by Liz Johnson
Natalie’s hands flew to her face, an attempt to cover the blush that had already made its way up her neck and across her cheeks. She shook her head and stared at him through unblinking eyes. Silence reigned for what felt like a full minute, everyone still and observant.
Hands still clapped to her face, Natalie said, “At least it wasn’t the whole potato this time.”
Suddenly the spud by Potato Woman’s foot made sense, and he saw the entire scenario play out in his mind’s eye, flying food and all.
Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation or the familiarity of Natalie’s flushed skin or a sneaking memory of a burned birthday pie that he just couldn’t bring himself to stomach, but he let out a laugh like he hadn’t in years. It jiggled everything inside him until he had to bend over to gasp for air, and the sight of the potato peel pressed to his knee, where his hands held him up, made him laugh even harder.
“Oh, Natalie. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Amid the many other guffaws in the room, a low giggle stood out. He looked up from his hunched position to catch Natalie’s shaking shoulders, her fingers still stretched across her mouth, but not in embarrassment. This was the laughter they’d shared for so many years. When things at home were too dark or the pressures of life and school too much, they’d hidden away in their lighthouse.
And they’d made each other laugh. They’d teased and prodded, poked and provoked until tears ran down their cheeks.
He swiped at the dampness below his eyes and realized she’d done it again. Without even trying. Without being anyone or anything but Natalie, she’d made him laugh so hard his belly ached and his eyes swam with tears.
Caden was the first to contain herself, herding the class back into order and helping Natalie spare herself another faux pas through the entire mashing process.
As they worked together to fill two little pans that looked like miniature pie plates with the meat, veggies, and mashed potatoes, Justin met Natalie’s gaze. And every time a low glow inside promised that she clung to the same memories he did. The brief lift at the corner of her mouth hinted at the possibility that what they’d once shared might be restored.
No. That wasn’t quite right. It could never be what they’d had before. But maybe—by some miracle—the animosity that had blossomed in the wake of their separation might be stifled. At least the anger might be released, the frustration freed.
As Natalie leaned in the oven to push the tray of their completed shepherd’s pie onto the top rack, she glanced at him. “Thank you.”
The meager volume wasn’t equal to the weight of the words, which struck him dumb. He wanted to ask her what it was for, but he knew he’d come to her rescue. Saved her from having to take the class alone. And saved her from a truly embarrassing moment by simply enjoying the humor of it all.
He could have forced her to clarify, to point out what he’d done, but he didn’t dare waste their first truly civil exchange. And he wouldn’t use it up on common courtesies either. “You’re welcome” wasn’t what he wanted to say. Screwing up his face and his courage, he whispered what he most wanted her to know. “I finally got your last lighthouse letter.”
Her eyes glistened beneath the kitchen bulbs, and he wondered if he’d caused the dampness there.
No. Surely not.
But he was a little less certain when she cleared her throat. “I …” She trailed off, clearly thinking better of what she’d planned to say. “I’m glad.”
He wasn’t sure if he was. It might have been easier to go on thinking she’d left without a word.
Actually, he was absolutely certain it would have been easier to go on as they had been. Shooting angry jabs at each other whenever they were alone. Letting the bitterness fester. Wallowing in a fair measure of self-pity and buckets of self-indulgence.
He frowned, and she immediately matched his expression, adding a suggestion of uncertainty. This was far too much introspection for a man who spent his days with four-legged milk machines.
Coughing behind his hand, he nodded. “Good, I guess.”
With a false start Natalie began to speak but was immediately cut off as Caden raised her voice. “We’ll take a thirty-minute break while our pies bake. Dinner will be served at five thirty in the dining room.”
“Dinner?” Justin swung toward the microwave and the clock there. The blue lights had shone all afternoon. He’d just ignored them for the last hour, which had flown by. Which had surely found Dillon grumbling as he did the dairy’s evening chores all by himself. “I’ve got to go.”
Natalie’s shoulders drooped. The movement wasn’t much, but it tugged at a spot deep in his heart as she asked, “Do you?”
Forget a tug. Her soft words made him feel like he was being dragged behind his truck. They were so gentle, but there was a power in them. A clear hope that he wouldn’t leave her on her own.
She doesn’t want you. She just doesn’t want to be left on her own.
Right. She wanted her fiancé by her side. But in a pinch Justin would do. That was the truth.
And apparently this particular truth was hornet sharp.
He stepped away, battling the urge to turn his back on the expectation in her eyes. He didn’t need to rescue her any longer. That wasn’t his job. She’d made that decision for him.
With a firm shake of his head, he met her eyes. “It’s late. I have an appointment with some dairy cows.”
Her swallow was clear and audible, even over the low hum of conversation from the couples leaving the class. “If you—”
“What’d I miss?”
Justin turned toward Russell, whose smile was practiced but didn’t quite wrinkle the corners of his eyes. His gaze settled on Natalie, and she plastered an equally experienced but no more true grin into place.
“Nothing, honey.” She turned her face up and received a quick peck on the lips. It was about as romantic as Justin’s egg layers going after their morning kernels.
Justin tried not to stare. Or sneer. Or gag. In fact, he tried to steel his features against any indication that he’d even noticed their stiff greeting, but something about their interaction picked at him. It was everything polite and well-bred.
And it lacked anything remotely related to honesty.
Shouldn’t she want to throw a punch—at least a verbal one—in Russell’s direction? After all, the man had left her alone in a class that couldn’t have been her idea. Justin sure would have if he’d been in her shoes. And she’d never backed down from telling Justin exactly what she thought of him when he ticked her off.
So why this facade? Why hold the reins so tight with the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with?
Or maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe she wasn’t holding back all of her true self. Perhaps that’s what he wanted to see, so that’s what he saw.
“How was your call?” she asked.
Russell shook his head, the carefully played tilt of his lips flickering under the weight of what was certainly something unpleasant. “Jodi’s recordings are almost completely gone.”
“What about backups?”
“They’ve been corrupted.”
Her smile flickered too.
He should turn and go, but Justin could read on Russell’s face that there was something else. And both men knew that Natalie wasn’t going to like it.
By the tone of her voice, Natalie knew as well. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to go back to Nashville.” He frowned. “It’s going to take more than a few days. Maybe several weeks.”
Her eyebrows rose to full mast as her gaze shot around the room to confirm that they were the only ones left. Her eyes landed on Justin for a long second, and he wondered if she’d dismiss him, but then she turned back to Russell. “Can’t it wait until after the wedding? There’s so much left to do to get ready. The wedding’s in five weeks.”
“Five weeks and three days.”
Based on her narrowed eyes, Russell’s correcti
on was not well received, and Justin couldn’t help the surge through his veins, anticipating her retaliation.
Before she could say a word, Russell continued on. “We’ll figure it out.” With those dismissive words, he patted her shoulder, as though all was well and resolved.
Those blue eyes flashed as he’d seen them do so many times, and she worked her bottom lip like it was her job. Her nostrils flared, and her shoulders rose in a rapid staccato.
There it was. This was what her fiery hair promised—enough temper to put a man in his place and save some leftovers for anyone else in the vicinity. She wasn’t the pushover she appeared to be in Russell’s presence. And Justin liked her all the more for it.
He leaned in. He might be in the blast zone, but better there than with a limp version of the woman who had always known how to stir up his ire with a dose of her own.
Then, faster than the fire had started, Natalie let out a quick sigh. The color high in her cheeks disappeared, and the limpid grin returned to her face. “Sure.”
Sure? That’s what she was going with now? Sure?
The man had just announced his intention to cut their—what had Marie called it?—pre-honeymoon short.
No. Worse. He was leaving, but Natalie had to stay. It was almost like Russell didn’t understand that Natalie didn’t want to be on the island. That she wouldn’t want to be on the island.
He sucked in a sharp breath and nearly choked on it, their interaction riveting yet wholly confusing. But this wasn’t his scene to watch. It wasn’t his story to butt into. Justin took a deliberate step back. Then another. He didn’t need to know if they were simply playing the part of a loving couple, or if there were secrets Natalie had never told the man she was about to promise the rest of her life to.
Moreover, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t. Really.
“I knew you’d understand.” Russell planted another kiss on top of her head, and he had to miss the uncertainty and anger warring across her face.
All the better angels screamed at Justin to keep his mouth shut. Every experience he’d ever had with this couple promised he’d do better to keep quiet. But one small voice in his head prompted him to goad them.
He picked the wrong prodding.
“What about everything you have left to get done for the wedding?”
Natalie fought the urge to stomp on Justin’s toe, instead keeping her focus on maintaining the smile that she needed Russell to see. The one he expected. But she had a few choice words for her class partner.
What on earth had he been thinking? Was he trying to make Russell feel guilty?
She wanted Russell to feel guilty for bailing on their plans.
But this wasn’t Justin’s battle, and he seemed to know it. With a flushed face, he scooped up a stack of plates that Caden had set on the counter for dinner and hurried toward the door.
It was hard to tell from across the room, but she thought she saw him mouth “I’m sorry” in her direction.
With a squeeze of her elbow, Russell drew her attention back. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry I’m going to miss out. But there has to be someone here who can help. What about Marie?”
Natalie shook her head. “She’s already doing everything she can, but she’s also responsible for the inn.”
“How about that woman, Aretha Franklin?” He chuckled, as though her musical name was an inside joke he’d just discovered and not one Aretha herself made with every introduction. “You said you were friends.”
Eyes burning and heart picking up speed, she licked her lips, searching for an answer. Yes, Aretha was kind. She’d been the first to truly welcome Natalie back to the island. And she’d always seemed to keep a watchful eye on Natalie. But she wasn’t sure that was enough. Aretha had other things to do. “No. She’s already busy enough.”
Besides, what she really wanted was for her fiancé to be here. To plan by her side. So why couldn’t she tell him that?
A brick fell all the way to the bottom of her stomach. She knew it wasn’t right. She knew it wasn’t how she wanted this relationship to be. Only it was too late to be honest with him.
Wasn’t it?
Questions about Aretha danced across Russell’s face, and Natalie brushed her hand through the air. “She has other things to worry about. Her store. A husband. It’s not a good time to ask her.”
From his spot at the swinging kitchen door, Justin didn’t look convinced. But Russell nodded and moved on. “What about the woman we met at the cheese store? Mama … Kane?”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t keep her gaze off of Justin, who’d said that his mom wanted Natalie to be happy. He’d said she would want to come to the wedding. If that was true, maybe she’d want to help plan it too. Except …
She had an excuse for every person in town. Because she hadn’t just abandoned Justin. She’d walked out on everyone.
But for every Stella Burke, who couldn’t see her shadow disappear soon enough, there was a Mama Cheese Sandwich and an Aretha Franklin. Maybe they’d missed her half as much as she’d missed them.
That brick gave another flip with a hard landing, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, pushing her breath through her fingers.
“Mama Kane would—”
Before Justin could complete whatever he was going to say, Russell turned on him like he’d forgotten there was a third person in the room. “What about him? It’s at his barn.” He spoke as a man used to money solving his problems. “I’ll pay you for your time. Whatever it costs.”
“Me?” Justin’s voice cracked on the single syllable, his eyes narrowing with uncertainty.
“Sure. You’re going to be on the property anyway. You’re fixing up the barn for Marie, right?”
“Well, sure, but …”
He shook his head frantically, and Natalie clung to a thread of hope. He had to refuse. He had to.
“I have a dairy to run.”
She let out a silent sigh, but it was premature at best.
“Of course. But this stuff won’t take too much extra. Natalie was going to take care of most of it anyway, and Marie will be around. Besides, you know the local shops and vendors. You could probably be more help than I could anyway. You’ll have a man’s opinion, which is about all I was going to offer to the whole process.”
“No.” She grabbed Russell’s arm, tugging on his wrist, doing her best to ignore the weight of Justin’s gaze. “I want your opinion. Not just any man’s.”
But it wasn’t enough.
Justin stepped forward to balance the stack of dishes on the corner of the island counter and said, “I don’t think I could be of much use to Natalie on the wedding front.”
“Of course you can. Right, honey?” Russell glanced at her but failed to really see her.
“Um …” Natalie fought for the power of speech or some approximation of it, but words were slipping away.
“I don’t know anything about weddings,” Justin said. “If it’s not cows, milk, or a by-product of the two, I’m not going to be of any help.”
Yes. That. Justin was right. He wouldn’t be any help. Russell had to see it.
When his face softened and the certainty there drained away, she managed a full breath.
Lifting one hand to cup her elbow, he caught her gaze. “I understand. I get it. But music is my life. I have to save this album.” Russell turned to Justin. “You understand, right?”
She cringed. Justin flinched. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from her former best friend. Fifteen years hadn’t been enough to forget how to read his face. The emotions flowed like the bay, rippling in and out again—understanding and concern, worry and hope.
His pinched features seemed to weigh the options. But what options were there? Only “no” and “absolutely not.”
They couldn’t work together. They’d kill each other. They’d fight and yell. And maybe get all the hurt out on the table.
And then what?
Her stomach lurched. There wa
s no telling what would happen. But it wasn’t safe, and it sure wasn’t part of her plan. Which was to marry Russell. Live happily ever after. Never return to the island.
A sudden spark in Justin’s eyes caught her attention, and she wanted to wave him off, beg him to think about what he was considering.
Clinging to one man who loved music, she stared at another who wanted what her fiancé would provide. The whole thing. The album. The tour. The elusive dream.
The brick in her stomach shattered, shards piercing her insides. He wanted what Russell could give him. And it was reason enough to agree to this wedding-planning farce.
If Justin did this favor for Russell, then maybe Russell would help him launch a career he’d been dreaming about since he played her his first song under the spotlight of the bulb in the lighthouse.
“All right. I’ll help.”
10
Why did you do that?”
Natalie charged into Justin’s barn and slammed her hands on her hips while the marching of her feet echoed into the cavernous ceiling.
“Do what?” Justin spoke with a drawl slower than any native Nashvillian. And every dragged-out, extra syllable grated at her, as surely as she’d attacked the potato in Caden’s kitchen two days before. He knew exactly what he’d done or he’d have bothered to look up from the gallon of wood stain that Marie had selected for the barn’s interior.
He didn’t. Look up, that is. He just kept the paintbrush going in long, smooth strokes. Up and down. From the top of his reach to his waist. Then back up. Filling in the narrow confines of the corner. His chin—and presumably his bright blue eyes—followed the motion. Decidedly unperturbed.
She knew why he had agreed to work with her, and she was going to get him to admit it. Even if he didn’t realize he was supposed to be upset too. She had no intention of being the only person distraught that he’d weaseled his way into helping her plan the wedding. Irked that they’d have to spend the next few weeks in too close proximity.
