by Mary Manners
“This is Josie.”
“Parker?” He sputtered and nearly toppled back from the chair. The pencil slipped from his hand. “Josie Parker?”
“Yes.” The line went silent once more, except for the light sound of her drawing a breath. Mason pictured Josie draped in cut-off shorts and a peach-colored T-shirt on a beach towel along sun-kissed grass at the shores of Willow Lake, dark hair skimming eyes the color of a clear summer sky as she devoured a dog-eared paperback. He wondered if she still had the tiny butterfly tattoo, penned as a dare on her eighteenth birthday, flitting delicately across the inside of one sleek ankle. “I know it’s been a long time, but,”—her voice was low, breathy, as she continued—“I need you, Mason. Can you come home to Willow Lake?”
2
“This place has potential.” Mason leaned against the coffee counter and scanned the main room of Posts and Pages. The magazine cover photo hadn’t done justice to his good looks. He was taller than Josie remembered, fuller. In high school, his wiry build was certainly appealing. But now…she struggled to stay tuned to his words as his eyes, like two pieces of warm chocolate candy, skimmed over her. “But, right now, it’s a disaster just waiting to happen.”
“Well, don’t hold back.” Josie crossed her arms, scorched by his brusque analysis. Maybe asking him to come was a mistake. After all, he was a big-time, famous builder, and she was just a humble shop owner, trying to grow her independent bookstore. Posts and Pages wasn’t even part of a chain—and, quite frankly, she liked it that way. The business was respectable and friendly, and the patrons who frequented felt welcome. But maybe that wasn’t enough for Mason. He seemed on edge, his clenched jaw shadowed with stubble that matched the color of his russet hair. Josie’s shoulders stiffened and her tone was tight and cautious. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Hey, you called me for help, not the other way around.” Mason sipped coffee, rich with hazelnut cream, from the demitasse cup she’d handed him. The fine china was swallowed by his large, callused hands. “All I’m saying is Posts and Pages has a great foundation. It’s just overgrown its boundaries.”
The swelling lump in Josie’s throat distorted her words. “I’m completely aware of that. That’s why I called you.”
“I see. Coffee’s good, though.” He sighed appreciatively, though his gaze seemed to darken. “Really, really good.”
“At least I have that going for me.” Josie glanced through the oversized shop-front picture window into the night. A full moon, veiled in clouds heavy with snow, cast a milky glow over Magnolia Street. Like a giant saltshaker, the sky had sprinkled flakes throughout the day with a promise of more to come. If the temperature held, the ground was liable to see a generous blanket of the white stuff by morning. She should have been on her way home half an hour ago, but Mason’s arrival just as she was locking up the shop was a surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected him to arrive the very same day as her distress call. “Aren’t you swamped with business now? How did you juggle your schedule to get here so fast, Mason?”
“Business is good, but my assistant is, too. He can handle things for a while, and what he can’t manage, I’ll clean up online. Besides, I wanted to beat the storm.” He nodded toward the window as well, his gaze lingering on the overcast sky. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a good snow.”
“You’ve been in Atlanta the entire time—I mean since you left here after we graduated?”
“Yes.” He pushed off the counter and took a few steps toward Josie. The clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave blended with earthy pine from a jar candle that had been burning along the back counter. “And, you?”
“I spent a little time in Nashville at MTSU while I earned dual degrees in library science and marketing.”
“Dual, huh?” His gaze returned to her and his lips curled into a grin. “You always did love studying…and books.”
“But I missed it here too much to stay away for long. The lake…the willows…they called to me. So, after I graduated, I came back. You know I always had a dream…”
“Yes, to own your own bookstore.” He nodded, splaying one hand over his muscled chest. “You certainly have made that dream come true.”
“And you…” Her voice faltered as she pictured him with sawdust in his hair, a tool belt slung low across his hips as he helped Ali’s dad build a new deck at the inn the summer of their senior year. She’d spent a lot of time with Ali and Josh, swimming in the lake. And the sun spilling over Mason’s tanned shoulders as she watched him work from the shore where she lay sunning, nearly took her breath away. “You wanted to become a builder?”
“That was one of my dreams, yes.”
“Just one of them…you have others?”
“Oh, I have a few I’m still exploring.” A smile tugged at his lips. “But they’re better saved for another day.”
****
She was making him crazy.
Mason averted his gaze from Josie—and her huge, captivating blue eyes—and focused on the view of moonlit Magnolia Street from the display window of Posts and Pages. His heart thumped like the steady beat of war drums, and he wondered how she didn’t hear it. Time had changed some things—lots of things—but one thing that remained constant was his attraction to Josie.
Like a fly to sweet tea. He couldn’t help himself. He thought when he left Willow Lake that he’d washed his hands of her for good, but he’d only been fooling himself. Seeing her again ignited the burn like a breeze fanning a smoldering brush fire in his gut. Casting a sideward glance, he drank her in. Long, lean legs tucked into jeans that hugged like a glove made just for her, capped by a baby-blue sweater that accentuated eyes magnified by flirty wire-rimmed glasses. Her scent…a soft, subtle citrus…teased.
He was a goner again, for sure.
“How about dinner?” He set his empty coffee cup on the counter as he eased in closer to her. The braces he remembered were gone, and her teeth, straight and white as the snow that dusted Magnolia Street, were framed by glossed lips ripe for his kiss. He’d sampled them once, and the thought chased the chill from his bones. Josie studied him like one of her periodicals—she probably didn’t even remember that long-ago morning when the sun warmed her cheeks to a bright, pink glow as he took the paperback from her hands and kissed her. He shook off the disappointment and went on. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes…but don’t you have to get back to Atlanta soon? Shouldn’t we talk business? I’ll give you a tour.”
He drew her back. “There’s plenty of time for that. I’ll be staying put for a while. I phoned ahead to Ali and booked a room at the inn. She’ll hold it for me until I get there. Ali and Ryder…and a baby to boot.” He whistled softly through his teeth. “Who would have thought…?”
“I know.” Josie reached for her parka and tugged it on, zipping it before she slipped the leather strap of a small, tan purse over one shoulder. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not as crazy as your phone call—out of the blue—and me coming back here.” He shook his head, still not believing the way he’d packed a duffel bag, tossed a few necessities into his SUV, and phoned Jules to tell him he was right—a short hiatus was in order and Mason had decided to grab it with both hands. Jules had chuckled and promised to hold down the fort for a few weeks or longer, if necessary. Mason felt as if he was dreaming. “I never thought…not in a million years.”
“Dom’s Deli—across the street—is open late, and he makes a to-die-for pastrami on rye.” Josie slipped on a pair of fuzzy pink mittens. “Do you want to head that way and talk?”
“Sure.” Mason longed to reach for her hand and shelter her delicate fingers through the bubblegum-pink mittens. He swallowed hard. “If we’re lucky, we’ll see a few snowflakes along the way.”
“Not exactly the best time to try to expand Posts and Pages, is it?”
“No problem.” Mason slipped through the entry door, the chill of night nipping at his face and slithering down his neck as
Josie turned to lock up. “I’m in no hurry. It might present a challenge, but yours is one dream I can make work.”
****
Josie tugged the collar of her jacket tight and pulled the zipper to her chin. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plunged firmly below freezing and a slight breeze nipped at her ears as it nudged storm clouds across the sky.
“Do you want me to drive?” Mason’s voice chased the chill from her bones like a warm cup of apple cider. He lifted his hand from his jeans pocket, jangling a ring of keys. “I’m parked right over there.”
“No need.” Josie nodded down the road. “The deli’s just across the street.” She motioned to the glow of lights beneath a red-and-white-striped awning. “Dom will keep the oil burning at least another hour or so.”
“Good, because I’m starved. I didn’t think about grabbing lunch before I left Atlanta.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Long enough to get the expansion done for you.”
His words tugged at Josie’s heart. He’d come to help her—nothing more. As soon as he was finished adding additional space to Posts and Pages he’d be gone again. It was best to remember that—to shelter her heart from the pain she’d endured the last time he left…years ago and without warning.
He probably had no recollection of the single kiss they’d shared so long ago—the morning before Josh’s accident turned her world on its side and irrevocably changed everything.
An image of Josh with his laughing blue eyes and disheveled blond hair came to mind. She heard his voice, thick and lispy. Was the accident—and his death—the reason Mason had fled?
Mason had always been tall and strong, confident from the word go. He loved the outdoors and using his hands—and sometimes his fists, which tended to get him into trouble. Despite the dyslexia that turned every word—each page of print—into a cryptic message waiting to be deciphered, he’d found a way through the tangle to graduate near the top of their class and move on to a bright future.
A future that didn’t include her.
Mason’s achievements weren’t enough to bring his dad to the high school commencement ceremony, though. Josie still remembered how he’d stood outside the auditorium after diplomas were issued, clutching the certificate and waiting on a man who would never show. She’d often wondered how Mason looked so much like his dad, yet acted nothing like him. It was a mystery to everyone who knew them both. But his mom had been front and center at graduation, her head wrapped in a pink silk scarf to hide a scalp devoid of hair as a result of an ongoing series of radiation treatments.
A stab of pain slit Josie’s heart as she remembered how, by summer’s end the cancer had claimed the warm and caring woman. It was the first—and only—time she’d ever seen Mason cry.
Josie pushed the memory aside. At their graduation, she, like his mom, was proud of Mason. She’d helped him study, and he’d brought her a step closer to fitting in with the others—Ali and Ryder, Hunter, Brody and Catherine—who laughed together like they didn’t have a care in the world. For Josie, small talk had always been torture. She’d rather spend an afternoon curled up with a book than hanging out with her classmates.
Except for Mason. A bit on the quiet side himself, he seemed to understand Josie’s introversion and never questioned her need for space—and books. The two could speak volumes to one another without so much as opening their mouths. At least until the summer of Josh’s accident. That changed Mason—ripping him away from Willow Lake—and any hopes that their easy friendship might blossom into something more.
“The shop—Posts and Pages—must keep you busy.” Mason’s voice broke into her thoughts. “How long have you owned it?”
“Just over three years.”
“Wow…and it’s grown that fast?”
“A mini explosion. God has blessed me, for sure.” A gust of wind blew a flurry of snowflakes across Josie’s cheeks. She lifted a fuzzy wool hat from the pocket of her parka and tugged it over her chilled ears. The lenses of her glasses fogged, distorting her vision as they meandered along the sidewalk. “And you…a cover spread in the most highly-touted architectural magazine. It’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“I’ve found my niche.” Mason shrugged, his shoulder brushing against hers.
Even that slight contact sent shivers up her spine—and not from the cold.
“You could say God has been good to me, too.”
“Atlanta must be a builder’s dream.”
“Sure…there’s plenty of work to be had. But with the business comes hordes of people, traffic, smog…”
“Not exactly paradise, huh?”
“I’d say it’s a few degrees off plumb.”
“Never heard it put quite that way, but you always did have a gift for adding a spin to words.” Josie stuck out her tongue, capturing a fat, sloppy snowflake before her blurred vision caused her to stumble over her own two feet. Mason reached out to catch her, drawing her back to his side. “You OK?”
“Uh huh. Just as clumsy as ever.”
“I’d better hold onto you.” He kept hold of her hand, sheltering it in his. “Maybe a hiatus in Willow Lake—a change of scenery—is just what the doctor ordered.”
Josie’s fingers, clothed in the mitten, curled around his. “Maybe so.”
He tucked both their hands into his jacket pocket. “Time will tell.”
3
“Smells delicious.” Mason sniffed the air as he held the door for Josie. Inside Dom’s Deli, warmth was infused with the rich aroma of pastrami and provolone. The small but homey restaurant was quiet at this late hour and the short, pot-bellied man behind the counter was busy restocking supplies. He glanced up at the sound of the door chime and a smile lit his eyes when he saw Josie standing there.
“Hey, Jo. How’s your day?”
“Better than I deserve. You?”
“The same.” He nodded toward Mason. “Who’s…?” A slight wisp of recognition followed. “Well, I’ll be. Mason Donovan? Is that you?”
“It is.” Mason slipped a hand across the counter. “Dominic Daniels…from over on Lansing Road. I used to deliver newspapers to your house. You and your wife gave me a five dollar tip and a batch of chocolate chip cookies one Christmas Eve.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You were always good about putting the paper inside the storm door when it was raining, instead of tossing it at the bottom of the steps. You did things right…took pride in the task. My wife liked you for that. Me, too.” He shook his head. “She’s been gone three years now, and you…”
Mason grinned. “All grown up, right?”
“That’s right.” Dom nodded toward Josie. “What can I get for you…on the house?”
“That’s very kind.” Josie peeled the fuzzy mittens from her hands and stuffed them into her jacket pocket. Next came the hat, unveiling a mass of dark, mussed hair as she leaned toward the deli counter. A quick shake of her head and every strand fell back into place. Overhead fluorescent lights played with the sassy bob, turning it to a silken mass. The scent of her, something light and citrusy, mingled with the heady yeast of rising bread. Her breath fogged the counter glass as she leaned in. “A bowl of your special recipe minestrone soup sounds like just the thing.”
Dom nodded, his scruffy cheeks lifting to a grin. “And you, Mason?”
“Josie recommends your pastrami on rye.”
“Pastrami it is, then. And, on a night like this, you have to try the minestrone, too.” Dom turned to wash his hands in a small sink along the wall, tilting his head to continue the conversation over one meaty shoulder. “Snow’s headed this way, and it’s gonna be a doozie of a storm.”
Josie went up on her tiptoes to lean over the counter. She watched as Dom turned back and began to prepare Mason’s sandwich. “Have they updated the forecast?”
“Just before you walked in.” Dom slathered two slices of rye with spicy-brown mustard and glanced up briefly, winking, before he added a gen
erous mound of thinly-sliced pastrami. “And, like I said, it’s gonna be a doozie. Hope you’re planning on hanging around for a while, Mason.”
“Oh, I am.” Mason glanced at Josie as she stepped back and shrugged from her jacket. He took it from her, crossed the room to a table tucked into a corner. He draped it over a chair, adding his own to the mix before returning to gather two paper cups Dom had set on the counter. “Let’s get some drinks.” He handed one to Josie and nodded toward the soda fountain. “And we’d better dig into your expansion plans now because, with the storm coming, tomorrow’s reserved for sledding and snowball fights.”
****
“Oh my goodness, I’m stuffed.” Josie splayed a hand over her belly, sighing with satisfaction. “Dom doesn’t serve up a bowl of soup—it’s more like an urn.”
“I think it was just the right amount.”
“Sure, if your stomach’s a bottomless cavern.”
“I see you didn’t have any trouble polishing off yours.” Mason wiped his mouth before wadding his napkin and tossing it into his empty soup bowl. “Sandwich was good, too. How long ’til Dom locks up?”
Josie glanced at her watch. “Half an hour. Did you bring a notebook?”
“No, but this will do.” He reached for the throw-away tray liner from their meal. Though the front was covered in print, the back was a blank, white canvas. “Just like old times.”
“You used to sketch like that while we studied…drawings and notes on anything you could get your hands on—desks, skin, the bathroom wall. For a while there I thought you’d end up owning a tattoo parlor.”
“I never went that far—at least under your watchful eye. You used to scold me for daydreaming when I should be studying indirect objects and dangling participles.” He placed a hand to his throat and mimed gagging. “It’s a miracle I survived the torture.”
