Almost Like Being in Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  “These aren’t just random questions, my friend. These are life-changing ones. Why did you kiss Kade Webster? You had a choice there, too. Why didn’t you stop it?”

  “I did.”

  “Before or after you got lost in the moment? You don’t have to answer that question out loud, but even if you don’t, I think we both know the answer—”

  “I can’t talk about this anymore, Margo. I can’t. I’m so confused . . .”

  Margo stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Caron, not seeming to mind her damp clothes. “I know. I know. Come on home, get dry, and we can talk about this later—if you want to.”

  True to her word, Margo gave her space, waiting until Caron sought her out in the kitchen after she’d showered and changed into jeans and a long-sleeve Henley.

  “So, any advice for me?”

  Margo handed her a glass of iced tea, motioning for her to join her at the small table and picking up the conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’ve got love all wrapped up with approval? That for you, love is a bunch of if-thens?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If you do this or that or something else, then somebody will approve of you. And someone’s approval means they love you. And for most of your life, you’ve wanted your father’s approval so much you’d do and be anything he wanted—including walk away from Kade Webster, even though you loved him.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Margo. And I know you’re saying it because you’re seeing something I don’t . . . that maybe I’m just beginning to see . . . but what do I do now?”

  “Just think about what I said. Pray about it. I’ll be praying, too. Nothing has to change today.”

  “But I’m afraid something did . . . and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t come out here to turn my personal life upside down.” Caron shook her head. “And I can’t think about Kade. Or me. Or what any of this means. Right now, I have to make sure everything is ready for the Tour of Homes.”

  “Okay, then you concentrate on the tour. I’ll pray about this whole mess and you finish your job.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  In less than twenty-four hours, the first ticket holders for the Peak Tour of Homes would walk through the front doors of Eddie Kingston’s house. And she was ready for them.

  Almost.

  Caron had been orchestrating the actual staging of the house for two days, all the while ignoring Margo’s repeated protests that she had to relax. Her invitations to do something fun. Insisting she was content to watch the Fourth of July fireworks on the television while she rearranged furniture and moved accent pieces. And keeping so busy that she fell into bed exhausted every night so she couldn’t agonize over the Sunday water battle that ended with Kade’s heated kiss.

  His bedroom set graced the master bedroom, accented with an untraditional bohemian-style quilt and a riot of pillows—something she knew Lacey’s artistic eye would appreciate. Rustic twin platform beds and a matching dresser from Pottery Barn, complete with dinosaur-themed covers and a trio of well-placed stuffed reptiles, transformed one room into a boys’ bedroom. The third bedroom was a nursery—all woodland-animal accents in muted oranges, greens, and browns, with a white crib and rocking chair. She’d opted for a traditional office, imagining Mitch working there as she hung some of Lacey’s vivid photos of the Mudder on the walls, including the team helping Mitch conquer a high wall.

  The living room would greet visitors with an expansive gray sectional sofa, a few throw pillows set along the back—white, muted teal, an abstract outline of a tree. One side table was set with a pewter vase of fresh wildflowers, while the other contained a well-placed set of classic books. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, unadorned with any sort of window treatment so that the backyard was showcased.

  Caron paced through the kitchen. Clean. The counters gleamed, the breakfast bar lowered to accommodate a wheelchair and set with yellow crockery plates and mugs. An oval glass bowl filled with oranges and lemons on loan from Margo’s mother provided another burst of color.

  All she needed was the furniture for the family room. Where was the delivery truck? Kade would be here any minute with Eddie Kingston to inspect everything. She’d remembered Vanessa’s prayer for less than perfect in her life and was trying to embrace it—but how was she going to explain a less than tour-ready house to Kade?

  After the horrible I’m-sorry-I-kissed-you blunder in his driveway, she was all the more determined not to fail Kade Webster. She couldn’t. The only reason she was here was to stage this house. And once that was done, she was going home to Alex.

  There was nothing left to do but make a phone call.

  “Hello? This is Caron Hollister. I’m calling about a delivery for a Peak Tour of Homes house. Yes, yes. Two chairs. A sofa and a love seat. Floor lamps.”

  “Oh, yes . . . Miss Hollister. We were going to call you . . .”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Let me get my manager.”

  The manager? Something was wrong. But what could be wrong? The store manager had been eager to participate in the tour. The brochures were already made . . .

  “Miss Hollister, this is Brian Woods.”

  “Brian. I was calling to check on the furniture you agreed to loan me for the tour this week. Everything was supposed to be delivered by now.”

  “Well, yes. I meant to call sooner—”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Our warehouse flooded.”

  “Your warehouse . . . flooded?” Caron pivoted to stare out the sliding glass doors, where the summer sunshine lit the blue sky. “But it’s not raining.”

  “There was some sort of electrical short and the emergency sprinklers were activated. We think it might have been a lightning strike. The fire department is here now and . . . well, we’re still dealing with the mess. I’m afraid we won’t be able to provide the furniture. I’m so sorry.”

  Caron covered her eyes with her hand, unwilling to face the sight of the empty room—the room that would remain empty. What could she say? “I understand. I’m . . . I’m sorry about what happened.”

  “Thank you. And I apologize if this creates a problem for you.”

  “No. No.” Venting her panic on someone struggling to deal with problems of his own wouldn’t do any good. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out.”

  Just as she ended the call, left alone to face four walls, a ceiling, and a floor, the front door opened.

  “Hey, hotshot! You ready to give us the grand tour?” Kade’s voice sounded through the house. “Where are you?”

  “Here.” Caron cleared her throat and forced herself to speak louder. Might as well get through the worst of it now. “I’m in the family room.”

  “The house looks great. I knew you’d pull it off—” Kade appeared in the archway leading from the kitchen, Eddie right behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  “There was a lightning strike.”

  “Where?” Kade and Eddie Kingston resembled a modern-day duo of Keystone Cops as they stumbled to a stop. “Here?”

  “No. No, at the warehouse—the one that was donating furniture for this room.” Caron motioned around the barren space. “You might notice there’s nothing here.”

  “So what’s plan B?”

  Kade expected her to have plan B? Of course he did. She had to figure this out—that’s why he’d hired her. And she had until the tour started tomorrow morning.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Caron’s high heels snapped against the wood floor. She needed to get the two men away from the starkness of the family room. “I’m on it. Let me show you the rest of the house and then I’ll get back to handling this situation.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Of course not. I’ve got it all under control.” She moved past Kade, refusing to look him in the eye. If she did, he would know she was bluffing. And today was all about maintaining a
professional distance.

  Of course, at this moment, she had no plan B. Or C. Nothing. But she would handle this. She just didn’t know how—yet.

  Don’t be rash, Caron.

  Who invited her father into her head?

  She hadn’t been rash when she quit her job. Or when she took on this one. She’d had so much fun staging this house she had almost forgotten her life as a Realtor back in Florida. Almost.

  She’d finish this job if she had to drive to Denver, buy what she needed at IKEA, and stay up all night assembling furniture.

  Kade had waited for her by the kitchen island. “All right, then, it looks like you’ve got things under control here . . . except for—”

  “Not your concern, Kade. I’m on it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Eddie likes everything else you’ve done. And to be honest, I’ve got so much else to do, I’d be very little help to you today.”

  “Like I said, I’ve got it. Go on. Don’t keep Eddie waiting.”

  • • •

  Of course, now it was raining.

  Caron parked her rental car behind Margo’s building and stepped out into the deluge. Her hair and clothes were soaked within thirty seconds. As she took the wooden stairs leading to Margo’s apartment, her feet seemed to land in every single puddle.

  She stumbled through the door, kicking off her waterlogged high heels, her hair hanging limp around her face and shoulders.

  “Are you going to make it a habit of showing up at my door soaked to the skin?” Margo teased with a warm smile, dropping the bridal magazine she’d been reading onto the floor.

  “It’s raining.” Caron raked her fingers through her hair, shoving it back out of her face. “I need your couch.”

  “It’s raining . . . and you need . . . my couch? Why?”

  “And your floor lamp, too. If you had a coffee table, I’d take that. Do you know anyone I can borrow a coffee table from?”

  “Caron, what are you talking about? Are you trying to outfit an ark?”

  “I’m desperate. One room of furniture didn’t show up for the tour—thanks to a lightning strike at the warehouse.” Caron buried her face in her hands, muffling the slightly crazed laugh that escaped. “Can you believe it? An act of God is going to ruin my efforts to stage this home for Kade Webster.”

  Margo gripped her shoulders, forcing Caron to look at her. “Calm down. Deep breaths. What can I do to help?”

  Caron could have just collapsed on the floor, but settled for leaning against the wall.

  “I can’t blow this, Margo. I—I just can’t.”

  “You won’t. If you need my couch for the next five days, fine. It’s yours. What else? You can have every single piece of furniture in this apartment.”

  “I need to rent a U-Haul truck. And maybe . . . let me call Lacey and see what she might have. If she doesn’t have what I need, then we’re going shopping.”

  “Call Lacey. I’ll call the U-Haul place.”

  “Okay. Let me give you my credit card—” Caron stopped. “Where’s my purse? Oh, Peter, Paul, and Mary! I left my purse in the car! I’ll be right back.”

  Margo blocked her exit. “I’ll get your purse. Call Lacey. Figure out what she does or doesn’t have. Let me know if you need a mirror or something. My coworker has some interesting antiques, and she might let us borrow them.”

  As Margo barged out into the rain, Caron dialed Lacey, analyzing the couch in an effort to determine how to pull the family room together, starting with a red-fabric sofa.

  Hours later, Caron stood in the Kingston house family room, Lacey on one side of her, Margo on the other.

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after midnight.” Margo looped her arm through hers. “Are you satisfied?”

  “I’m so bleary-eyed, I’m having trouble seeing the room. How does it look?”

  “Spectacular. Doesn’t it, Lacey?” Margo slung her other arm over Lacey’s shoulder, anchoring the trio together. “Caron, what you had planned couldn’t have been better than this.”

  “I love how just a few fun decorative pillows add a little zing to the couch.” Lacey moved back and forth, causing the group to sway.

  “Just don’t rearrange them again, Lacey. Speaking of the pillows, Caron, can I buy those? I don’t want to go back to a plain old couch after seeing this.”

  “After coming to my rescue, you can have them. Consider them a thank-you gift.” Caron ticked items off her fingertips. “Couch, end tables, lamps, your friend’s mirror . . . what am I forgetting?”

  “Nothing. It’s great.” Margo grabbed her hand to lead her out of the room. “You just need to do one last walk-through, turn out the lights, and go home and get some rest.”

  “The room’s a little emptier than I’d planned, but it can’t be helped.”

  “It’s marvelous. The entire house is. You’ve showcased what can be done for someone in a wheelchair like Mitch.” Lacey sighed. “I confess I’ve let myself daydream about this house ever since the first time I saw it. Maybe one day Mitch and I’ll have something even half as nice. I’ll be content with any type of house that convinces Mitch that we can get married.”

  With everything else going on—the good, the bad, the confusing—Caron hadn’t checked back with Miriam on the donation total for Mitch in days. Were they even close? She added another item to her diminishing mental to-do list.

  “Okay, one last walk-through. Then we all get some sleep and I’m back here to meet Kade in the morning to make sure he likes what he sees—” She stumbled to a halt. “And then I’ll be getting ready to head back to Florida.”

  “What? No.” Lacey sounded as if she wanted to block the front door to keep Caron from leaving.

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ll stay around to un-stage the house, but that doesn’t take long at all. After that, my work here is done. Time to go home.”

  “But you’ll be back for my wedding the first weekend in August.” Margo linked her arms through Caron and Lacey’s. “That’s only a couple of weeks away.”

  “Right.” Caron mustered up a smile. “We can look forward to that.”

  “Is Alex coming?” Margo’s question was spoken into the darkness as Caron turned off the lights.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Plans can change, right?”

  Caron shouldered her purse. “There’s no reason for plans to change . . .”

  “Caron, we’ve talked about this—”

  “And I’ve told you, I can’t think about this right now—”

  Lacey stepped between them. “And I have no idea what you two are talking about. But I do know it’s late. We’re all tired. It’s time to head home.”

  “You’re right.” Caron whispered a quick thank you as they moved toward her car.

  “We’re not done talking about this.” Margo leaned around Lacey.

  “Yes, yes we are.”

  And come tomorrow, she’d be so busy that she wouldn’t see Margo until it was time to pack her bags and head back to Florida.

  THIRTY-TWO

  What was he doing, showing up at Jessica’s on a Sunday? Alex couldn’t hide behind the excuse of a malfunctioning air conditioner or a broken washing machine. Or that he was here to pick up those leftovers she’d mentioned. Too many days had passed for that.

  No, he wanted to talk to her—it was that simple and that complicated, all at the same time. There was nothing easy about trying to explain what Jessica had learned about his family on the evening news. His mother, bloodied and battered. And drunk. Her car surrounded by two police cruisers, blue and white lights flashing, after sideswiping several other parked cars in the shopping center, and then crashing into the back end of another.

  Jessica’s words of comfort had echoed in his mind for days, luring him back to her house. He’d thank her for praying and understanding. Ask how Scotty was.

  And then be on his way.

  A soft rap on the driver’s-side window interrupted hi
s attempt to untangle his thoughts. Jessica stood beside his car, motioning for him to roll down his window.

  “Hi.” He cut the engine, the car’s air-conditioner-cooled air mixing with the sun-warmed air and humidity outside.

  She rested her hands against the edge of the half-rolled-down window, bending low to see his face. “You gonna sit here all day? You pulled up a good ten minutes ago.”

  “Uh, yeah. I mean no. I was . . . thinking.”

  “You came to sit in front of my house and think?” She scrunched her nose, causing her glasses to tilt. “Okay. I’ll leave you to your thinking, then.”

  “No.” As he eased open the car door, Jessica stepped back onto the sidewalk. “I wanted to see you—and Scotty.”

  “Afraid you’re stuck with just me. Scotty was invited to go swimming with a friend.” She motioned back toward the house. “I’ve got a backlog of work to catch up on.”

  Alex halted at the edge of the walkway leading to Jessica’s front door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting. I needed a break. Join me for some lemonade and tell me how you’re doing.”

  Since your mother’s car accident.

  Jessica didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air between them. And he was here to talk about his mother. Kind of.

  “You good with lemonade? It’s homemade.”

  Of course it was. The woman probably made her own bread. He wouldn’t be surprised to show up one day and find chickens wandering in the backyard. Her reddish-gold hair was pulled up in a ponytail, but soft tendrils floated free and framed her face, a few pieces laying against the nape of her neck. A red T-shirt dress skimmed her slender frame, and she slipped off casual black flip-flops as she entered the house.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Files and her dictation equipment covered the dining room table, but other than that, the house was picked up, no sign of a five-year-old. A bouquet of yellow roses sat in a glass vase in the middle of the table.

  Who was bringing Jessica flowers?

  “Nice roses.”

  “They were marked down at the grocery store. Scotty insisted on buying them for me. Cute, huh?”