by Cindi Madsen
“After seeing you in the snowbank, I had my doubts you could safely drive to places. I didn’t want to be responsible.”
“Ah!” She crumpled up her napkin and tossed it at him. He caught it, which was inconvenient for her—obviously, she didn’t realize she had part of her milkshake on her nose.
“You have a little…” He tapped his own nose, and Jemma’s eyes widened. She wiped at the wrong side with her fingertips. Gripping her napkin, he stretched himself over the table and used it to remove the whip cream.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but the laugh that came out was more amused than embarrassed. “And now you have a little…”
He looked down to see whip cream on the front of his shirt. He’d leaned too far over his shake when he’d been helping her.
She scooted her drink aside, grabbed more napkins, and dabbed at it. “We’re a mess.”
He peered down at her, noticing the adorable crinkle that showed up between her eyebrows when she was concentrating, and his insides felt like a mess.
Once they were cleaned up, they finished their milkshakes while they talked about nothing and everything. Every time they had something in common, he’d silently cheer.
And every time she mentioned the city with that hint of longing, he’d volley back to the side of the line where he stuck to friends only.
But as he walked her to his truck again, a nervous guy who’d just finished an awesome sort-of date with a woman, he once again felt like he was back in high school.
Occasionally, Jemma came home from a date feeling like she’d put her best self forward and hadn’t made a fool of herself.
As Wyatt walked her to her car, she realized she’d kind of made a fool of herself but had still put her best self forward. Because it was her true self. Better yet, Wyatt hadn’t seemed embarrassed to be with her, not even when she’d ended up with whip cream on her nose.
He had this way of teasing her that made it easy to laugh at herself. He didn’t make her feel like she was too chatty, either. He let her talk and talk. He always listened intently, and when he talked, she also hung on every word.
The guy was unexpected in so many ways.
“Guessing this is you,” Wyatt said. “Call it my incredible powers of deduction, considering I already know what your car looks like and it’s the only one left in the parking lot.”
It was pretty crazy how the school had gone from bursting to ghost town in the matter of an hour. Then again, she’d seen elementary kids charge out of school at record speeds, the formerly bustling halls empty within minutes.
Jemma turned to smile at her gentleman escort.
Hours of spending time together, and yet she didn’t feel ready to say goodbye. Whether in a crowd, at the diner, or just the two of them, she always enjoyed her time with Wyatt. Her heart pitter-pattered, hope tapping its way into the mix.
It’d been such a good date. Er, hangout thing. Since it wasn’t a date, she shouldn’t go analyzing it like one. Not that it stopped her from thinking it’d been the best date she’d ever been on.
Or hangout thing, so to speak.
“Well, good night,” she said. “When Camilla brought up the ballgame, I uncharacteristically said yes without taking a second to overanalyze or make myself nervous about it, and I’m so glad I did.”
“Me too.” His grin spread across his face and lit her up inside, like a hundred sparklers that started glowing and fizzing at once.
Then he leaned closer, his arm winding around her—he was going in for a goodbye hug!
Jemma threw her arms around his waist, embracing him tightly. She’d wanted to hug him all night. He was solid and warm and smelled amazing and…
Not hugging her back.
His hand was on the handle of her car door, just the one arm stretched out. Her sluggish brain put it together a few seconds too late. He’d reached around her to open the door.
Heat crawled up her neck and settled into her cheeks as they burned with the embarrassment of a thousand suns. “Oh. I… Wow, thanks so much for opening my door. Obviously, I super appreciate it. Goodbye!”
“Jemma.”
She waved, acting like she didn’t hear him. The way he’d said her name had been in this letting-down-easy way she couldn’t stand to hear right now, not with mortification taking over.
She snapped her seat belt into place and quickly started her car. She gave another wave without looking directly at him—but enough at him that she didn’t run him over and complete her humiliation.
What had she been thinking? Calling it a date in her head and launching herself at him while he was being a gentleman? She’d try to claim it was simply a friendly gesture on her end, but she was sure her squeaky voice and red face would give her away.
The way her heart thunked, thunked, splatted, definitely did.
Chapter Seventeen
Wyatt’s gaze sought out Jemma the moment he stepped inside the gymnasium at the elementary school. Onstage, several people milled about open boxes of varying sizes, moving props here and there. The woman he was looking for stood in the middle of the action, pointing people in different directions.
Bailey Rae perked up at his side, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m gonna go find my bow and arrow to show you.”
He nodded, and she was off and sprinting up the steps to the stage. She paused to hug Jemma, who smiled and squeezed her back. A moment later, Jemma peered over his daughter’s head at him.
Every ounce of oxygen whooshed out of his lungs. It was like he kept forgetting how pretty she was. How much joy seeing her happy face brought him. He’d be sure he fully realized it, then her eyes would lock on to his, and he’d take in the slope of her nose and the way her hair framed her cheekbones and how her grin radiated through her features, and yeah. Pretty inside and out.
Not a newsflash, but it still struck him motionless for a couple of seconds.
Last night, he’d had such a great time. He’d wanted to hold her hand in the diner and as he walked her to the car, but he’d restrained himself.
Finally, he’d forced himself to open her car door so he could tell her goodbye. Then he’d gone home to mope about the fact that he had to consider what was best instead of being the impulsive kid he’d been in high school.
He hadn’t realized she’d assumed he’d been going in for a hug, and the way she’d thrown her arms around him had spun the world off its axis.
Even now, the ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet, his center of gravity changing to the woman up front.
Jemma ducked her head and glanced away, breaking him out of his trance. Clearly she was embarrassed, and as he’d started to do last night before she’d sped away, he wanted to tell her she had nothing to be embarrassed about.
He should probably clarify that he wasn’t looking for a relationship right now, though. That they should stick to friends. How did one do that without offending the other person? Especially when it was the opposite of what he selfishly wanted to do?
Bailey Rae stepped out from the velvety blue curtains that’d seen better days—they’d seen better days when he’d been in in elementary school—and withdrew a heart-tipped arrow. She notched it into a big white bow.
Right as he opened his mouth to ask if she was supposed to be firing it onstage, his daughter demonstrated how much of a crack shot she was by launching the arrow at Jemma.
The chiding he was about to give Bailey Rae crashed into the warning he meant to call out, but it was too late anyway.
The foam, heart-tipped arrow hit her teacher right in the bum, and as she spun around to find the source of what’d hit her, he clamped his lips so he wouldn’t laugh.
“Sorry, Miss Monroe,” Bailey Rae called, but the giant, toothy grin sapped some of the sincerity. His dad senses pricked up, although he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Jemma simply laughed, tossed the arrow back to Bailey Rae, and told her to be more careful.
Wyatt’s boots echoed up the steps and across the stage as he crossed over to the woman in charge to receive his instructions. He tipped his hat, hoping to lighten the mood and return things to normal between them. “Howdy, ma’am. Heard there were sets to be built.”
“You heard right, cowboy,” she said, but she didn’t quite meet his eyes. He was sure it was because of how last night had ended. If he’d known Jemma was going to hug him, he absolutely would’ve hugged her back.
Even if he should know better.
He stretched out his fingers and brushed them down her arm. At the touch of her soft skin, they automatically curled until his hand cupped her elbow. “Put me to work, city girl.”
Her gaze lifted, and her smile hit him square in the chest, flooding it with sunshine. The knot he hadn’t realized was causing the tightness in his chest loosened. They were okay. He needed them to be okay.
Which, unfortunately, only reiterated everything he already knew.
“The right section of the set is in severe need of a facelift. The fabric’s drooping, and I’m afraid it’ll come the rest of the way down halfway through the show if we don’t do something about it. If you could take care of that, I’d appreciate it.”
She was still being oddly formal. Possibly because of their audience.
Since he could stand here all day and still not figure out the inner workings of the female mind, he hefted his toolbox and headed in the direction she’d pointed. He wished his task took him closer to Jemma, but after last night, there’d definitely be enough speculation about them to keep April busy telling anyone who’d listen all about it when they came into her coffee shop.
He was up on the ladder, pounding a nail into the frame of the set, when he spotted his daughter’s colorful outfit out of the corner of his eye. Today it was a shirt with glittery silver hearts and a purple, pink, and blue tulle skirt. Since she’d found the skirt online and had done extra chores for two weeks to earn it—all while talking nonstop about it—he knew a ridiculous amount about fabric these days.
He paused and watched as Bailey Rae giggled at whatever the Matthews boy told her, the tip of one of her pink boots turning inward as she shyly brought up a shoulder.
The clack of heels drew his attention downward, to Jemma. She glanced out the “window” that would give her a prime view of the kids. “Aren’t they cute?”
He frowned. “‘Cute’ isn’t the word I’d use. She’s only nine—and just barely.”
“It’s just a little crush.”
He shook his head. When he glanced back to where the kids had been, they were gone. He tested the bounds of the ladder, stretching taller, but he still didn’t see them.
Jemma reached up and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Anyway, I just came to see if you need more nails.”
“Yes, please.” He descended a few ladder steps to grab them, hesitating with his hand hovering over her palm.
The Matthews kid streaked across the stage in large strides.
“Chase, don’t you dare jump off the—” Before Jemma could get out the rest of her sentence, he leaped. She threw her free hand over her face, her fingers spread enough she could halfway watch as he hurtled through the air.
The kid’s boots landed on the gym floor with a loud thud.
Something smacked Wyatt in the rear, and he swung around in time to see Bailey Rae dart behind the curtains with her bow, her quiver wiggling with her rapid movements.
The heart-tipped arrow she’d hit him with had landed at his feet. He had a sneaking suspicion the Matthews kid had been a distraction.
Wyatt had definitely been Cupid’s target.
Jemma stifled her laugh the best she could as she eyed the foam-tipped arrow next to the heel of Wyatt’s boot. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d been shot today—and thank goodness she’d made sure those were soft arrows.
“Bailey Rae,” Wyatt said, in that low, warning parental tone that made most kids sit up straighter. While there was plenty of storm in his voice, he hadn’t quite managed to cover up the hint of amusement.
She popped her head through the set window, her curls forming a blond halo that made her look extra cherubic. “Sorry, Daddy! It was a bet, though, and I couldn’t lose a bet.”
“Maybe we should put away the bow and arrows for now,” Jemma said, gesturing for her to hand them over.
Bailey maneuvered the bow and quiver full of heart-tipped arrows through the window to Jemma. She grinned up at her, and while she’d seen a lot of expressions on Bailey’s face, she’d never seen so much mischief in the mix.
Which meant she should take measures to ensure whatever she and Chase had planned didn’t get out of control.
“Bailey, can you go work on the Olympus sign?” Jemma turned and raised her voice. “Chase. Mr. Langford needs a volunteer to help him nail up the sagging canvas. Can you come up here and use some of those treehouse-building skills to whip our set into shape?”
“Sure thing, Miss Monroe.” The clinging noise of his spurs rang out as he climbed up the stairs and grabbed a hammer. There was a whole lot of mischief in his features, but that wasn’t uncommon when it came to Chase.
A month ago, she would’ve balked at the idea of handing a student a hammer, but his parents had okayed it, saying he’d been building things for years. In fact, they’d told her the more jobs she could give him that would wear him out, the better.
“I’m okay to leave you two alone, right?” she asked Wyatt, the smile on her face undoubtedly moving to smug territory.
He tilted his head as if to say he didn’t find it funny but that she didn’t need to ask. Which she knew, but it was fun to tease him about his daughter’s crush.
She only got one step away before his deep voice drifted over and sent tingly currents skittering across her skin. “Miss Monroe, don’t you think it’s high time you learned how to hammer? You never know when a skill like that’ll come in handy.”
Her shoulders tensed, and she spun around on her heel. “Who said I didn’t know how?”
She got the head tilt again. He twisted the hammer in his hands around and extended the handle toward her.
Okay, so she didn’t have extensive hammering skills, but from what she remembered when halfheartedly building props for the high school production of The Wizard of Oz, it was just swing and hit. Like baseball, only the nail was steady.
Not that she’d played baseball very many times, and it’d been at least a decade. She also had struck out all but once, and that hit had been so short the first baseman had caught it before she could get there.
But if it meant Wyatt standing close to her like he’d done when he’d been acting as advisor for her half-court shot, she decided she could use a refresher.
Jemma took the hammer from him. “For the record, I have swung a hammer before. It’s just been a while.”
“Great. Then you can teach me.”
She gave him a mock dirty look, and he grinned.
Although other teachers and parents were making various props, helping students paint signs, and color the butcher paper they’d put in the windows to make it appear sunny or stormy “outside,” depending on the scene, Jemma was still in charge. She quickly scanned the area, biting back a snigger when Mrs. Hembolt was seated in a chair next to the kids with the markers, singing out instructions in her loud, soprano voice.
Half the kids seemed happy about it, and some winced, but it was effective at making all of them work faster.
Since everyone was accounted for and busy—even Chase was hammering away—she turned back to Wyatt. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“The canvas is coming undone right here and needs more securing.” Wyatt pointed, while with the other hand, he dug a nail out of the pocket on hi
s shirt.
She took the nail from him, lined it up, and went to tap it in. It sort of caught, but when she removed her fingers so she could swing harder, the nail fell. Ah, yes, now it was all coming back to her, how she’d gotten frustrated at how the nails wouldn’t stay in, so she’d given up and had handed the hammer over to one of her classmates.
She bent to get the dropped nail at the same time as Wyatt did, and they knocked heads. They both came up giggling and rubbing their foreheads. “You’re as hardheaded as I expected,” she joked, and he laughed harder.
“Right back at you.” He positioned the nail in place and instructed her to tap it in.
“You trust me not to smash your fingers?”
He simply shrugged.
“I don’t trust me to do that.”
“I’ve had plenty of smashed fingers in my day.”
She carefully tapped it in, and it was easier since she didn’t have to hold it at the same time. Once it was for sure lodged in place, Wyatt let it go, and she hit the head of the nail a little harder. It bent slightly, but the fabric stayed place.
“Here, I’m just going to make sure it’s flat enough not to catch a kid as they walk by.” Wyatt took the hammer and flattened the head of the nail, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he concentrated.
Jemma couldn’t help staring, watching his arms flex as he swung the hammer, admiring the amount of concentration he poured into everything. Her emotions were getting the best of her, and she didn’t look away in time to avoid being caught. But as Wyatt’s gaze met hers, he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she got that fresh-from-the-rollercoaster feeling in her gut.
“What else needs to be done?” Mrs. Russell asked, and Jemma jerked her attention away from Wyatt. All around, people were watching them. Some were trying to be surreptitious about it, and some didn’t bother.
“Please put the painted decorations off to the side to dry, and I’ll make sure to come in early on Monday to put them away before they have any gym classes. As soon as Mr. Langford and I secure this last section, we can fill in the windows and hang decorations, and then we should be about done for the day.”
