Like her date with Carter. What else was new?
She thought about him, about their date two days ago. As predicted, she hadn't heard from him. She'd been lying about the emergency phone call she'd supposedly set up. It hadn't occurred to her that any person could be so offensive that she couldn't spend a lunch hour with him. Apparently, there were people that hideous in the world. Apparently, she was one of them.
Whatever.
That had become her motto these last few years. Whatever will come, will come. It was all out of her control. She knew God was taking care of things, and for whatever reason, He didn't want Jo's dreams to come true. So…whatever.
Not that Carter'd ever been her dream. Just a handsome guy. But why couldn't they have kept it professional? Why a pathetic half-date? He'd probably quit mailing packages with UPS. She'd lost the guy before she'd had him. Now she'd lost his business, too. Why not? She'd lost her health. She'd lost her strength. Heck, she'd even lost her hair.
She stared up at the ceiling. "What's up with you, God? You do this for sport?"
No answer, of course. She dipped her head and whispered, "I'm sorry." God had done so much for her. She was still breathing, wasn't she? Which was more than she could say for so many of the people she'd met on the cancer ward.
Andrew came in from the back. She'd hired him to watch the store while she went out to drum up business. She'd been sure she wouldn't be able to handle the Christmas rush without help. Ha.
"Any luck this morning?"
She unzipped her sweatshirt. "We can only hope. How's business been?"
"Slow. Can you think of anything I can do?"
Poor guy hated to be bored. He worked full time for her, then attended classes in the evenings, earning a business degree. "Feel free to bring your books, if you want to study when it gets slow."
"You don't pay me to study."
She had no answer to that, and he wandered back into the storeroom, where he swept a spotless floor. She should go back out, visit more local companies, try to drum up more business. But she didn't have the stomach for it. She'd been rejected enough this week.
The bell over the door chimed.
Carter.
Speaking of rejection.
He carried no box as he approached the counter. Great. Not even the hope of a sale. "How you doing?" he asked.
"I'm fine." She stood behind her keyboard, tapped on it as if she were very busy. "Can I help you with something?"
"I hoped you were available for coffee."
She looked up, blinked. Said, "Coffee?" like an idiot. No wonder he'd rejected her.
"Yeah. Or a late breakfast. Or early lunch. Or—"
"I'm sort of busy."
Andrew came in from the back, saw Carter, and said, "Oh, good, a customer."
Heat warmed her cheeks, but Carter only smiled. "Seems maybe you could spare a few minutes for me."
"Fine." Maybe he wanted to apologize. She turned to Andrew. "Call me if it gets busy."
"I can handle the big rush." With a sweep of his arms, he presented the nearly empty room. "Seriously."
On the sidewalk, Carter led her away from the Coffee Bar and the restaurants in town. She wanted to ask where they were going, but he spoke before she had the chance.
"Sorry about the other day. I really did have an emergency."
"Okay."
"See, I have a..." He met her eyes, looked away, and continued. "My mother watches a little girl, and she was sick. Mom needed me to get her from school."
"Your mother doesn't drive?"
"She does, but... Well, it's a long story."
Jo watched his face. The way he'd shifted his gaze away. The way he wouldn't meet her eyes now. He was lying about something.
Then the rest of what he'd said registered. A little girl. Sick. "Is she okay?"
"Yeah. Just a fever—"
"Fevers can be very serious. They're often overlooked, brushed off, because they're so common. But if they go too high, they can indicate serious health problems. Infections. Meningitis." Cancer.
He stopped, so she did, too. His eyes filled with fear. "I think it was just a fever. We gave her some medicine, and it went away. She's back at school today. You think we...uh, Mom should take her to a doctor?"
Jo shook her head and focused on the sidewalk. "No. It's probably nothing." Maybe that's what she should have done. If she'd taken a couple of pills, and if the fever had gone down, then she could have gotten on the plane and flown away.
As if the leukemia wouldn't have followed her.
She looked back up at Carter's worried expression.
"I'm sorry. You're right. It was probably a virus."
He turned to face forward again, started walking. A minute passed, and he chuckled. "Sorry. I worry when they're little like that. What do I know about kids?"
"Probably more than I do," she said.
They turned down a side street. "Uh, where we going?"
"Oh, sorry. I got distracted. I was going to ask if you could look at something in my workshop. I'm trying to figure out how to get it shipped."
He must've seen something in her expression, because he added, "If that's not okay, then I'll—"
"No, it's fine." Just would have been nice to know from the start this wasn't a date. Hadn't she wanted to visit more local businesses? Carter's counted. She took a deep breath, then thought, what if he's a serial killer? Ridiculous, but she pulled out her phone anyway. "What's the address?"
"Of my shop? Two hundred East Elm."
She texted the address to Andrew. "Letting my coworker know where I'll be."
Carter nodded. "And my name, I assume."
She shrugged, and he chuckled and said, "I should have realized... I'm not very good at this, am I?"
At what? She had no idea what he was talking about, so she said nothing. They walked in silence between the short buildings. He turned left on Elm and stopped in front of a tan warehouse with two cargo bays to the right of a narrow door. "This is it. I really don't want to make you nervous, so if you'd rather not, we can get coffee."
"We're already here. It's fine."
He unlocked the door and pushed it open. She stepped inside, and he followed. It was dark and stank of chemical fumes.
"Hold on a sec." Carter flipped a switch, which lit the giant room, then took a few steps and pressed a button. The garage door lifted and let in the sunshine. She let her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, then studied the space.
Shelves lined the walls on the back and along one side. The other side held a desk with a laptop beside a small stack of envelopes. The room was filled with a random assortment of odd items. An Adirondack chair sat on a workbench on the far side. A box overflowing with plastic toys rested near her feet. Other things—too many to take in—were everywhere, along with bottles and containers and sheets and sheets of some yellow something. Sort of looked like fabric, only not.
"Fiberglass," he said.
Oh. That made sense.
"It's a mess." He walked to the middle of the space. On the floor sat a huge mold. It was at least ten feet long. Probably closer to fifteen. She studied the item, tried to see what the negative space would be if it were filled. Narrow near the ends, thick in the middle.
She could feel him watching her.
And then she figured it out. "A canoe?"
He smiled broadly. "Exactly." He pointed to the far end of the space. On the floor beneath the bench holding the chair, she saw a long, green canoe. "That's the prototype."
"And this is what you have to ship?"
He turned, pointed to a stack of huge fiberglass molds against the wall on her left. "And all those."
"How many—?"
"Five. Plus the molds for the other pieces—the seats and crossbars and oars." He pointed to yet another pile behind the chair.
"Wow. Where are they going?"
"Taiwan."
"Oh, my." She returned her gaze to the mold at her feet. "You made this?"
"Why you? I mean, surely there are mold makers in Taiwan."
"My molds don't break, and I stand behind them, so if they do, I replace them."
"I see. So you're really good."
He looked down, sort of shrugged, like he was embarrassed to admit it but wouldn't argue.
She hid her smile as she gauged the sizes, walking around the one in front of her and imagining a crate to fit it.
Carter stepped near her. "When I took the job, I was excited about the size. Now that I've got them done..."
"It's not a problem. We need to get some crates built."
"I can build the crates myself. But I hoped you could help me package everything, so nothing breaks or gets damaged."
"I can do that."
"And the smaller things," he said. "Should I package those with the crates or send them separately?"
She walked over to the pile of molds. "Whatever you prefer." She turned to face him. "If you have a truck, we could get started now. They'll need to be packaged, whatever you decide to do with them. If we box them, then you'll know how big to build the crates."
He frowned, and she wondered what she'd said wrong. "Or, if you're not quite ready..."
"I'm ready. But I offered to take you to eat."
She waved him off. "You don't need to feed me, Carter. This is my job." And apparently, it was all she had to offer.
6
Jo considered sending Andrew back to the shop with Carter, but she was better at packaging than her employee was. Based on his rundown of the hour she'd missed, he could handle the shop while she was gone.
To be honest, date or not, she was enjoying her time with Carter.
Carter had all the shipping supplies loaded in the back of his truck when she came out of the store. "We're all set. Do you think we have enough?"
He took in the boxes and boxes of cardboard and tape and bubble wrap and filler she'd had him load. "It's not far if we have to come back."
"True." She climbed in the passenger side of his truck, and they headed back to his workshop. She was all set to help him haul the stuff inside, but he waved her off.
"I'm not going to have you carrying stuff."
"It's my job."
He smirked. "Why don't you get us a couple of bottles of water? There's a fridge behind my desk."
If he wanted to do the heavy lifting, she'd let him. She made her way through the open garage door to the back and found the mini-fridge beside his desk chair. Inside were a handful of water bottles, two sodas, and a container of onion dip. She grabbed the waters and headed back. Carter was stacking cardboard near the wide door. "Is it okay if we leave the door open? It gets so stuffy in here, and the temperature's not too bad."
She zipped her hooded sweatshirt. "Fine with me." She made another attempt to help him, but he only waved her off. So she headed to the back and grabbed one of the many molds from the pile, sat on the concrete floor, then got to work building a box to fit it.
When he finished unloading, he sat beside her. "I could clear off the table."
"Nah, this is fine with me. It's hard to build boxes on a table. Nothing can fall off the floor. I mean, if it's okay with you."
"It's perfect." He watched what she was doing and followed her lead. They kept conversation light. She asked about where he went to school and what kinds of sports he'd played. She was surprised to learn he hadn't played sports in high school. "I was never that athletic, to tell you the truth." He snatched the tape from the floor beside her leg and finished up his latest box. "I started working in Dad's machine shop in high school, but he was tough to work for and I didn't enjoy it. He got me the job where I learned to make molds. The shop was right down the street from his, and he'd done some work for the owner. I guess I sort of apprenticed."
"It's an unusual trade. Did you love it from the start?"
"I did. I specialize in fiberglass, but I make other kinds, too. Like for plastic toys and such." He indicated the box near the door she'd noticed earlier. "I'd love to expand into making molds for glass. I'll need to invest in the machinery, though, so I've held off so far. That takes a lot more talent, more artistry."
"Are you good at that kind of thing?"
He did that head-duck thing again, and she knew. Of course he was artistic, only too polite to say so. She'd bet he was good at everything he tried. He'd probably never owned a business that went belly up. And she hadn't either, not yet.
He stood and grabbed another mold, then plopped down on the floor beside her again. He took a piece of cardboard, folded it perfectly, and slipped the mold inside to test the size. Perfect, of course. Watching him move was mesmerizing. His shoulders were so broad, his hands so deft as they creased the cardboard, pulled the tape over the seam. How could somebody that tall and strong also be graceful? His face was no longer startling. Still gorgeous, but she'd gotten used to it, even those blue eyes. At first, the details of his looks had gotten lost in the glory of his face. But now she noticed the way his lips pursed when he was concentrating hard. She noticed the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, the left one a little more pronounced than the right. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. His laugh was deep sometimes, and a little higher when he really got going. She noticed the way he teased her and the way he could be both amused and tender at the same time, so that his teasing made her feel special, important. She found herself thinking, Carter would make such a good father.
He shouldn't be with me. Anybody but me.
7
Carter was concentrating on the box in his lap, but he could feel Jo's gaze on him, feel it in the way heat crept up his neck, the way his heart rate increased, the way his body reacted. He hadn't felt like this about a woman since... Probably not even Heather. His feelings for her hadn't been that deep, considering they'd fled the moment she'd turned up her nose at the engagement ring he'd offered her. Had he felt this way about Sara's mother? Who knew anymore? His feelings for Amber were jumbled together like sausage. Sure, a little love here and there, but ground in there were also rejection and abandonment and a whole lot of anger. Like the fat in a sausage, the love had dripped away a long time ago.
It was ridiculous to compare his feelings for Jo to those he'd had for Heather and Amber. He barely knew her. Yet there was something behind her eyes, something so forlorn and wounded, something so powerful and determined. He had no idea what was causing those conflicting emotions, but he really wanted to find out.
He glanced up, met her gaze. She blushed, averted her eyes, and her expression shifted. From… No, he wouldn't try to define that, but the word admiration came to mind. Fine, he knew what people saw when they looked at him. He'd gotten the same reaction since forever. His face was just right to take to an office Christmas party, to take home to meet Mom. The man behind the face had proved less than the packaging, apparently, because both women he'd wanted to spend his life with had run like their hair was on fire.
But Jo was no longer watching him with admiration. He reached across the box she was working on and lifted her chin. She blinked, tried to force herself to smile, and angled away.
"Where'd you go there?" He kept his tone lighthearted to assuage the tension in what suddenly felt like a very somber moment.
"Nowhere. Just...nothing."
But he knew that expression in her eyes. Maybe he didn't know her well yet—not nearly as well as he hoped to—but he already recognized the sadness that seemed to settle in her face whenever she thought he wasn't looking. Not only sadness. Wistfulness.
Why the sudden urge to push the boxes away and take her in his arms, to kiss all those feelings away?
He focused on the box in front of him. Had he somehow boxed up his common sense along with the mold?
The tape made a zipping noise as he enclosed the side edge. He had to say something to get her talking. "You really hate this, don't you?"
Right. Nicely done, mate. Way to lighten the mood.
&nbs
p; She looked up. "What?"
"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
She settled her hands and waited.
He blew out a breath. "The store. Owning a UPS Store."
"I don't hate it."
"Okay." He turned back to his box, taped the other side. "So you like it?"
"You know..." There was a long pause, then, "It's different."
"But why would you buy a store in a little town like this when you want to travel?"
"Long story." She finished the box she was working on, stacked it on top of the others, and grabbed another mold and some cardboard before sitting beside him again.
"You're good at it," he said. "You've got a knack for packing them just right."
"Takes special skill." She was smiling now in that teasing way she adopted sometimes. "You've been at it for, what? A couple hours? And you're already an expert. They could train a monkey to do it, I think."
"But the rest of the work..."
"I know. It's not easy, and I am doing it. Business will get better. It always takes time to get a business off the ground."
"Is that what you want?"
"Life isn't always about what you want. I'm not... I can't take off like you can."
"Why not?" He held his breath, wondered if she'd tell him the real reason behind her choices.
She resumed her work. Silent for a moment before she said, "There are a few reasons. My mother for one. My father died a few years ago, and I can't leave my mom."
"I'm sorry to hear about your father."
"Thanks." She crumpled up some brown paper and stuffed in around the mold in her box. "He was in a car accident. Killed instantly."
He waited until she was done. Then he reached for her hand, squeezed. "I'm sorry. That must've been terrible."
She nodded. They gazed at each other, and he saw that wistfulness again. She pulled her hand away and focused on the box.
"So you stay because of your mother?"
"Not only for her, but that's part of it."
"Okay." He understood that, sort of. But to saddle herself with a business she obviously didn't like because her mother was alone? "You could have traveled, though." He realized how that sounded, as if her opportunity had passed her by. "You could still travel now, right?"
Matched Online: Anthology Bks 1-4 (Contemporary Romance) Page 9
