sentence. “So, next Saturday night—”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about, well, future Saturday nights.”
Natalie put the menu down and paid sharper attention. “Yes?” His tone, his expression . . . What was wrong?
A pained expression crossed his countenance. “I’m not certain if we should be spending them together.”
She blinked. He was breaking up with her? Her brain scrambled for a response, and the best it came up with was, “Umm . . . okay?”
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy hanging out.” Sam leaned forward. “I do. It’s just I get the sense . . .” He trailed off and appeared to search for the right words.
“What?”
“It seems like there’s some unresolved stuff between you and Jem. I’d rather not get in the middle of that.”
Oh no. Jem was not wrecking this for her. She matched Sam’s pose, elbows on the table, leaning forward. “It only seems that way because we have history. But that’s in the past.” Where it would stay.
Sam looked skeptical.
“You don’t believe me?”
He shrugged. “I believe you. I’m just pretty sure it’s not in the past for Jem.” At her look, he smiled. “I saw his reaction when I picked you up the other day. A bloke knows.”
Natalie opened her mouth, closed it. Jem . . . Jem wasn’t over her. The thought filled her with an expanding sensation of joy, a hot-air balloon lifting off in her heart.
Sam’s comment shouldn’t have this effect on her. She’d suspected how Jem felt. The evidence was there. His kiss, before Chloe. His invitation now. The strangled expression he got each time she mentioned Sam. She’d known. She’d fought it.
But Sam saying it aloud sounded ten different kinds of wonderful.
She was a terrible person. She’d just told Sam this was in the past.
The man before her held up his hands. “But that’s just Jem. I believe you. And honestly, Nat, on paper I think we’re great together. But in practice, I think we’re missing a little . . . zing.”
She couldn’t argue. Had felt it herself, though she’d told herself that it could come with time. “I get that,” she admitted.
“But you’re a terrific friend. I think we can still work together great at Wildfire.”
She smiled and said all the things you’re meant to say in a breakup and meant most of them. After Sam left, she stared at the napkin holder for so long that someone tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she was okay.
Natalie jolted, turned.
Kimberly.
The younger woman slid into the seat Sam had vacated, concern in her expression. “You can tell me to go away, that’s fine. I just wanted to check.”
Natalie sighed. She wanted to hate Kimberly. The woman stood ready to steal her dream away in a matter of weeks. But though Kimberly could be focused to the point of abruptness, there was no denying she had a kind heart.
Natalie tore the edge of the corner of a napkin and debated how much to tell her. “Sam and I just decided to stop seeing each other.”
Kimberly’s expression was entirely empathetic. “I’m sorry. That sucks.” A worried expression crossed her face. “I wasn’t stalking you guys either, by the way. Sam said he was meeting you, but I didn’t know it was here. He just said the other day that he loved the bagels here, so I decided to try it out.” Her words got more rushed and awkward the longer she went.
Natalie shrugged. “It’s fine. The breakup was . . . relatively mutual.”
Kimberly leaned forward. “I’m sure he’ll be fine at work, if you’re worried about that.”
Natalie debated her next words, then threw caution to the wind. Once the Wildfire decision was made, she and Kimberly would have little reason to meet again. Sometimes a near stranger could be the best sounding board. “It’s more the reason we decided
to call it. Sam thinks that my ex, Jem, is interested, and I can admit to being . . . tempted. Sam could see that.” She worked at tearing the napkin into a strip like Mom did with those Australian Minties candies she loved. “But Jem already broke off our engagement once. Don’t you think it’s crazy to trust him again?”
Kimberly tapped a fingernail against the table. “You won’t be surprised to know that relationships aren’t my strong point. But I do believe that some people change. And some don’t. The trick is working out which is which.”
She smiled and left, and Natalie stayed until her napkin was one long piece, like a perfectly peeled apple skin.
“The trick is working out which is which.”
Could Jem have really changed enough for her to entrust her heart to him again?
There was only one way to find out.
31
If Natalie wasn’t careful, this special night would end before it began.
She rose from the edge of her mattress in red strappy heels and took a cautious step. She hadn’t worn heels in a month, hadn’t worn a six-inch stiletto in . . . ever. She moved forward at a slow pace and made it to the mirror propped on top of her dresser.
Still upright. Good.
Twenty minutes left to do hair and makeup before Jem got here for the gala. Bad.
She sashayed to the bathroom as fast as her shoes would allow, fighting the bubbles that fizzed in her stomach. Jem’s quiet delight when she’d accepted his invitation last weekend—and happened to mention her breakup with Sam—had spun her insides into cartwheels ever since. She jammed a hairpin into place, her dark tresses curling in a messy bun. The bathroom light flickered, and she held her breath. Eyeliner was challenging enough in the light—the bulb couldn’t fail her now.
Eyes done, she leaned into the mirror, made an O with her lips, and applied a generous layer of Certainly Red. Eye shadow and blush came next.
A familiar deep voice floated through the open window. Jem talking to someone . . . on the phone, maybe?
A few swipes of mascara and a spritz of Beyoncé’s latest fragrance, and she was ready. She smoothed a wrinkle in the pleated chiffon skirt of her cream dress as she walked to the front door. Hopefully Jem wouldn’t notice the crease. She’d already ironed it three times.
She pulled the door open.
Jem stood on her front porch, phone to his ear, navy shirt undone at the neck, and a charcoal-gray tie tossed over the shoulder of his matching suit jacket. He flashed Natalie a grin and a wink and pulled the phone slightly away from his mouth. “Beetroot,” he whispered, eyes apologetic.
She stepped closer and tugged the tie from his shoulder. The scent of his cologne filled her senses. It wasn’t his usual fragrance—this one was smoky, sweet, and rich. Yummy.
With a slight tremble to her fingers, she fastened Jem’s collar, hoping he couldn’t see the pulse hammering in her throat. She looped the tie around his neck, his breath tickling wisps of hair against her cheek, and tied the knot. She kept her eyes fastened on her task but felt his gaze on her.
“When did this happen?” he said into the phone. “No, I guess you can’t. We’ll head over there now. Okay. Bye.”
He lowered the phone, and a slow grin spread across his lips, mere inches from Natalie and level with her forehead.
She met his eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His gaze wandered over the full length of her and back up again. “How have you been?”
“In the two hours since I last saw you? Just dandy.” She’d gotten conditioner in her eye, cut her ankle shaving, and burned her finger on the curling iron, but Jem’s appreciative smile made it totally worth it.
His hand slid down her bare arm, grasped her fingers, and lifted her hand above her head. “Twirl.”
She obliged, her skirt fanning out.
The spin tested the limits of her balance, and Jem caught her against his chest. “Gorgeous.” His gaze caressed her face, then dropped to her lips.
Her eyes widened, and her chest rose with a deep breath. She pulled back. “We should probably get going.”
He shortened his strides to match hers as they walked across the stepping-stone path toward the car. “If it’s okay, I need to check on Dad before we go. That call was Mike. He sounded pretty worried about him.”
“Why can’t Mike go?”
“He’s sitting with a church family at the hospital. Their kid is sick.”
She wobbled on a stepping stone and grasped Jem’s elbow. “How was Olly? Was Steph okay? Does she have your mobile number?”
“His sugar was 8.5 at the last test, and he seemed totally normal. Steph can handle it. You just have to concentrate on having a good time.”
Natalie returned his smile. A good time. They’d been few and far between in the past few weeks, between worrying over Dad and Steph’s near constant phone calls about Wildfire. The ministry had been insanely busy in the past few weeks—the festival had been a runaway success under Kimberly’s watchful eye and created a lot of speaking opportunities for them to follow up on. But if her phone rang tonight, she’d throw it out the window.
They got into the car and zoomed toward John’s house. Natalie frowned as they approached the colonial-style home. There wasn’t a single light on. It didn’t even look like anyone was home. “What exactly did Mike say was wrong?”
“He didn’t.” Jem slowed to a stop in John’s red brick drive. “He just said he sounded upset on the phone when Mike called him.”
Jem stepped out of the car, and Natalie followed suit. A crash sounded from inside the house, and they double-timed it up the path.
“Dad?” The front door opened without a key. Jem motioned for Natalie to stay on the porch. “Dad, are you there?”
Natalie stood on tiptoe to peer inside. She stared at the sight in front of her.
Had a hurricane gone through the house?
Usually a meticulous housekeeper, John had pizza boxes and fast-food bags scattered all over the floor in the hallway entrance. Natalie squinted, but it was too dark to see what else lay beyond the streetlight’s glow.
“Daaaaaaad!” Jem hit the lights and crunched his way into the house, kicking rubbish aside as he went. Still no response.
Natalie picked her way along behind him, trying not to trip over a KFC bucket in her ridiculous heels. When she caught up to Jem, he’d flicked the lights on in the living room and was staring at a big lump in the recliner.
John, as she’d never seen him. Bloodshot eyes, greasy hair, and a haggard expression like he hadn’t slept for days. He still wore his wrinkled captain’s uniform, and his lap was covered in photos. Old photos.
In fact, the entire room was. Boxes covered the couch, overflowing with old frames, albums, and loose prints. Polaroids and yellowed newspaper articles laid scattered across the floor.
John blinked at them through bleary eyes, then sat up in the recliner. “What are you doing?”
There was that captain’s bark they all knew.
Jem bent and plucked a newspaper article from the ground. “Mike called me. He said you were upset. He didn’t say the house had been taken over by squatters on a bender. What’s going on?”
John directed a fierce frown in their direction, then waved them away and closed his eyes. “I’m unwell. Just leave. Lock the door behind you.”
Natalie looked from the other man to Jem. This didn’t add up. John could be on his deathbed, and his garbage would still be perfectly sorted between compost, recyclables, and general waste. Not scattered across the floor.
But Jem wasn’t looking at his father. His attention was focused on the newspaper clipping in his hand.
“‘DUI kills mother.’” Jem read the faded clipping aloud, still squatting where he’d picked it up.
John bolted upright. “Put that down.”
Jem jerked back, though he was already out of his father’s reach, and rose to his feet. “‘A single-vehicle crash has claimed the life of local mother Barbara Walters, thirty-n
ine.’”
He paused.
Natalie leaned on his arm to look over his shoulder and read the article. That wasn’t right. Single vehicle? Hadn’t a drunk driver hit her car?
John slumped back into the chair.
“‘Walters’ station wagon allegedly hit a tree on Preston Avenue about 7:40 p.m. Thursday,’” Jem continued. “‘Police allege Walters had a—’” His voice failed. He cleared his throat. “‘A blood alcohol reading of point two five at the time of the crash.’”
That wasn’t a story she’d heard around the family dinner table before. Her eyes zeroed in on the number. Point two five. Point-three should be enough to knock a grown man unconscious.
He kept reading, voice wooden. “‘An ambulance was called to the scene, but she was declared dead on arrival.
“‘Walters was the wife of local police Lieutenant John Walters. She leaves behind two sons, Michael, seventeen, and Jeremy, five.
“‘A funeral service for Walters will be held at the Charlottesville Christian Church on Friday.’”
Jem’s hand dropped to his side. “Dad? You wanna explain why that’s not the story you told me?”
John didn’t answer.
Jem worked his jaw. Uh-oh. Natalie unbuckled her fancy shoes and stepped out of them. No point staying dressed up tonight. Instead of an awards ceremony and a chance to probe into New Jem, she’d witness the next chapter of the lifelong conflict between him and his father.
Old Jem.
His muscles bunched beneath her hand, still on his arm. Emotions flitted across his face, like he was struggling to contain himself. She braced for whatever came next.
But then his expression cleared. He lifted his head. His voice came out measured, under control. “I forgive you, Dad.”
“What?”
“What?”
Both Natalie and John fastened their attention on Jem’s face.
Jem shrugged. “I don’t know why you lied about this. I understand nothing about your approach to parenting . . . and other human beings. But you should know that I forgive you for the past. That’s all.” He carefully placed the article inside one of the photo boxes. “I’ll go now if you want.”
