A Kiss to Build a Dream On (15 page)

“All right,” Anna said, crossing her arms. “Spill it. Tell me what's going on, because you look downright
lost
.”

Burk paused. Was
lost
the word for it?

Jackass
was more like it. That was what you called someone who'd shut down like he had this morning, especially to someone as beautiful and irresistible as Willa.

He tried for a moment to tell himself it was better this way—keeping her at a distance would make her imminent departure from White Pine so much easier—but it felt disingenuous. He was beginning to lose sight of how he'd even get her to sell him the house at this rate.

“All right,” he admitted finally, “I'm just not sure the project over at Willa's is going as smoothly as I'd hoped. It's frustrating.”

“The project is frustrating, or she's frustrating?”

“Both,” he replied. “She just darts around, painting furniture as if she's an expert, and putting herself in harm's way. Not to mention she took up a big chunk of my time, asking for help redoing that coffee table. Plus, she's making these collages that I just don't even know what to do with. And I can't even—”

He stopped when he realized Anna was smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Keep going.”

“No. Why are you grinning like that?”

“Because it's nice to see you have some emotion about a woman for once. You never talked this much about what's-her-name from the Paul Bunyan Diner.”

“Brittany.”

“Right. Her. I just like seeing you take an interest in someone. It's nice.”

“I took an interest in Brittany. We dated for a year.”

“You banged her for a year. That's different.”

Burk opened his mouth to argue, then found he couldn't. He also found he didn't like the way his sister kept grinning at him, as if she were up to something. Sure enough, she broke their stare-off to look around the apartment.

“You know, you've lived here for five years now, and it strikes me that you've never once hung up a piece of art.”

“I don't have any art.”

“Exactly. Or any throws for the couch, or any candles for the bathroom, or a kitchen table that isn't from a garage sale.”

“It was a bargain at twenty bucks,” Burk replied, irritated that his sister was suddenly critiquing his décor. “How's my decorating your business again?”

“Because from what I hear, Willa seems to have a knack for it. Or at least making old things look good again. I bet she could do wonders with your space.”

“My space is fine.”

“She probably has a list of tips she could give you. Five easy things you could do to make this place less college dorm-y.”

“I like it this way.”

“I should probably invite her over to dinner one of these Fridays, you know. Give you guys a chance to talk about it.”

Burk's frustration surged. “I don't need her help. In fact, just the opposite. She needs mine.” He thought about her lying on her bed, inviting him to join her, to experience something new together. “And she needs to stop complicating things already. She's making things harder than they need to be.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Complicating things how?”

Burk shook his head, wishing he hadn't let his thoughts come out of his mouth. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Anna unwrapped Juniper from Burk's leg. He hadn't even noticed she was there. “Well, either way, I think she'll be a great addition to a Friday dinner. Maybe a week from this Friday? I'll let you pass the invitation along to Willa.”

Burk didn't bother answering. She wasn't really asking him if it was okay. She was telling him what she was doing, and daring him not to be all right with it. He kissed Juniper's cheek as they headed out the door. She waggled her chubby fingers at him, and he knew the answer. He'd be at Anna's house on Friday, on time and with a bottle of wine to share. Any excuse to spend time with Juniper was a good excuse in his book.

But there was another part of him that prickled with something like excitement at the idea of seeing Willa, too. Both of them outside the house. In clothes not spattered with paint. A date, kind of.

Except not a date
, he told himself firmly. Just a chance to talk. Away from their projects.

Even if all they were going to do was talk, he was going to have to smooth things out with her beforehand. Maybe even apologize for the way he'd stormed out of her bedroom after sex.

He tried to ignore the small thrill pulsing deep inside. He'd shoulder the burden. He'd find a way to get back in Willa's good graces and—

He didn't let himself think about the possibility of them sleeping together again.

No.
First things first. Patch it up.

Once it was all worked out,
then
he could fantasize about Willa.
Then
he could imagine her laid out on the bed, wet with desire and anticipation. He could think about the ways he would kiss her, stroke her, enter her, and make her feel special, feel beautiful, feel worshipped. He could—

The uncomfortable press of his erection against the seam of his jeans stopped him in mid-thought. He shook his head.

He was going to have to figure out how to crack the door on his emotions about Willa without being overwhelmed by them.

If there was a pinch of doubt in his gut, he ignored it. This was going to work.

Burk puttered around, wiping the remnants of Juniper's grape juice and cookie snack off the kitchen table and tidying up. Then he paused, wondering what the sound was that was suddenly filling the apartment.

He blinked when he realized it was himself.

He'd been humming.

W
illa hesitated before crossing the threshold into the White Pine Lutheran Church. With all the sinful thoughts about Burk Olmstead she'd had rolling around in her brain—and other parts of her body—these past few weeks, she worried she might burst into flames if she stepped foot in this holy place.

But Audrey had insisted she come because people needed to see her out and about, as a member of the community. “Even if you get your B and B up and running, local people won't stay there unless they
know
you,” Audrey had argued. And Willa admitted she had a point. It was time to show her face in places besides Knots and Bolts and track practice, and to let people know she was serious about sticking around.

Thankfully, nothing ignited as she stepped into the high-ceilinged space. Her heels were muted on the center aisle's red carpet as she hunted for a seat in the pews. Morning light filtered through the windows, where all the apostles were posing with Picasso-esque features, thanks to the blocks of color on the stained glass. A great organ piped a languid hymn into the air, while Pastor Sondheim sat on a bench just to the right of the pulpit, frowning over his Bible, not looking at the congregation as everyone settled in.

“Willa, over here!” She turned to see Stephanie waving at her. The twins, Adam and Molly, squirmed at Stephanie's side. Willa slid into the pew, grateful for a familiar face.

“I didn't know you were Lutheran,” Stephanie said, shoving a pack of fruit snacks at Adam, whose lower lip had started to quiver.

“Only technically,” Willa replied. “I haven't been to church in more than a decade.”

Next to her, Molly gave a little whine. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. Stephanie exhaled, and Willa couldn't help taking in the dark circles around her friend's eyes, and the tired lines around her mouth.

“Sweetheart, we just got our seats, and the service is about to start. Can't you hold it?”

“Noooo,” Molly replied, squeezing her legs together.

“Normally Alan's here to tag-team the service,” Stephanie said, brushing crumbs off her skirt, “but he got called into work today. He works for the utility company, and a transformer blew somewhere.”

“Here, let me take Molly,” Willa offered, standing before Steph could. She didn't wait for a reply, but scooped the four-year-old into her arms. “You sit. We'll be back in a jiffy.”

Stephanie nodded gratefully, and Willa walked back down the carpeted aisle with the girl in her arms.

“I don't know you, and Mommy says I shouldn't go with strangers,” Molly said, staring at Willa.

“I'm your mom's friend, and we're just going to the bathroom. If I don't take you immediately there and back, you have my permission to scream.”

Molly's eyes grew large. She and her twin brother had Stephanie's red hair and freckles, but their builds were stockier, their faces rounder, which must have been their dad's genes. “I can scream in church?”

“If I don't take you straight to the bathroom and back, yes.”

Molly grinned, and Willa stopped by the sanctuary entrance, searching for a sign pointing the way to the restrooms. Down a set of steps was the church's main entrance, where the doors had been thrown open to welcome visitors on the crisp, sunny morning. She blinked into the light just as Burk approached. Behind him were Anna and another man, whom Willa presumed was Anna's husband, Sam. There was also a doughy, adorable toddler, who she could only guess was Juniper.

“Shit,” she muttered, and Molly giggled.

“You said a swear in church!”

She set Molly down. “I did. And it's going to happen again if we don't get out of here.”

She saw Burk grab Juniper and lift her into the air. The sight of Burk with a child made her heart ache suddenly. Not that she was about to stick around long enough to think about why.

She grabbed Molly's hand. “Let's go this way,” Willa said, pulling her toward the nursery. But Molly dug in her heels and wouldn't budge.

“It's not that way,” she said, her eyes shining.

“What's not?”

“The bathroom.” And with that, Molly opened up her mouth and began screaming at the top of her lungs.

By the time Willa and Molly were settled back into the pew, Pastor Sondheim had already started the service. The entire congregation had stared as they'd noisily taken their seats toward the front. Willa flushed, realizing that she'd wanted people in the town to know she was back—and now they did, probably thinking that she'd abused a four-year-old girl in the short time she'd been around. The screaming, after all, had been
epic
.

Thankfully, Anna had raced over and had been able to calm Molly down, and Burk had even offered to go into the sanctuary and explain to Stephanie what was going on. The result of all of it was that the group of them were now seated together, taking up an entire pew. And, of course, she and Burk were stuck on the end, next to each other.

As Pastor Sondheim read the announcements, Willa tried not to notice the way her shoulder brushed against Burk's in the cramped space, or how the edge of her thigh pressed against his. When it came time to sing, they both reached for the hymnal, their fingers brushing.

Willa ignored the sparks on her skin and forced herself to glare at him. If he thought he could fuck her and then leave and pretend like everything was fine, singing songs like a pious Christian, he had another thing coming.

Of course, it didn't help one bit that Pastor Sondheim's stupid sermon was all about forgiveness. Willa wanted to ignore the hunched preacher at the pulpit, but for all his boorishness, he really was a great orator. He talked passionately about Peter betraying Jesus and getting a second chance. He painted the picture of Mary Magdalene's past not being held against her. “Even Judas would have been forgiven, I believe,” Sondheim said, his booming voice carrying out across the sanctuary, “if he'd just
asked
Jesus for another chance.”

By the end of the sermon, Willa's heart felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to it. She didn't know what to think about anything, and she filed along, dazed, with the entire congregation to the basement, where they were serving coffee, donuts, and hot dish.

In the cramped space, with kids' drawings of lambs and shepherds all around them, Willa helped herself to a donut, as well as coffee so weak it was tea-colored. She tried not to think about her favorite café on the Upper West Side, and the rich espresso it had served.

“That was sure something.” Willa turned to see Betty standing next to her, a paper plate piled with hot dish in her hand.

Willa could only shrug. “I
told
Molly she could scream. It's my fault, I suppose. I just got turned around trying to find the bathrooms.”

Betty arched a brow. “I meant the sermon.”

“Oh,” Willa replied. “Well, yes, I suppose it was.”

“Got me thinking,” Betty said, shoveling some of the casserole into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I could look at whatever business plan you drafted for that B and B. Maybe help you out with that a little. You know, point you in the right direction.”

Willa nearly dropped her coffee cup.
Betty was offering to help her.
“Th-Thank you. That would be amazing.”

“Don't thank me, thank Sondheim. It was a good sermon.”

There was a throat clearing behind them, and they both turned to see the good pastor, clad all in black, gazing at them. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

He looked uncomfortable in the crowd, his brow shining with sweat, and Willa wanted to say something to put him at ease, but she wasn't sure what.

“You ever have someone in your life you couldn't forgive?” Betty asked him. Willa was surprised at the direct question, but the pastor seemed to actually relax at the inquiry.

“No. But that's not to say it's easy. Forgiveness is one of the hardest things there is.”

Betty grunted. “You can say that again.” Willa shifted uncomfortably.

“I appreciate you coming,” Sondheim said to Betty after a moment, and Willa watched as his mouth almost twitched into a smile. Almost.

“Every Sunday. Like clockwork.”

This close up, Willa was astonished to observe how much younger the pastor was than she'd originally suspected. He was barely forty from the looks of it. If her dad were here, he'd call Sondheim an old soul. Before today, Willa might have opted for calling him a curmudgeon.

“Next week's sermon is on courage and boldness,” the pastor said, looking right at Betty as if Willa had ceased to exist. “I hope to be able to inspire everyone in the congregation, but most especially…myself.”

Betty was just opening her mouth to reply when a pair of similarly dressed older women waved from a few feet away. “Pastor!” the shorter of them said. “We've been looking for you. We need you to settle a disagreement for us.”

The pastor's expression strained visibly as he took in the women with their matching flowered dresses. “Be right there,” he said before turning back to Betty.

“It appears that Rae and Mae need me to settle another one of their bets,” he confided in a low voice. “The last one was about whether Chippewa Indians were descended from the ten lost tribes of Israel.” The pastor smiled wryly. “At this point, I just make up answers and hope they don't find out.”

Next to her, Betty emitted a high-pitched sound. It took a moment for Willa to realize it was a giggle. Sondheim's entire countenance brightened. He looked at Betty for a long moment before heading off to see the sisters. When he was gone, Willa faced her Knots and Bolts counterpart.

“What was
that
all about?”

Betty gave her a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

“Come on. You and the pastor? There's totally a spark there!”

Betty frowned, her smooth skin wrinkling. “I think you're imagining things. The pastor and I are friends. Besides, I have no use for sparks unless it's in my fireplace.”

Willa was just about to argue when she spotted Burk elbowing his way through the congregation. He looked as if he was going to approach them.

“Excuse me,” Willa said to Betty. “All this talk of sparks and I realized I left my iron plugged in at home.” It was an awful lie, and she was sure Betty saw right through her. Nevertheless, she tossed her Styrofoam coffee cup into the trash and raced up the stairs and out the main doors. She prayed Burk wouldn't follow her.

She had nothing to say to him, after all. No matter how you looked at it, she'd invited him into her bed, not the other way around, and if he chose to race away afterward—well, that was something a thousand prayers for a thousand years couldn't fix. What was done was done.

The irony of the whole situation wasn't lost on her, either. She'd left him twelve years ago without so much as a backward glance, and now he'd done the same to her, in a manner of speaking.

They were both too good at leaving.

“Lord have mercy,” Willa muttered, speeding toward her car and squinting against the bright Sunday sun.