Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  She showed him the farmhouse sink she’d found, then the tile for the backsplash in the kitchen, then the rustic, galvanized light fixtures—which he said looked like barn lights—and towel bars and mirrors for the bathrooms. She scrolled through ideas for planked wood paneling on the walls and ways to make each cottage uniform but unique, then took out a book of paint chips.

  “You did all this today?” Ryan swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. “This is amazing, Lane.”

  She thought she might fold underneath the weight of that simple compliment. “I’ve been designing these cottages in my head since you first showed them to me.”

  He smiled. “So you had a head start.”

  She nodded.

  “Well, it’s still really amazing. I’m so glad Barb quit.”

  She laughed. “We have a ton of work to do to make this happen.”

  He was mid-drink but shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

  She frowned. “Ryan, if I’m going to actually design this, I have to be a part of the work.”

  “You’re the supervisor, Lane. Let’s call you the ‘creative director.’” He crumpled up the paper his sandwich had come in and stuffed it in the bag. “That means you get to tell everyone else what to do. The crew is coming first thing on Saturday, so that gives us a day to get a plan.”

  “Your crew works on Saturday?”

  “Every day but Sunday at this point.”

  “It’s not much time, but I can call in some favors. I looked at inventory from suppliers I’ve been using for years,” Lane said. “I think we can do it. I want everything to be perfect for your opening week.”

  “You do?” He looked surprised.

  “Of course I do. Those people deserve to be spoiled. Let’s spoil them.” The excitement that welled within her was unexpected, but she’d never used her skills for such a worthy cause before. She was thrilled with her designs and wanted them to be good, but mostly she wanted to see the looks on the faces of the families they’d be hosting that first week.

  Maybe she’d been working for the wrong incentive all along.

  “I like the way you think,” Ryan said. “Should we get started?” He reached a hand toward her, and when she took it, he pulled her up, but he didn’t take a step back and he didn’t let go.

  “I’m ready when you are,” she said quietly, trying not to relive the kiss but desperately wanting it to happen again.

  “This is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought.” His gaze was fixed on her, his body close. His thumb traced the edge of her hand with such softness she almost didn’t feel it.

  She lifted her chin slightly, entering extremely risky territory. She searched her mind for all the reasons she’d given herself that this attraction to Ryan Brooks was a terrible idea, but in that moment, she couldn’t think of a single one.

  He drew in a deep breath as if he were inhaling the very essence of her; then abruptly he took a step back and let go of her hand. She felt his absence instantly. She knew he was giving her space because that’s what he thought she wanted.

  That’s what she’d thought she wanted.

  But looking at him now, she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted less.

  “Would it be such a bad idea?” She stared at her feet, unwilling—or maybe unable—to look him in the eye.

  “Would what be such a bad idea?”

  What was she thinking? This was a mistake. A huge, scary mistake. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  “What, Lane?”

  “You and me. Would we be such a bad idea?” Her heart raced as she finally dared to look at him.

  He smiled but didn’t move. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

  “But I live in Chicago.”

  “Yeah, you do.” He took a step toward her.

  “And you live here. And we’re friends, and I don’t want to mess that up. And now, technically you’re my boss, and I’ve done that before and it didn’t work out so well. And I’ve been really good about making sure I didn’t feel this way ever again. And I swear, Ryan Brooks, if you hurt me—”

  “Are you finished?” He smiled, then placed a hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer, their bodies touching as he closed the gap between them.

  “Probably not.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, inhaling his distinctly masculine scent. “There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea.”

  “Lane?” His gaze, intent on her, nearly stole her breath away.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.” He smiled, then leaned down and kissed her, hands still wrapped around her possessively as if he wasn’t willing to allow space between them. His kiss began carefully but quickly turned into something deeper, more intense.

  She got lost in it, and for several minutes she was able to push away every fear she had and pretend like there was no way this could ever end badly. Her hands slid around his back as she drew him closer, savoring every gentle touch, every movement of his lips on hers.

  She loved kissing him. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

  Finally he pulled away, and if she had to guess, it wasn’t easy for him to do so. They were breathless and wilted, yet hungry for more of each other. She’d never felt this way before—not even about Jasper. Had she ever really loved him at all?

  With Ryan, it was different. He made her want to wrap herself up in his strength and goodness and never let go. She didn’t mind him taking care of her. She found herself yearning for his protectiveness.

  “I have to calm myself down,” he said, his forehead pressed to hers.

  She replied with gentle kisses on each of his cheeks.

  “I’m glad you didn’t make me wait long to do that again.” He stepped back.

  She smiled, regarding him for a long moment. “I’m terrified of whatever this is, Brooks. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop.”

  “Well, stop thinking about it. You don’t have to figure everything out. You don’t have to make sense of it all. Just let me love you.”

  She stuck her hands in her pockets and turned away. “That’s a big word.”

  He grabbed her arm and spun her back around. “It’s the way I feel. I knew it the day I saw you at the hospital. Some part of me has always known it, but I guess I gave up thinking it would ever happen.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m the kind of guy who knows what I want.” He shrugged. “It’s you, Lane. It’s always been you.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time softly, gently, and in a way that made her want to accept every type of kiss he had to offer.

  When she leaned away to search his face for any sign that she should run the other way, she found none. Nothing waiting for her there but affection.

  And she felt a piece of the wall she’d built around herself come crumbling to the ground.

  CHAPTER

  33

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, after a restful night of sleep, Lane woke up early to meet Ryan at Hazel’s, which was where he apparently started every morning.

  The plan was to buy paint, then spend the rest of the day shopping for the details that would make the cottages truly special. She’d told Ryan—twice—that he didn’t have to come with her, but he’d insisted.

  “I can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday.”

  “Than shopping the vintage market?”

  “If you’re there, it’ll be perfect.”

  She’d given him a playful shove, which led—as most of their physical contact had that day—to another kiss. She had a feeling she’d never get tired of kissing him.

  Dressing for work that morning had been an exercise in mourning, something she hadn’t given herself a chance to do. While she loved helping Ryan with the cottages, she didn’t know who she was without JB Sweet & Associates, without the race to win or the competition of having her ideas chosen. She didn’t know how to put on a sundress and strappy sandals instead of a black pencil skirt
and a high-necked, ruffled gray top. When she looked in the mirror, the blue eyes staring back at her were unfamiliar and a part of her felt lost.

  Still, she could tell her body hadn’t fully recovered from her episode. Where there was usually energy, there was now lethargy. She required great care—and as much as she resented her body for not keeping up with her, it hadn’t given her a choice. Right now, she had to go slow.

  She’d get better and she’d be unstoppable.

  She walked over to Hazel’s, mostly an attempt to calm her racing mind, but as soon as she arrived, she wished she’d asked Ryan to pick her up after he ate.

  Betsy Tanner stood right inside the doorway talking to an old man Lane didn’t recognize.

  Lane had been thinking about Betsy a lot lately, wishing things were different between the two of them, wishing she hadn’t allowed their friendship to disintegrate.

  How would she ever apologize for the way she’d treated Betsy?

  “Good morning, Lane,” Betsy said after excusing herself from her conversation. “Here to meet Ryan?”

  Lane did a once-over of the diner but didn’t see Brooks. “I am. How’d you know that?”

  Betsy took two menus off the hostess stand and smiled at Lane. “Lucky guess. Follow me.”

  She did as she was told, following Betsy back to the same booth where she and Ryan had sat the first night she was in town. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  “He should be here any minute. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Decaf would be good.”

  Betsy’s eyebrows shot up. “Decaf? I didn’t think women who wore power suits drank decaf.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Lane said without thinking.

  Betsy’s face filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

  The question triggered something unwanted within her.

  Regret.

  The kind of regret that came with a realization that she’d thrown away something she should’ve fought like crazy to protect. Her friendship with Betsy had been a gift—and her instinct, surprising as it was, was to fold herself back into it, to pretend they could pick up where they left off, even though she could still see hurt in Betsy’s eyes.

  “Lane?” Betsy sat down across from her, fully attentive like she always had been.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m okay.”

  Betsy’s face fell. She sat still for a long moment, then finally scooted out of the booth. “I’ll go get that coffee for you.”

  Lane watched her walk away, heartsick that she hadn’t been able to confide in Betsy the way she had for so many years. Betsy had never once betrayed her trust—that had to count for something.

  A few moments later, a young girl showed up at the table with an orange-topped coffee carafe and filled Lane’s mug. She slid a small container of cream—which Lane couldn’t drink—and a tub of various sweeteners toward her.

  Lane thanked her, but her eyes wandered over to the front counter, where Betsy was now waiting on a young couple with a small child.

  She watched as her former friend made change and smiled and asked questions about her customers. She marveled at how Betsy connected with people so easily, the way everyone but Lane seemed able to do. She could see it on their faces—Betsy had won this family over, just by paying attention.

  Lane, on the other hand, found it difficult to look people in the eye. She struggled to talk about herself. She’d created a world in which she was wholly self-sufficient.

  And the crises of the last two weeks had shown her how empty that world was.

  She hadn’t been the kind of friend to Betsy that Betsy had been to her. Betsy deserved better, but still, Lane wondered if she might be willing to give her a second chance.

  The bell over the door jangled, and Ryan walked in and made a beeline straight for her. He sat down across from her. “What’s the matter?”

  Was it that obvious? “I’m fine.”

  He covered her hands with his own. “That’s probably not going to work with me. I know you too well.”

  “Can you just give me a second?”

  He pulled his hands away. “Of course.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She made her way over to the front of the diner, where Betsy now stood behind the counter, wiping it down. Lane stood on the other side, between two old men who nursed cups of coffee and sat on stools that pulled up to the counter.

  “Betsy.”

  Betsy stopped moving and looked at Lane.

  Lane didn’t know what else to say. How did she properly convey her regret? What words would make it okay? Images of all the times Betsy had been her only shoulder to cry on flashed through her memory, like a movie in her mind.

  Betsy stared at her now, waiting for Lane to say words she didn’t have.

  After a long moment, the old man on Lane’s right snapped his newspaper open. “Are you two gonna stand there and look at each other all day or what?”

  “Is it a staring contest?” the man on the left asked. “My grandkids always want to have staring contests.”

  “Well, that’s annoying.”

  “You know what else is annoying? Having to wait five minutes for a refill on my coffee.”

  Lane saw the twitch of Betsy’s mouth, the slightest hint of a smile, and she pressed her own lips together in a failed attempt to keep from laughing. One giggle from Betsy, and Lane felt her stoic expression disappear.

  They both laughed, and Betsy reached across the counter and grabbed Lane’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  And Lane knew she didn’t just mean “back in Harbor Pointe.”

  “Betsy, I—”

  “You don’t have to say it, Lane. I already know,” Betsy said, cutting her off. “But we have a lot of catching up to do.” She nodded toward Ryan, and Lane found him staring at the two of them from his spot in the booth.

  “Are you two about done?” The old man on the left pushed his empty mug toward Betsy.

  “Of course, Mr. Shields.” Betsy grinned at Lane and refilled the man’s coffee. After she finished, she looked at Lane again.

  “I’m sorry, Bets,” Lane whispered.

  Betsy shook her head. “Forgiven. Forgotten. Now let’s go back to being friends, okay?”

  Just like that? She forgave her like it was nothing—like Lane had never even hurt her feelings in the first place. She forgave her like it was something she’d been wanting to do for years.

  “Yes. Let’s.” Lane swallowed hard. No one had ever shown her that kind of grace before.

  She walked back to the table where Ryan sat, confusion on his face.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She glanced at Betsy, who smiled as if they’d always been friends, the kind who could communicate without words, the kind who knew what the other one needed whether anyone said so or not. “I’m good, Brooks.” She looked at him. “Really, really good.”

  CHAPTER

  34

  LANE’S WORK ETHIC was unlike anything Ryan had ever seen.

  Mostly, she found it impossible to sit back and watch anyone else do anything unless she was right in there, doing it with them. He regularly had to force her to take breaks, kick her out when the team took over, and remind her that rest wasn’t a dirty word.

  His reminders were always met by feigned annoyance, but by the middle of the following week, he thought he’d gotten through to her.

  Maybe.

  It had been less than a week, and already Ryan could see a hint of what the cottages were going to be. And it was all thanks to Lane.

  They spent their days together, eating lunches she packed and dinners he grilled. They shopped for supplies and checked in on the crew. They took breaks and sat in the hospital room with Nate, talking to him, keeping him updated on the progress at Cedar Grove, just in case he could make sense of what they said. They’d even attended church together last Sunday, followed by family dinner at Noah and Emily’s.

  People in town were talking, and neither of t
hem seemed to care.

  He was falling in love with her, and the only thing that worried him was that she, in her fearfulness, would run away.

  They’d steal kisses in half-finished pantry closets or “accidentally” brush up against each other as they navigated small and crowded spaces on the job site. She’d allowed herself to become more accessible to him, and he wasn’t taking a single moment of it for granted.

  But in all of his newfound happiness, there was one thing still nagging at him, especially when they visited Nate in the hospital. He had to take care of this thing with his dad. He’d hoped the man would step up and come clean on his own, but the deadline had passed, and he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  He dreaded it, but he had to go to the police and tell them what he knew. It was the right decision. He set it in his head that he’d go first thing in the morning.

  And then he said a silent prayer that Lane—and the rest of her family—wouldn’t hold it against him.

  It was late Thursday afternoon, three days after the deadline he’d given his father, and Ryan had just walked through Lois, the cottage his crew was focusing on today. The paint had made a huge difference, and now they were installing the farmhouse sink Lane had ordered.

  He had to hand it to her: she knew how to make an old cottage feel brand-new without losing any of its charm.

  Outside, he walked toward the model cottage. He was early for dinner with Lane, but he didn’t care—any excuse to see her for even a few extra minutes was good with him.

  As he neared the front porch, Hailey rode up over the yet-to-be-paved hill and waved at him. As soon as he saw her face, he could tell something was wrong.

  She got off the bike and put the kickstand down, meeting him near the front of the cottage.

  “What’s wrong?”