The Remake

by Noelle Adams

  Fitz checked her face quickly, but she’d looked away from him—probably on purpose. He thought quickly, searching for a solution that would make her feel better. “What about blankets? Not the good quilts on the bed but something replaceable. Did I see some throw blankets in the living room? They won’t work like towels, but they might sop up some of the water until Madeline and Skye get back.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Belinda was already striding past him into the living room. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You were kind of distracted by everything else.” He reached out to take the stack of three neatly folded throw blankets she handed him. They were made of a soft, velvety material. Not great for water absorption but better than nothing. “We’ll try these.”

  They both went back into the bedroom and spread out the blankets on the pools of water that were expanding halfway into the room. Even under the bed.

  “How much water did the ridiculous thing hold?” he muttered on his hands and knees on the floor. He finally reached the end of the moisture with the edge of a blanket and tried to sop it up and push it out from under the bed.

  “I don’t know!” Belinda wailed, having wrung out her mop and returned to catch escaping rivulets. “It’s like it multiplied ten times over. And I don’t even know when it happened. We were all in the living room, and no one was paying attention. It could have been hours and hours of all that water flooding my poor floors.”

  The blankets were all soaked now, so Fitz pushed them together into a pile to pick up. If he left them, the water would seep back out onto the floors. “Well, it couldn’t have been hours, could it?” he asked her as he worked. “What time did the others get here?”

  “I don’t know. Around nine.”

  “And it’s just after eleven now. Did anyone go to the bathroom?”

  “Yeah. Shortly after they got here.” Belinda clung to the mop with both hands. “They would have seen the water if it had happened before then.”

  “Right. So an hour is basically tops. And it probably only flooded about fifteen minutes before you caught it. I think the floors look okay.”

  “You do?” Belinda sounded hopeful now, which had been his intention. She leaned over to peer at the floor near where he was kneeling.

  He was glad to make her feel better, but he wished she’d chosen a different position. Her bathrobe wasn’t pulled tight enough. When he looked up at her, he was greeted to a full view of firm, luscious breasts, swaying slightly as she started to straighten up.

  He gulped and jerked his gaze away as he was slammed with a hot wave of desire.

  Belinda never wore clothes that showed off her body. It wasn’t that she seemed particularly modest. It was more that she didn’t have time and patience to mess with it. So he’d never seen her in a swimsuit or a low-cut dress or any outfit that revealed more than her arms and legs.

  He’d known she’d had good breasts. But he’d never seen more than the outline beneath her clothes.

  This was not the time or place for him to begin to handle the physical response the sight of her body provoked in him.

  “They look okay,” she said, still worried about her floors when Fitz was having to fight off a very inappropriate erection. “You think they look okay, don’t you?”

  “They look okay,” he managed to grit out. The thing that saved him was imagining how horrified Belinda would be if she knew what was going on with him at that moment. The look of revulsion he was imagining on her face was enough to stifle the arousal. So he was able to stand up—rather awkwardly—with the pile of wet blankets in his arms. “I’ll put these in the laundry room. See if you can mop up the rest of it in the bedroom. Then we’ll work on the hall.”

  By the time he returned from the laundry room, he’d fully pulled himself together. And in a few minutes they’d collected the wet towels and with some mopping and a whole roll of paper towels had gotten the floors in the hall and bedroom no more than damp.

  “Thank you,” Belinda said, collapsing onto the floor without warning, the mop still in her hand. It was like she was so exhausted her legs could no longer hold her. “When they get back with the towels, we can get the last of this dampness off. I think they’re okay.”

  “They’re fine,” Fitz said, easing down to sit beside her. “They’re going to be fine.”

  Belinda stroked one plank of dark wood on the floor almost tenderly. “This is my parents’ house,” she said in a small voice he’d never heard from her before.

  “I know,” he said gently. “I know it is.”

  “I realize it’s not like they’re haunting this house or anything ridiculous like that. But I still feel them here. I’m not ready to let it go yet.”

  “You don’t have to. The floors are fine. The house is in great condition. You’ve done a great job with it.”

  She sniffed and shot him a sideways glance. Almost shy. “Me and Ria. They left it to me because they left her the flower shop, but I always considered it as belonging to both of us.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve always been the one to take care of it, haven’t you?”

  She nodded. “But only because I wanted to. Ria would have helped if I’d asked.” She was looking down at the floors again, as if she might be afraid to meet his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so attached to it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said gruffly. “Why shouldn’t you be attached?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a house.”

  “It’s not just a house. It’s your family home. You shouldn’t give it up until you’re ready. Until you want to. And if you never do, then you shouldn’t.”

  “You think so?” She was giving him that almost bashful sidelong look again.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  She nodded. “I think so too. Thanks for helping me.”

  “Of course. What else did I have to do? And I’m sorry if I made it seem like...” He waved toward her makeup. “You look good.”

  She gave a dry, breathy laugh, her eyes flashing in their normal manner. “It is kind of strange. Seeing myself this way. I’m not sure if I like it or not.”

  “Then why do it if you don’t like it?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want to be...”

  He waited for the last word. He was actually holding his breath as he did. Because he desperately wanted to know what it was she wanted, what would make her happy.

  When she didn’t finish, he had to prompt, “You want to be what?”

  “I don’t know. Noticed. Or something.” She gave her head a little shake. It was clear to Fitz that she couldn’t believe she’d actually shared that with him. “Oh, I think Madeline and Skye are here with the towels.” She hauled herself up and hurried to the front door to greet her friends.

  Fitz got up more slowly. She might have tried to brush it off, but he’d heard what she’d said.

  She wanted to be noticed.

  Noticed.

  She was afraid she was going through life without anyone recognizing how beautiful she was. How amazing. How clever and quick and articulate. How generous and warmhearted.

  Fitz had noticed her.

  Seven years ago, when he needed to figure out somewhere to go—somewhere to spend the rest of his life after he left his old one behind—he’d blocked off a section of a map in the middle of the eastern part of the country (since he didn’t want anywhere too hot or too cold). Then he’d literally stuck a pin in a map.

  His pin had hit Azalea, so that was where he’d moved.

  His second day in town, he’d been talking to Ken Harley, who was the sheriff and wanted to make sure the stranger in town wasn’t looking for trouble, when Belinda had pushed her way out of the storefront in downtown that she’d made her office. She’d been in a hurry. Her hair had been pulled back. She’d been walking like she had a mission, but she’d paused to say hello to one of the old ladies who hung out at the laundromat. Her smile hadn’t been for Fitz, but it had shaken his world all the
same.

  He’d noticed her then, like he’d noticed her every other day of his years there.

  But she wouldn’t want to know that. Because one thing Fitz was absolutely sure of. His wasn’t the notice she was looking for.

  Three

  BELINDA HAD A FRAMED mirror in the dining room of her house, and every time she walked by that evening, she caught a glimpse of herself and gave a little jerk of surprise.

  She looked pretty. Really pretty. And still like herself.

  As of one o’clock that afternoon, she had her new water heater installed (thanks to Jacob’s and Fitz’s handyman skills) and her wood floors clean, dry, and polished. So to thank everyone who’d helped her today, she made chili and cornbread and invited them over for dinner.

  Since no one was coming she needed to impress, she didn’t do the whole makeup routine the girls had taught her this morning. She’d just put on a little eye makeup and some lip gloss. But she’d left her hair loose and was wearing one of the new outfits she’d bought yesterday based on Ria and Skye’s instructions.

  In truth, she wasn’t completely convinced about the outfit. She wasn’t a leggings person. They were comfortable but left her feeling half-dressed, despite the long length of her top. The sweater was soft and thin and draped in a flattering way. Plus it covered her butt, which was an absolute requirement if she was going to try out these leggings. Ria had assured her she looked gorgeous when she tried on the outfit for them this morning, and both Madeline and Skye had agreed. But it wasn’t what she normally wore, and she wondered if she could really pull it off.

  Also, the sweater was red. Red. Belinda’s wardrobe primarily consisted of black, gray, tan, navy, and (if she was feeling particularly wild) dark green. She couldn’t remember the last time she wore red. It did make her skin look brighter and her eyes stand out. But she wasn’t used to drawing attention to herself, even with something as normal as a vivid color.

  So far this evening, Ria and Jacob were here, as were Madeline with Ken and his two daughters. Ken’s youngest had tugged on the bottom of Belinda’s sweater and told her that she looked beautiful, which was about as sincere a compliment as Belinda could ever wish for.

  So she was in a good mood as she walked back to the kitchen through the dining room and caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  She did look pretty. No doubt about that. She’d almost forgotten she was capable of it.

  She was digging out some more cheddar cheese from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, since the bowl on the table already needed refilling, when a voice from behind her said, “They said I was invited tonight, but I wanted to verify that fact with you before I start to eat.”

  She jerked slightly at the familiar, drawling tone—dry, intelligent, sardonic—and straightened up as she turned to see Fitz.

  He’d changed his shirt since earlier today into a button-up with blue-and-gray checks. This one was old but not stained or threadbare. He was holding his jacket instead of wearing it. It was almost like he’d made an effort.

  “Of course you’re invited,” she told him, wondering why his eyes looked particularly blue tonight. “Everyone who helped is invited, and you helped.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I thought you might make an exception for me.” His mouth quirked irrepressibly beneath his untrimmed beard.

  She shook her head and made a face at him. “See, you might not know how it works, since you have no manners yourself, but nice, polite people don’t leave others out just because they’re obnoxious.”

  He chuckled, his eyes running up and down the length of her body in a way that gave her a little hot flash. “Is that how it works?”

  “Yes. That’s how it works.” She felt shy again—the way she’d felt with him earlier today. She wasn’t sure why it was happening since she wasn’t a shy person.

  He was still looking at her. Strangely urgent. It made her want to hide her face behind her hair. His voice was a little rougher than normal when he said, “You didn’t go all out with the makeup tonight.”

  “You mean all the stuff on my face?”

  “Yes. That. I like you this way.”

  He looked as if he liked her this way. For just a moment he looked like he was hungry for her. Like he might swallow her whole. And it sent a hot shiver down her spine until the feeling pulsed between her legs.

  What the hell?

  She shook off her response and turned back to the refrigerator, trying to remember what she’d been looking for in there. “I believe I told you before that I don’t dress to please you or anyone else. I dress to please me.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong, but I think you like yourself better this way too. You’re you.”

  He wasn’t wrong. He was absolutely right. She liked how she looked now better than she did with all the makeup on this morning. But it frightened her suddenly that he knew such a thing about her. That he could read her so easily.

  And that maybe she wanted him to.

  She couldn’t indulge such ridiculous, irrational feelings. She couldn’t.

  “Cheese,” she mumbled, thrilled to remember what she’d been looking for at last.

  “What?”

  “Cheese.” She smiled at him blandly as she turned around. “We’re already almost out on the table.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?”

  His tone was slow and teasing again. Normal. It was a relief. She must be absolutely desperate for attention if she was getting all flushed and fluttery over the look in Fitz’s eyes.

  Fitz. Who usually looked like a cynical fuzzy bear with his oversized jacket, glinting blue eyes, and long brown hair and beard. It wasn’t like he was sexy or anything. He did have nice broad shoulders, and he was definitely very strong. And his eyes were really pretty. But he never let anyone know what he really looked like under his clothes and hair. She couldn’t even imagine kissing him, much less doing anything else.

  As she went to the dining table to replenish the cheese in the bowl, she was hit with a sudden vision of Fitz’s face—his eyes all hot and possessive—as he leaned over to kiss her passionately. Then she imagined his lean, agile hands running all over her body.

  Shit. This was no good at all.

  She swallowed over her physical response and tried to shake off the mental images as she returned to the kitchen. Fitz was still standing there, like he was waiting to continue their conversation, but Belinda was wise and simply ignored him.

  After putting the cheese back, she tried to walk past him to return to her other guests, who’d gotten their food from the table and were gathered in the living room. But Fitz stepped in front of her.

  “What?” she demanded. Her voice was sharp, but that wasn’t unusual. Hopefully he’d have no idea what she was trying not to think about right now.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured thickly. “But you’ve always been beautiful. And don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.” He raised a hand to run his knuckles across her cheek.

  The light touch sent shock waves of pleasure all through her body. Her breath hitched and she stared up at him, momentarily unable to move or respond.

  Fitz’s hand moved to cup her face for just a moment before he suddenly dropped it and stepped back.

  She gulped. “Wh-what?” Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t believe this was really happening.

  That she wanted it to happen.

  “You heard me,” he said in his normal voice. “Just making sure you know you don’t have to get all dolled up for some undeserving guy.”

  The shift in mood hit her like a blow. She sucked in a breath and narrowed her eyes. “I was never all dolled up. And I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not waiting around with bated breath for your opinion.”

  “Then who is your breath bated for?”

  She wanted to smack him. She really did. Not just because of his teasing—which was getting far closer to the truth than she wanted anyone to get—but also because of the disappointment over
how she’d misinterpreted the moment before.

  Had she really thought he was about to kiss her?

  Had she really wanted it?

  Exactly how stupid could a girl be?

  “Not for you,” she whispered, since she heard the murmur of voices in the living room raise in a way that made it clear the rest of her guests had arrived. “Never for you.”

  She left the kitchen without another look at him.

  FITZ STAYED WHERE HE was for a minute or two until he’d gotten control of himself.

  He’d sworn up and down that he was going to behave himself this evening. He was going to have a brief conversation with Belinda to thank her for inviting him and make sure things were normal between them. Then he was going to eat and hang out with people he liked and not pine over a woman he could never have.

  But his libido had been sent into overdrive at the first glimpse of her lush, slim body and unbound hair. He’d acted like a horny adolescent. Like a lovesick schoolboy. He’d confused and flustered her, and then when he’d come to his senses, he’d hurt her feelings by his quick withdrawal.

  He was a fool. And he absolutely had to do better.

  After a firm inner lecture, he walked back to the living room. Only to discover that Skye and Matthew had brought a friend with them.

  Charles Kensington.

  Damn it all to hell.

  It was obvious that all of Belinda’s friends were subtly maneuvering to give Belinda a chance with Charles. She’d clearly not invited him herself. She looked startled but then infuriatingly happy at his unexpected appearance.

  Fitz was grumbling to himself silently as he got a bowl of chili and a square of cornbread. The food was simple and delicious. Everything Belinda made was. She was one of those people who could do anything they set out to do.

  Which meant she’d be able to hook Charles. Probably without any trouble at all. After all, who in the world wouldn’t want a woman as beautiful and smart and generous and committed and passionate as her?