by Amie Denman
“Some days, I’d like to give it away,” said Chris as he poured the coffee into a travel mug and grabbed a hardhat off a peg behind his desk.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Rick answered.
“Go home and go Christmas shopping for your grandkids. I’m going to Ella’s to finish up the work on her shop. I’m sending a grounds crew out to Whitney’s to get rid of the rest of the tree damage, including that nasty one hanging on the house.”
“Then you’re gonna work yourself to death on the rest of the job?”
“Gotta. Now, will you record a new message on the answering machine announcing our holiday shutdown?”
“What happened to your fake island accent?”
“I can only get away with so much,” said Chris. And he knew it was true.
Chris was on a ladder an hour later, the sun piercing his tired eyes and sweat pouring down the inside of his shirt. Why he was still wearing the shirt, he didn’t know. He just hadn’t bothered to take it off yet. Ella had been out to offer him cold drinks about three times, interrupting his work with her friendly talk and sincere thanks. Her flower shop specialized in delivering flower arrangements for the hotel lobbies and special requests from guests. She wanted to break into the thriving local wedding market, but her damaged shop was holding her back.
Ella didn’t want prospective brides being turned off by ugly exterior damage, even though they would find surprisingly upscale arrangements if they would just step inside her small shop just off the main street downtown. Now, with Chris’ hard work, the outside would be a more accurate reflection of the quality of her work.
Chris nailed the last pieces of decorative woodwork that he’d carefully hand-made to match the existing ones on the island cottage. A little yellow and white paint and this would look like Hurricane Destiny had passed over with just a kiss. As he nailed it into place, he heard a vehicle pull up on the other side of the shop. Of course there was nothing strange about a car showing up at a flower shop, but he thought he caught a glimpse of the color black out of the corner of his eye.
He leaned back on the ladder, steadying one hand on the corner of the building. He could only see a tiny bit of the back bumper and rear fender of the black vehicle, but it was unmistakable. A black Jeep. He’d be the first to admit he had Whitney on the brain, but even so, there could be no doubt who just pulled in to the flower shop parking lot.
One thing about Whitney he’d already noticed was she was not a woman who wasted time. He heard the car door shut. She would come around the front corner of the shop in about five seconds flat, walking with her brisk Boston pace. And he would be a sitting duck on the ladder. She’d see him up there hammering, she’d ask questions, and she’d discover his Blue Isle Construction truck parked on the other side of the shop if she did any investigating at all. And she would.
Chris burst into action. He scrambled down the ladder, nearly dropping his hammer into the bushes below. He heard the crunch of feet on gravel and he didn’t even risk a glance in that direction. Two more seconds, and he’d be around the other side of the flower shop making a quick getaway in his truck. He could come back for the ladder later when the coast was clear.
He dove into his truck, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled the door shut as the truck was already in motion. The sudden burst of activity sent streaks of pain through his already aching head. He drove up the street out of sight and parked under a shade tree. Chris leaned against the worn vinyl seat and let out a long slow breath. He closed his eyes and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders and neck, hoping his headache would ease up.
It was cowardly, really cowardly, to run away from facing Whitney and admitting who he was. If he really cared about her, he’d have to be honest. The problem was being honest would kill any chance of a relationship with her because she would probably tear him to shreds for not fixing up her wedding venue when he should have.
There was the little issue of her wedding, too, that could reasonably stand in the way of a relationship with her…but something about it just didn’t seem quite right. It was confusing and the mixed signals were flashing from both directions. He couldn’t help the feeling that he had his hand on a light switch, but he just needed to turn it on to see something that should be right in front of him.
He wasn’t going to find out this morning, that was for sure. He was going to go home and have a nap. Either the headache was going, or he was. After, he’d head out to East Pointe and begin his mission to save Blue Isle by doing the work he was supposed to do in the first place.
****
Whitney had to drag herself out of bed that morning. She had a ten o’clock appointment with the florist she was barely going to be on time for. If she hurried. But that wasn’t the only thing on her agenda. Blue Isle Construction would be getting a phone call from her this morning, too. And she was in no mood to be nice.
Despite her happiness for her friend Taylor, she suffered through a long and lonely night. Worries about the wedding, desolate sounds from the empty house, and the coolness that settled over Chris last night kept her from enjoying the fine sheets in her guest bedroom.
What caused the abrupt change in him? It all went well…incredibly well…the boat ride, the dinner. Romantic. It hinted of lots more to come.
And then she opened her big mouth and complained about her construction problems. She thought he would be sympathetic. Maybe she didn’t explain it well enough. She got interrupted by Taylor’s call, and then what happened was her fault. A man as attractive and desirable as Chris with her in an emotional state? Too dangerous. She just didn’t trust herself. Maybe that was why she always chose safe men. Chris was not a safe choice. He was too…everything.
She was running late for her florist appointment, so she had to put off her call to Blue Isle. Maybe she could straighten it all out if she could just talk to Rick Churchill again. There had to be a way. But that would have to wait, she thought, as she drove up to the charming yellow florist’s shop.
“Ella St. Rosa?” Whitney asked when a small woman with long straight hair met her at the door to her flower shop.
“Yes,” she answered pleasantly. “Are you Whitney Oliver? I thought you must be. Come right in and tell me what your friend has in mind for her wedding.”
“I’m glad you’re open. I wasn’t sure when I saw the ladder up and heard the hammering when I pulled in.”
“Some minor leftover damage from the hurricane,” Ella said as she led her to a sofa and opened a large photo album filled with pictures of brides, flower arrangements, and bridal parties.
“Seems like there’s a lot of that around here,” Whitney commented.
“Too much. Lucky for me, I’ve got a builder who is like my guardian angel.”
“I could use one of those. All the flowers in the world won’t cover up the damage to the trellis and gazebo unless I get my contractors to finish up before Christmas Eve.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, honey. It will be the beautiful wedding that Taylor deserves. I don’t know her fiancé, but I’ve known Taylor since she was a little girl and her parents brought her in here for little bouquets.”
“No wonder she told me to come to you.”
“I just can’t believe she’s old enough to get married. Now, what colors are we working with for the wedding?” asked Ella as she pulled out ribbon samples and got ready to go to work.
****
Later, after a nap, some office work, and two plates of leftover chicken, Chris stopped by Ella’s shop to get his ladder.
“You ran off so fast this morning, I didn’t get a chance to say thanks or write you a check,” she said as she saw him stoop slightly to step into her quiet perfumed shop.
“Sorry about that,” he said, grinning. “I have a lot of irons in the fire.”
“I’m sure you do. You must not be the only construction company that’s running ragged. I was talking to the loveliest girl earlier today about wedding flowers and she said her cont
ractors weren’t getting a thing done. She’s really worried that the wedding she’s planning will be a disaster unless the damage gets repaired and soon.”
“Island wedding?” Chris inquired, trying to be nonchalant.
“At East Pointe. Taylor East is getting married on Christmas Eve.”
“Well,” Chris said casually, “congratulations to him.”
Ella looked up quickly from some flowers she was packaging up for delivery and laughed. “Him? Taylor is a beautiful blue-eyed blond. I’ve known her since she was a little girl. Her parents have owned East Pointe for probably twenty years,” Ella paused. “I’m just so happy for her.”
“So this Taylor was here earlier?”
“No, her friend who’s planning the wedding.” Ella looked closely at Chris. “Have you had too much sun today? You don’t seem like yourself.”
Maybe it was the fragrance of the flowers or the dark coolness of the shop, but Chris felt a wave of something like unmitigated relief wash over him like a dip in a clear pool of water after wandering in the desert. It all started to make sense now. All the pieces. Whitney was the maid of honor. Not the bride.
“Maybe I ought to offer to help this lady out. I’d hate to see a wedding ruined.”
“Chris Maxwell, you have a heart of gold. Everyone says it, and it’s true.”
“What did you say her name was?” he asked.
“Whitney Oliver. Now wait right there while I get my checkbook and pay you for fixing that roof.”
Chris didn’t wait for her to write a check; instead he walked out of the shop like he was in a daze. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his pickup and thought for a moment. Jesus. The light had come on. And the game was about to change.
Chapter Ten
Rick asked no questions when Chris stopped by his small house in a quiet nook of the island. He handed Chris the keys to the brown Flying Island Freight truck and took the keys to the Blue Isle Construction truck with only a raised eyebrow as a comment. Neither one of the men owned any other vehicle, and they had shared the two trucks informally for the past several years. On a small island like St. Thomas, there was no need for an additional personal vehicle.
Chris drove directly to East Pointe and left the brown truck in the driveway. It was surprisingly ugly in the elegant driveway of the estate. Normally, he would have grimly reflected on the decadence of owners like this. Today, he didn’t care. His mind was on finding Whitney and repairing the hurricane damage before it swept away his company.
He rang the doorbell by the kitchen door and waited, but no one came. Chris took a step back and turned, walking the curved sidewalk around toward the beach side. As soon as he came around the corner of the house, he stopped. She was right there for the taking.
He stood still for a moment, just looking at her. She didn’t see him yet. It would only be seconds before she turned around. She wore shorts that revealed shapely long legs. He could tell she was barefoot. The thought of being able to touch all that skin nearly undid his resolve to control himself and play his hand coolly. Her short-sleeved slim-fitting shirt teased him by barely skimming over breasts that would fit just right in his hands. The light breeze coming off the sparkling blue water tossed her brown hair a little. It played across her shoulders and her back.
The moment she started to turn and noticed him, he felt the shock of her glance race down his back. She stood still as if she were waiting for him to make a move. He already had made a move by coming over, and there was nothing slowing down his long strides as he closed the distance between them in seconds. He crossed the lawn, never taking his eyes off her. He stepped onto the bright sand and almost stumbled in his heavy construction boots. She waited for him, not moving a muscle.
She locked eyes with him as he came up, lips parted. He felt a connection with her before he even pulled her into his arms. Undeniable. His lips came slowly to hers, their eyes wide open and searching each other’s until they were too close. She closed her eyes first, but her lips said she was wide awake and welcoming.
Before all his restraint was completely gone, he pulled back for a second so he could speak.
“I want to help you,” he began, “with your construction problems.”
Whitney’s eyes clouded and her forehead wrinkled. She pressed her lips together and looked pained. Chris thought for a moment that she was going to cry, but her expression quickly changed. The look of fierceness he had seen in her before took over her face and her jaw set in what looked like gritty resignation.
“There’s no helping anything,” she said. “My contractors closed up shop for the holidays.” She bit her lip and looked away from him out at the blue sea that deepened in the late day light. “Poor Taylor. Her wedding—” Whitney broke off her sentence because she turned back and saw that Chris was grinning. No, he was smirking.
“How is this funny?” she demanded. She looked angry enough to pick him up and toss him into the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I finally figured out that you’re not getting married.”
“Married? Me?”
“To Taylor. I thought for the last three days that you were marrying a guy named Taylor East. You even said ‘I love you’ on the phone.”
Whitney huffed out a sigh. “Girls say that to their friends. Good friends anyway.”
“I know,” he said. “I was just a little confused.”
“A lot confused,” Whitney said. She paused. “So that’s what happened last night. You thought I took a call from my fiancé while I was out with you.”
She laughed out loud. Her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight and he wondered how he could resist her or anything she asked of him.
Her look darkened quickly, though. “No one is getting married here,” she said. “Look at this place.”
Chris turned and looked at the whole scene. He knew exactly what he was going to see and the guilt stabbed him a little as he pulled Whitney closer to him.
“The wedding is off,” she said sadly.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Chris said, unable to keep his hands off her face as he caressed her and spoke gently. “I can help you.”
“How?”
“My dad owns a construction company in Maine. Believe me, I know a thing or two about building. I grew up working for him.”
“But why would you—” she began.
“Just say yes,” Chris said. “Maybe it’s a good excuse to spend more time with you.”
Whitney turned to look at the yard that was still a mess, the pavilion that still looked shattered by the storm, and the gazebo that was still totally out of the question for wedding guests. Only the trees and natural debris had been cleared away.
“Is there any chance of getting it fixed up in time?”
“With the right motivation, I can work like a machine.”
“But your trading business—”
“Closed until after New Year’s. I’m giving my guys some time off.”
“So, you’re…”
“All yours.”
****
Whitney couldn’t believe what she was hearing for the second time that day. Her earlier phone call to Blue Isle where the message on the machine announced their closure for the next two weeks left her stunned and speechless. Closed. No work. No hurricane repair. No dream wedding for Taylor.
Whitney had stood on the warm sand staring out at the water wondering what on earth she could possibly do. Calling Taylor’s family with the bad news was the only thing she could think of, and she was about to do just that when a slight sound made her turn around. Chris could not have looked any more handsome as he had stood on the far edge of the lawn, just looking at her.
Now, she could not believe her ears. Was he really offering to do her construction work? Could it be done in only the ten days they had left? Should she trust Chris or call Taylor right now so she could make an alternate plan for her wedding? Considering the work may not finish on time, maybe Taylor deserved
the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take a chance on it.
Whitney looked into the sincere blue eyes staring intently into hers, waiting for an answer. For whatever reason he wanted to help her, she was going to take what he had to offer. Maybe it was a risk, but right now it seemed like the best risk she could take. And her only option.
“Thank you, Chris.”
He didn’t answer her, but pulled her gently against his hard chest and stroked her hair as he held her. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered.
****
“Which is more important,” Chris asked a little while later, “the pavilion or the gazebo?”
“Both,” Whitney said.
“Agreed. Let me rephrase that. Which one do you want done first?”
Whitney looked them both over, picturing Taylor walking across the lawn with her white dress angling gracefully over her protruding belly as her family looked on happily. She could not let her friend down.
“Pavilion, I think. That’s where the ceremony itself will take place. The gazebo is important, and I think they probably want to use it for pictures, but just in case we—” she broke off and bit her lower lip again.
“No ‘just in case’ necessary,” Chris said. “We’ll get them both done.”
Something about the way he said it was reassuring. He looked, spoke, and acted like the kind of man who got things done. He just might be too good to be true. Whitney thought about the conventional Boston wisdom that would remind her that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
However, Boston was very far away right now and she was here alone and facing a mountainous project. Except that she wasn’t quite alone. It would take a miracle, but something about Chris made her want to believe in miracles.
The sun was setting on the other side of the island, and dark slanted shadows disappeared into night.
Chris squeezed her shoulder. “Want to order us some dinner while I get started?” He grinned. “I work better with a full stomach.”
Whitney laughed. “So that’s why you’re helping me out. I’m going to have to feed you.”
