Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1)

by Pepper Basham

  “Thank you for your help and the cookie.”

  “We finished, Mom.” The boys came back into the room.

  The door jangled alerting Eisley to Ms. Lewis’s exit, but as she replayed the weird scene in her head, realization dawned. British. The woman was British, though she was attempting to hide it.

  Eisley ran to the bakery door and swung it open, scanning the narrow line Main Street made between the quaint rows of shops. No one similar to Ms. Lewis moved down the lantern-lined sidewalks. This wasn’t good. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she needed to tell Wes. He could help her sort it out during their phone conversation tonight.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Nathan asked.

  She smiled to the boys. “Yeah, buddies. Let’s get these cupcakes to Papa and Nana’s.” She gave the street another glance, mind-weary. “And I really hope we don’t have any more unexpected guests today. I’m ready for a nice, relaxing evening.”

  ***

  Eisley pulled her jeep up her parents’ driveway, still mulling over the stranger’s visit. It might be her birthday party, but what sounded more tempting was a long nap. Between trying to write Julia’s story, late-night phone calls with Wes, the regular insanity of being a single mom, and the crazy events with Ms. Lewis, Sleeping Beauty’s siesta sounded better all the time.

  But naps lived in another world. With fairy godmothers.

  The boys jumped from the jeep and ran headlong into the ensuing football game on the front lawn. The usual boisterous greeting followed, with some quick redirection from her dad as Rick plowed forward, ball tucked beneath his arm, pulling her attention away from the strangely familiar addition on the field.

  “Oh hi, Eisley.” Sophie danced down the porch steps, her smile even bigger than usual. She clapped her hands together and did a little jump. “You’re finally here.”

  Eisley’s grin hitched, uncertain. “Thanks, Sophie. I’m glad to see you, too.” Obviously, she didn’t go for the decaf this morning.

  Eisley walked toward the game, grinning at the way her Dad bossed everyone around—another sign of his fierce affection. Oh, poor Wes. When he did come, she hated to think what Dad’s inner Papa Bear might do.

  Greg had one of her boys on each arm and swung them around like a carousel.

  “Heads up, Eisley.” Dad called.

  The football spiraled toward her, a perfectly placed pass. She hooked a grin and caught it against her body. Before she could ready herself for a sprint, someone swooped her up and took off in a dead run. What? She looked over at her assailant and a pair of smoky gray eyes greeted her.

  Wes? Her mouth dropped open and she blinked, linking her arm around his neck to keep from falling out of shock. “Wh…what are you doing?”

  His lopsided grin dimpled. “Interception.”

  Her brain swam through syrupy thoughts, searching for something solid to say, but from the touch of his hands at her back to the gentle warmth in his eyes, not one solitary word emerged. She just stared like an idiot until he placed her feet on the ground across the family-created goal line.

  She had to be dreaming.

  She steadied her palm against his shoulder, waiting to surface from her delusion, but he added reality’s touch by sweeping a strand of hair from her face and settling the pad of his thumb against her cheek. He felt like Wes, looked like Wes, and even carried the faintest hint of cowboy cologne like Wes, but the mud-tinged hair didn’t fit the norm.

  Her father’s voice broke in to confirm her living daydream. “Boy, that don’t count. You can’t pick up a player and make an interception.” He marched forward, finger jabbing the air. “I don’t care how love-struck you’re tryin’ to look. It just ain’t right.”

  Wes kept his gaze locked on Eisley’s, his familiar smile filling her shocked skull with all sorts of beautiful music. “I think it should still score as a try.”

  She was pretty sure she heard I love you in the middle of that sentence, if looks said anything.

  Dad’s voice hammered into the hum of her gravitational pull toward Wes’s lips. “If I’ve told ya once, I’ve told you a hundred times. It’s not a try, it’s called a touchdown.”

  Eisley reached up and touched Wes’s dirt-smudged cheek. “When…how…why?”

  He narrowed his gaze, in mock contemplation. “When? About an hour ago. How? By plane. Why?” He leaned in close—breathtakingly close—his words honed to an intimate whisper. “I hope it’s fairly obvious.”

  Breathe, Eisley, breathe. The pleasant warmth of his closeness played a serenade over her skin.

  “Disgusting.” Greg walked by, face scrunched like he smelled stinky socks, one boy tucked under each arm.

  “Wipe that silly grin off your face, girl.” Dad snatched the football from Eisley’s hands and looked at the two of them as if he’d never seen anything so gross in all his life. Yep, maturity radiated off of the men in her family in gusts. “You’re too old to be moonin’ over some fancy pants like this.”

  “Dad, he’s not some fancy pants and…” Eisley rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t you have picked a less embarrassing nickname? Pants in England are…”

  “Actually, it’s quite funny.” Wes’s fingers trailed down her arm to braid with her hand and then he turned to Nate. “We’ve become well-acquainted with our different quirks, haven’t we, Nate?”

  “Hadn’t met nobody who can kick a football better than Ray Guy.” Nate sniffed, smoothed his thumb and forefinger over his moustache, and feigned indifference. “So, I’ve seen worse, but I can’t get past that hoity-toity accent.”

  Wes’s breath vibrated near her ear and encouraged a cascade of warmth down her neck. “I think he likes me.”

  Eisley swayed into his scent, familiar and missed. Her fingers fisted the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him to her. Their lips remembered each other pretty well, gentle and inviting, sending tingles down all the familiar paths they’d traveled in England.

  “Ahem.” Her dad cleared his throat and brought the football between their faces. “Let’s get our mind on football, boy.”

  She shoved the ball away and kept her attention on Wes, reveling in the wonderful hum of satisfaction cascading over her body. “Where are you staying?”

  “We set him up in the guest house.”

  Her gaze swung back to her father’s. “The guest house Cousin Lacey used to live in?” Visions of pink carpet, lace curtains, floral wallpaper, and a princess bed infiltrated her star-struck wonder. Her dad’s self-satisfied grin branded the decision as his. Of course.

  She squeezed Wes’s forearm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  Poor guy really had no clue the world he had unwittingly entered when he crossed the big pond. Yep, class took on a whole new definition…and accent.

  “Hey, y’all,” Sophie called from the porch. “Mama says you have time for one more game, then we gotta eat.”

  “You gonna play a game with us, girl?” A challenge flickered in her dad’s eyes. “Or are you afraid you’ll hurt your sissy boyfriend.”

  Heat soared from her cheeks to her forehead. “Good grief, Dad. Can’t you tell that Wes is capable of handling any tackle you throw at him? He’s certainly strong and”—her gaze swept over Wes’s chest, from shoulder to fabulous shoulder and her palm took on a life of its own by sliding up that muscular arm and drawing a little closer. Even beneath the cloth of his jacket, the flex of his muscle spiked her internal thermometer about twenty degrees. His smoky eyes sent a fire trail through her middle. She swallowed— “sturdy enough.”

  Dad growled a warning. “Stop acting like a girl.”

  “I am a girl, Dad.” She rolled an apologetic gaze to Wes, then grabbed the ball from her dad and shot a bullet-like pass to Rick. “I’m in. It’ll give me a chance to check out our new player?”

  Wes’s smile paused, his darkening gaze making her feel very girly indeed.

  She took her time examining his erratic hair and then let her gaze savor the journey al
l the way down to his muddy loafers. Yep, totally checking him out.

  “This is making me sick.” Nate grumbled forward and pointed his finger in Wes’s direction. “I can tell you one thing right now, girl. You and that boy are gonna be on the same team. You got it. Same. Come on.”

  Eisley ran for the huddle. She was playing all right—for keeps. Happy Birthday to me. Suddenly, her sluggish brain didn’t bother her so much.

  Wes jogged up beside her. “I suppose your father wants you on my team because he pities my poor English ways?”

  “Nope.” She slowed to a stop and turned to face him, wrestling with her smile. “It doesn’t have anything to do with your lovely English ways.”

  Wes’s brow shot high in silent question.

  “He didn’t want you to have an excuse to tackle me.”

  His smile eased up slowly as he took a small step forward. “I already have a rather substantial list of reasons. What’s one more?”

  “I aint’ gonna be able to stomach Rick’s chili if you two keep it up, and nobody should miss Rick’s chili.” Her dad’s voice broke through the trance. “Get ready boys. You too, Fancy Pants.”

  She rolled her eyes so hard a twinge of pain twitched at her temple. If Wes could survive her father’s merciless teasing, he could survive anything.

  “Chili?” Uncertainty replaced the hungry look on Wes’s face.

  Eisley stared at him a moment, her vision blurring. Okay, maybe she’d gotten a little carried away with the eye roll. She blinked Wes’s eyes back into focus, only to have her vision blur again. The fog traveled from her sight to her brain, spreading spots across her sightline. She blinked again. “Not the best food for a British stomach, I’m afraid.”

  A tingle started in her right cheek and crawled toward her lips. Oh no. Ignore it and maybe it will go away. Not today, not right now. “I advise you to load up on salad and bread, okay?”

  Eisley rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the white mist entering her periphery, but the bleary picture only became fuzzier, invading more of her sight. She’d fought off warning signs for the past hour. The familiar numbing of a migraine branched further over the left side of her face and even prickled in her left thumb.

  “Eisley?” Wes voice came from a distant tunnel. “You don’t look well.”

  The numbness grew along with the slow build of pain creeping across her forehead, leaving a nauseating ache. She pushed her right hand against her head. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

  A brief moment of silence followed and then her father’s voice reverberated over every aching bone in her skull. “Eisley’s got a migraine, y’all. You know what that means.”

  “Snow!” Pete and Nathan screamed from the other side of the yard. “It’s going to snow. Mama has a migraine.”

  Oh, the love…but even as she tried to grin, the pain intensified. She leaned forward with both palms against either side of her head to relieve some of the internal pressure. Her stomach convulsed. No, no. Lord. Don’t you think I’ve been humbled enough?

  “I think I need to get home, everybody.” Her voice sounded strange, almost like it was detached from her body. Migraines were not fun, and thankfully fairly uncommon for her, but as her kids’ reactions proved, usually weather-related.

  “Aw, Eisley,” Dad’s voice broke through the fog. “You’ll miss your birthday fireworks. Greg smuggled ‘em all the way from Tennessee.”

  “We’ll watch them from the back porch, okay? Maybe I can take a rain check for tomorrow after church.”

  Dad nodded and then sent a glance to Wes. “You’d better get her on home, boy.” He stepped close to Wes, chin wrinkled with his frown. “And take good care of her, you hear?”

  Eisley squinted up to Wes, trying to bring enough thoughts together for an apology, when Wes replied. “You have my word, Nate.”

  Twenty-Two

  Wes steered Eisley’s jeep down a winding lane and over a hill, following her whispered directions. He examined her disheveled profile. Pieces of ginger hair had worked their way out of her makeshift ponytail and curled about her face in a fiery halo his fingers ached to touch. Her head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. How he’d missed her! A restless stirring in his heart settled at her nearness.

  Take care of her, Nate had ordered. Not a problem. He gathered her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you have something you can take for relief?”

  “Home,” she whispered and pointed a weak finger down the tree-lined drive.

  A voice piped up from the back seat.

  “You look different than you do on TV.” Wes peered into the rearview mirror and found Pete’s narrowed blue eyes examining him. “Like a normal person.”

  “Pete,” Eisley muttered.

  “I know.” Wes turned a little to get a better view of the ginger-headed boy. “I think it’s because they make me wear make-up when I go on the tele.”

  “Make-up?” Nathan asked, his face contorting into a horrified grimace. “Like a girl?”

  Nate’s influence ran a strong course through these boys’ veins already. Wes stifled a chuckle.

  “Whew, I’m glad I’m going to be Spiderman when I grow up.” Pete sighed as he relaxed back into his seat. “I’ll never have to wear make-up.”

  Wes lost all control of his laugh that time.

  The boys had eased into conversation with him as if they’d always known him. Seeing them in person tightened the bond he’d developed over the past month of video calls.

  “You can’t be Spiderman, because he’s not real.” Nathan sent Wes a look that read what do we do with him?

  “I hungry,” Emily whined, with a heart-wrenching wobble of her bottom lip.

  Wes reached behind him to grab her little foot. She squealed, jerked her foot from his hand, and produced an effective pout. He had the sudden urge to nuzzle her neck until she giggled. “Peckish, are you? We’ll get you something soon, chicken.”

  “Chicken?” Both boys said in unison, exchanging a look.

  “She’s never afraid of much except thunder.” Nathan patted his baby sister’s hand.

  “Then she starts squawlin’ like a banjo, Mama says,” Pete added.

  Nathan huffed. “Banshee, not banjo.” He shook his head and then focused his attention back on Wes. “Why’d you call her a chicken?”

  “It’s a term of endearment, like darling, I suppose.”

  Pete wrinkled his freckled nose. “I’d rather be a lion. Could you call me a lion?”

  “Turn here.” Eisley murmured. “Duck.” She closed her eyes again, but her lips tipped up at the corners. Her fingers tightened around his, kindling a slow heat in his stomach—a heat he’d kept in amicable control for their long month apart. Skin on skin ignited his senses.

  “Mom called you a duck, Wes.” Nathan snorted.

  “Hmm, what do you suppose I should call her? Any suggestions?”

  “How ‘bout puppy? Or kitten?” Pete suggested. “She likes puppies. Our dog, Fritter, just had puppies last week. Five.” His palm spread wide to bring home his point.

  “I hungry,” Emily repeated a little louder.

  “We’re here,” Eisley whispered.

  The road ended in front of a white two-level farmhouse trimmed in red. A white fence, overgrown with ivy, framed the front. The red front door emphasized the berries on the holly bushes at either corner of the porch and the rust-colored stones of the front steps. A haven of trees circled the edges of the front yard but opened behind to reveal a frosted expanse of countryside with blue mountains lining the distant horizon.

  Wes ushered everyone inside, sent the boys upstairs to play with their Legos, and attempted to coax Emily away from Eisley—to no avail. Finally, after a near-argument and a snack for Emily, Eisley agreed to have a lie-down.

  “What can I do to help you?”

  The question seemed to take a moment to register. She studied him through squinted eyes. “I’m sorry for this.”

&nbs
p; He took her elbow and led her over to the bed. “Stop apologizing and lie down. Is there something I can do to quiet Emily for you?”

  “You’re wonderful.” A sheen of tears emerged in her eyes.

  He kissed her cheek and breathed in the minty scent of her hair. “I’ve missed you, pet.”

  She leaned into him, burying her head into his shoulder. “And I’ve ruined your beautiful arrival with my stupid migraine.”

  “You need to rest.” He gave her a nudge toward the bed. Emily rubbed her eyes and yawned. “What can I do for Emily?”

  Eisley curled up on the bed and pulled Emily close. “Maybe read to her?”

  He tucked the blanket around them both. “Any particular book?”

  “Goodnight Moon is her favorite. It’s in the basket by the door.” She nodded toward the door and lifted tired eyes to his. “Thank you.”

  Wes retrieved the book and stretched onto the bed, Emily tucked between the two of them. As he read, Emily snuggled up against his arm and the touch fisted in his chest with a protective and grateful grip. By the end of the story, both girls slept and he’d fallen in love all over again.

  Eisley’s hair fanned across the pillow, her lips slightly parted in sleep, with Emily curled against the crook of her body. He brushed a kiss over the soft curls of Emily’s head and quieted the urge to lie down behind Eisley to curb his curiosity of how well her body would fit against his. Somehow, he knew it would—as well as this love for her fit into his heart. He’d spent a lot of years searching for a home for his unsettled heart, and now…he’d finally found it.

  ***

  Eisley woke with the light-headed remains of the migraine. At least her thoughts came in full sentences—full, embarrassing sentences. Oh, what must Wes think? From her Dad’s annoying ribbing to a girlfriend who fell into a comatose state, it didn’t look good.

  The last thing she remembered was Wes’s smooth voice reading Goodnight Moon. The man could make a children’s book sound sexy. She peeked down at Emily, still asleep, and carefully slid her arm out from under her daughter’s head, sneaking a quick kiss before slipping from the room.