Still the One

by Susan May Warren

  “That won’t be necessary.” He’d make his own plans. Besides, they were heading into the weekend and Cole knew exactly where the Christiansen clan would be at zero-nine-hundred on Sunday. If he was going to have a sitrep with God, it would be on his own terms.

  “Okay. Let’s connect early next week.”

  “Sure. Thanks again.” Cole shook his hand before Nathan headed out the door, holding it open for a boy, about ten. He wore a blue jacket that looked a little big for him and carried a stack of tickets in his ungloved hand. Cole took the last bite of stale donut and watched the boy march to the counter. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in purpose.

  “Hi, Marie, we’re selling raffle tickets for the Huskies peewee hockey team. I thought you might be interested.” The boy wore athletic pants and worn athletic shoes, his dark hair peeking out from his knit hat.

  “Hockey, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy smiled. “We’re hoping to attend the Peewee Meltdown in Minneapolis.”

  “Unfortunately, Grayson already came by.” She leaned forward, her elbows on the counter. “I bought nine, and Bill and Kathy took the rest.”

  “Man, he’s beat me to every shop in town. Are you sure none of you don’t want more?”

  “I’m sorry, Josh.” She grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter. “Good luck.”

  The boy’s shoulders fell. He held a stack of raffle tickets in his hand—it didn’t look like he’d sold any.

  And Cole knew exactly how that felt—to want something only to have it vanish in your hands. His chest tightened. “Hey—did you say something about a hockey raffle?”

  The kid turned. “Yeah. They’re two dollars each or three for five. The raffle is next Friday and the grand prize is a jersey signed by the Blue Ox team. The entire team.”

  Cole rubbed a hand across his two-day stubble. “What position do you play?”

  “Mostly wing.”

  “Nice. You must have quick hands.”

  He gave a shy grin. “My coach says so. You played?"

  “A long time ago.” One of the Cougars’ junior league MVPs. Until a car wreck robbed him of everything he loved. He nodded toward the tickets. “How many have you sold?”

  “Three.” The boy eyed the busy table of teenagers, dropped his voice, and wrinkled his nose. “To my mom.”

  Ouch. Cole remembered the days his mom would have done the same thing. “How many do you have left?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Cole drew his wallet from his jeans. “In that case, I’ll take twelve.”

  “Really?” The boy’s mouth fell open.

  “Absolutely.” Cole held a crisp twenty out to the boy who began a slow, deliberate count of the red tickets. Cole wouldn’t be around for the drawing, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

  The boy handed Cole the tickets in exchange for the cash. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome—Josh, is it?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged his hat down over his ears. Cole spotted a missing front tooth—hopefully not from a hockey stick. “I need to get going. I have to catch my ride.”

  “Sure. Thanks for the raffle tickets.”

  The boy grinned. “See ya around.” He waved and ran out the door.

  Cole stood, tossed his empty cup in the trash, and stuffed the bright stubs into his pocket. At least the boy wouldn’t come in last.

  He snagged up the keys.

  It seemed most prudent to park around the block and walk. Do a little recon to find out if the tenant was home.

  Not a whole lot had changed on Third Avenue West. The Art Colony-slash-former church building still took up most of the block, although it had gotten a fresh coat of white paint. And the Congregational church across the street still hosted bingo night on Wednesday, along with dinner. Next door to his grandfather’s house, the red cabin had been turned into a B&B.

  As for the old homestead, it looked, well…yes, he’d say yes to the first buyer that came along. The front porch of the two-story Victorian sagged, a few shingles hung catawampus on the roof, and plastic flapped from the windows, a pitiful attempt at winterizing from bygone years. Yellow paint peeled from the ratty siding as if the house was shedding.

  The place embodied every brutal memory he held, and then some, of his last year in Deep Haven.

  Next to the old Victorian, however, a newer garage had been built, two stories, fresh paint—and he’d bet it was where his unruly tenant lived.

  Perfect. She’s pretty stubborn. Nathan’s words rattled around his head, and he took a breath, not sure where to start.

  The sight of a woman walking down the sidewalk caught his attention. She held a large box of ribbons in her arms, the wind toying with a few. She wore a long, gray winter dress coat over a floral skirt. It flapped against the tall brown boots that hit just below her knees. Behind the load she carried, her blonde, shoulder-length hair blew across her face.

  She neared, her foot slipping on a patch of ice. “Oh!” She righted herself, but the sudden movement tossed blue flowers, bows, and a three-ring binder into the snow, the ribbons skittering away like mice.

  He grabbed a couple, ran after a few more, and found himself chasing ribbons down the street.

  “Thank you,” she said as he returned holding the runaway ribbons. She stood to face him, pushing tangles of hair from her face. Then, a wave of recognition seemed to wash over her. “Hi again.” A slight smile lit her face. “Hey. Are you here for the wedding?”

  The wedding—wait. It was the woman from the side of the road.

  Huh. She looked better without the massive parka. She was pretty, those eyes again reaching out to him, and something warm in them cut through the chill of the day. “Hi. Again. Uh, no. Definitely not here for a wedding.”

  “Right. I’m a wedding coordinator. These are decorations for tonight,” she added, reaching for the ribbons he held. “This is so not my day.” He piled them into her box as she tried to hold them down. “Lucky you—you get to save me twice.”

  Yes, lucky him. And he couldn’t help but smile back. Because she was smiling at him as if she wasn’t kidding. As if he actually might be her hero, and he hadn’t had a woman—including his wife—look at him like that in so long, well, he didn’t realize how much he hungered for it.

  Silly. She was just some stranger…

  And then he spotted her binder and read the laminated name badge stuck to the cover.

  MEGAN CARTER

  Megan. Carter?

  He looked up, studied her for a moment. No way.

  He stilled, a hitch catching his breath. What were the chances…

  She shook the snow off the ribbons and placed them back into the box. “I really appreciate this. You’ve been my hero today.” Her voice reached in, winding itself around the soft, raw places he kept secured. It was fuller than it used to be, the alto tones richer, but yeah, it still had the power to send his heart skittering.

  And wow, she’d gotten pretty. Prettier. Even the gray skies couldn’t dampen the bright gold of her eyes or the pink blush of her lips. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her on the road.

  He held out her folder to her and swallowed, his tongue sticking to the roof of his pasty mouth, taking in her petite, feminine form. The curves. The smile on her face.

  Megan Carter, all grown up, was a knockout.

  It all was just enough to cause him to fumble, the contents of Nathan’s folder spilling onto the sidewalk.

  She bent to get it, like he’d done with her folder, and her gaze paused on the listing agreement.

  As she picked it up, she looked at the agreement. Then at Cole.

  Her warm smile faded.

  “Cole Barrett?” Her hand trembled as she held out the papers.

  He must have nodded because the spark, the warmth in her eyes vanished, and a chilly breeze rushed in.

  “So you’re the one who’s trying to ruin my life.”

  Megan sat in the back of th
e reception hall after her final pre-wedding walk-through. The day could not end soon enough.

  It had started as a stellar day.

  Good thing she was adept at keeping a lid on all the thoughts a wedding planner should never say. Like when the flowers went MIA, the florist claiming that Megan gave her the wrong date—not—and she’d had to make a forty-mile run to Lutsen.

  Or when the bride’s mother announced that the pew bows were all wrong, even though they were exactly what she’d ordered. Megan had smiled, piled all twenty-six bows back into the box, and told her she had blue silk flowers at her apartment and could make them up before the evening ceremony.

  Megan had known she’d make it work, though, because that’s what she did. Created Perfect Days for starry-eyed brides. And her current bride, Shelly Anderson, was counting on her to pull off this wedding without allergic reactions, absent musicians, or runaway ring bearers. Which had only actually happened once, so odds were in her favor on that one. She wasn’t beyond instituting a leash law for wedding party members under the age of four. Or over seventy-five, regardless of the number of legs.

  Yeah. Anyone who thought the business of happily-ever-after was glamorous had never had to crawl under the third row of seats to clean up an unwanted wedding gift left by the current bride’s Pekingese. Her stomach had contracted, the involuntary clenching causing a series of unladylike gags.

  She hoped the two windows she’d left open would air the place out without bringing the temperature to just south of frigid.

  Despite her oh-so-spectacular day, she’d had everything under control until that call from Nathan Decker had spun her off the road.

  No, the insides of a stale peanut butter sandwich dropping onto her lap had spun her off the road, landing her car into the drift with a puff of snow. Note to self—don’t brake while trying to hang up and retrieve lunch.

  You need to move. The owner wants to sell. Nathan’s words had hung in her brain as she climbed up on the berm to assess her predicament. No grace period, no taking into account that she’d made the apartment over the garage her home.

  No thoughts about the nine-year-old boy who needed stability. Just…out.

  She’d been fuming so hard she was nearly rude to the good Samaritan who’d rescued her—and yes, she’d noticed how easily he’d tackled pushing her Subaru from the ditch (hello, muscles). It had consumed her brain all the way back to Deep Haven where she’d parked out front, piled all the ribbons and flowers into one box, and climbed the interior stairs to her garage apartment.

  Her apartment. And no matter what Nathan said, she wasn’t going to budge. Not now, not when her dream of owning the Black Spruce B&B was so close. There was no way Katie James would extend her purchase agreement again. If she didn’t come up with the rest of the down payment within the next sixty days, she’d have to say goodbye to all the plans she’d made for herself and Josh. All her ambitions to convert the B&B into a wedding venue.

  It couldn’t happen.

  Once inside, she’d peeled off the layers, unwound her scarf, and began the process of perfecting the pew bows before grabbing her phone.

  She was still annoyed, she knew it, and had schooled her voice when Ivy Christiansen picked up on the second ring. If anyone knew a good lawyer, it had to be the assistant county attorney.

  “Hey,” Ivy had said.

  “Hi. Sorry to bug you, but I have two questions. Would you be able to pick up Josh from practice? I need to finish these bows for the wedding and get them down the street.”

  Good thing Ivy was a to-the-point gal too. “Sure. Tiger’s down at the rink helping coach the Huskies.”

  Megan had tugged a piece of ribbon from the spool and wrapped it around another set of blue flowers. “Thanks. Okay, second. I need a lawyer. A really good one because Nathan Decker left me a message that I’m being evicted and Mr. Barrett’s house is being sold.”

  “What? By whom?”

  “I’m assuming it’s Mr. Barrett’s daughter and her son. The woman has hardly shown her face over the years. Packed him away in that nursing home faster than you can say, ‘I want my inheritance.’ Terrible. Practically selling his house out from underneath him.”

  “I don’t think he’s coming home, Megs. Poor man has Alzheimer’s.”

  “Yes, well, you better believe I called Nathan right back and told him I had a six-month lease signed two months ago and my math says I’m not budging for four more months.” She wasn’t going to let Josh pay for the choices she’d made. He deserved more, so much more, and she was going to give it to him.

  “Do you have a copy of the lease?”

  “Somewhere. I wasn’t expecting to have to prove I could live in my own apartment.”

  “Calm down.”

  Yes, probably. “I’m just…I’m so close to buying the Black Spruce. If only hockey camp didn’t need that stupid down payment. Three thousand dollars! He’d better be getting golden skates and learn to shoot like Owen Christiansen for that kind of cash.”

  Ivy had laughed. “He is skating with Jace Jacobsen, although I could still get him to sit down with Josh for free—”

  “No. We don’t need any handouts. It’s just…I want him to feel like all the other boys. Get all the things. Camp. Gear. And attend the tournament.”

  “You’re an amazing mom, Megs.”

  She’d held up the bow. “Yeah, well, I’m scraping my piggy bank for pennies here, and moving in the middle of winter…I can’t afford that. Besides, where would I even move?”

  Silence, because Ivy knew the dismal answer. There simply weren’t cheap places to rent in a community of high-end vacation rentals.

  Although, the tourist town was amazing for the wedding business.

  “We’re not going to let you get evicted. Yes, look up your contract. And I’ll call one of my legal contacts and get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Megan had glanced at the weather, wishing it would cooperate. Her apartment window faced the harbor, the frozen water gray and dismal against a pewter sky. Was it too much to hope for an early spring?

  “No problem. You have the Anderson wedding tonight?”

  “Yeah. My schedule for the next three weeks is completely nuts. But that’s a good thing because there’s a lull after Valentine’s Day. I spent the entire morning running errands for Mrs. Anderson after she decided the decorations were all wrong. I’m almost done changing those. And then I skidded into the ditch coming back from Lutsen.”

  “Oh, no! What happened?”

  “I was driving back on Highway 61 and Josh’s lunch box was on the seat with remnants of PB and J. Okay, really, it was mostly just the crust. And it was stale. But—”

  “You ate what?”

  “Yes. The crust, and a glob of old jam fell on my lap just as I was hanging up with Nathan, and then, I don’t know, I think I slammed on my brakes, hit a slick spot, and ended up in the ditch.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but then this guy stopped.” A guy. She hadn’t even gotten his name. He’d been nearly a foot taller than her, his shoulders broad, and dark hair clipped short. Bright blue eyes that took in everything and a jagged scar running from his left temple down to his jawline, interrupting the brown stubble. He’d looked like a warrior, even in jeans and hiking boots.

  A warrior—and a hero.

  “A guy? You said that like there’s a little more to it than some everyday guy.”

  “Well…” All the men Megan usually met were getting married, but if she were honest, he still hadn’t struck her as any kind of everyday joe.

  Ivy had let out a long, “Mmmhmmm?”

  “No. I mean, he was cute and I was very relieved he stopped, but I’ll never see him again. And, don’t take this wrong, but he kind of reminded me of Josh’s dad—who left me another hang-up, by the way.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but ever since middle school, I’ve been mush f
or blue eyes and dark hair.” No, she knew exactly why. She’d blame it on her summertime friend, Cole. She could always count on his family to spend summers in Deep Haven and it’d been so easy as kids. Carefree. When he moved to town after his parents’ deaths, it was the best year of her childhood. Then, he was gone. And though Trevor had blue eyes and dark hair, he’d turned out to be nothing like Cole. “It’s no big deal. I just have to deal with this apartment situation. My wedding schedule. Josh’s hockey camp.” And a thousand other things.

  “You’re not calling Trevor back?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  Megan had heard voices in the background over the phone before Ivy responded. “I gotta go. Mom duties call. Josh can eat with us and we’ll drop him by around eight-thirty.”

  “Thanks, Ivy. You’re the best.” Megan had disconnected and finished attaching the last of the blue flowers to the bows, gathering them into a box.

  For all the fantasies she orchestrated with the brides-to-be, when it came to her own dreams, her failures could fill an entire wedding chapel. In fact, they would likely fill an entire cathedral, reception hall, and even a honeymoon suite. Not that she’d ever been in one of those.

  After she’d finished the bows, Megan had changed into her clothes for the wedding, opting for her bright floral dress and tall boots. She liked to keep her makeup simple and decided to leave her hair down.

  The walk to the Art Colony was only half a block and she’d still have time to get all the bows hung before the bridal party arrived.

  Most of the sidewalk had been cleared, with only a few slick spots. Maybe it was the wind or maybe her distracted thoughts, but somehow, she had managed to lose traction, her foot sliding out and causing her to flail to catch her balance.

  Every last bow with its perfect blue flowers had flown into the air.

  They’d scattered like a flock of house sparrows fluttering through the sky.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she’d spotted a stranger on the sidewalk grabbing them before they were swept away.