Love Inspired November 2014 #2 (13 page)

Sure, it was impulsive. It was probably even cowardly and childish, but none of that stopped Charlotte from making the quickest exit possible while the crowd moved toward the stage to congratulate the Red Suspenders for stealing the show.

She was glad she'd walked to the church tonight, grateful for the space and dark and calm to help sort out her thoughts. Jesse was magnetic—in every sense the word implied. As she worked the brand-new lock on her front door, she recalled the unsettling realization she'd come to the other night: her extravagant renovation plans were partially to keep Jesse around.

Lord, I'm a mess. I'm getting all tangled up here. Help!

As she dropped her handbag in the hallway, her cell phone rang. She didn't even have to look at the screen to know it was Jesse. “Hey, where'd you go?” He sounded so exuberant.

“I'm home.”

“Home? You went home?”

“I'm sorry,” she replied, leaning against the wall without even switching on the light. “Look, that was just a bit much for me.”

She heard him push out a breath. “What? The song? I know you like that one. I was just having fun.”

Could he have picked worse words? “Just having fun.”

“Wait, what's wrong here? Did I embarrass you? I'm sorry if I did that, okay? I thought you'd like it. I like singing to you. You looked like you were having fun.”

She couldn't help her reply. “Oh, they were all having fun, I'm sure. You're quite the showman.”

Someone tried to grab his attention, and she heard Jesse shoo them away. “Are you upset that I sang to you in front of everyone like that?”

She wasn't, and that was part of the problem. “No. It's just... I don't know. I just wanted to get out of there, okay?”

“No, it's not okay. I'm not quite sure what I did wrong here, but I don't want to leave it like this. Talk to me. Better yet, give me ten minutes and I'll be over there.”

“No, don't.” She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what a stab that might be but then wondering—with the way he was always careful to hide what he was feeling—if that would be any kind of a dent to him at all.

“I'm at a loss here, Charlotte. C'mon, talk to me.”

“It's... I'm okay. Stunned, maybe. Give me time.”

“I sang to lots of people. But I especially sang to you. We've got a history with that song, don't we? Wait...are you upset that I didn't sing it only to you? Is that what this is about?”

It sounded so petty, so hopelessly infatuated when he said it, that Charlotte cringed and sank against the wall. There was more to it than that, but she couldn't put it into words. She couldn't even answer him.

“Whoa. It's not like that. It was an impulse, an entertainer thing.” After a moment he said, “I'm a jerk. A show-off. Let's talk about this. Dinner tomorrow, right?”

It wouldn't help. She'd just see his eyes and the whole tumbling would start all over again.

“Charlotte...don't make this into something it wasn't. If you won't let me come over there now, at least let's do dinner like we planned.”

“I just need to...I don't know, sort this out somehow. Good night, Jesse, you were amazing. Really, really amazing.”

She heard him fending off someone else, then come back to the phone. “Dinner. I'm not hanging up until you agree to dinner.”

She didn't have the nerve to fight him off right now. “Okay. Dinner.” She ended the call.

Would anything change in twenty-four hours? Was she being fair if she didn't allow Jesse a chance to explain himself? Charlotte had no idea. Half an hour of sitting still and trying to listen for God brought no clarity. Fifteen minutes of petting Mo and staring into his wise yellow eyes didn't help, either. Knitting—her usual solace of preference—lasted less than ten minutes. Finally, in desperation, Charlotte turned on her laptop to look over her e-mail.

There, at the top of her inbox, was an e-mail from Borroughs Yarn and Fabric Supply in Stowe, Vermont. Every knitter knew Borroughs was a great company, a maker of high-quality yarns. Now they were developing an admirable reputation for inventive patterns and clever supplies for all kinds of textile arts. They'd already taken many of the steps she'd been trying to get Monarch to consider in utilizing digital media. Their blog was gaining serious traction—they were getting it right and seeing results. And they were asking her to come out for an interview after the upcoming Fourth of July holiday to discuss the possibility of heading up their new online commerce department.

I need this. Even if I don't get the job, it will put a bit of space between Jesse and I so I can think. Thank You, Lord. I knew You'd make a way.

Charlotte replied that she'd let them know as soon as her flights were booked. Now she'd have something to put some space between her and that charismatic, problematic fireman.

Chapter Thirteen

“V
ermont?” Melba looked as shocked as Charlotte had expected her to be.

“Well, just part of the time. Or all of the time if I want it, and the company and I can come to an agreement.” They were having a spontaneous post-church picnic on a blanket in Melba's backyard, watching Maria kick and wiggle.

“Vermont?” Melba said again. “And you're actually considering it?”

“I was laid off a month ago today. I've been putting out feelers every day since then, and all I've got to show for it is a few phone interviews that made me feel inept and a stack of carefully worded deflections.” Maybe it wasn't such a smart idea to have kept how badly the job search was going from Melba all this time. “There aren't as many jobs out there as I thought there were. Monarch's not the only company feeling the pinch.”

“But you're here. You want to be here.” Melba scooped up Maria as if to shield her from the news. “Don't you?”

Charlotte sighed. “Of course I do. But I need a job, and there don't seem to be any jobs for me here.” It was the first time she'd spoken that truth out loud, and it let loose the growing tendril of fear in the pit of her stomach she'd been trying so hard to ignore. She'd been so sure of her path up until now. So convinced God had led her straight to Gordon Falls.

So sure she never wanted to be attached to someone like Jesse Sykes.

Melba settled Maria into her lap and furrowed her brows. “Did your mom finally get to you?”

Charlotte's mom, usually supportive, had lately begun to express concerns about Charlotte buying the cottage and sinking so much of her inheritance into the renovations. She hadn't said anything during the sale and the first days, but telling comments had started sneaking their way into conversations. A doubt here, a question there, a disapproving silence after renovation updates on the phone. The unspoken current of “and you still don't have a new job” ran constantly under every conversation. “Let's just say she hasn't been enthusiastic in her support.”

Normally she didn't let her mother get to her that way, but the undeniable truth was that Charlotte was starting to worry about it herself. The gorgeous high-end kitchen faucet that cost twice as much as the standard—was that really what she needed? The armoire from the antiques store—was that really “the most darling thing she'd ever seen” or had it seemed that way because she'd gotten two rejections that day? The credit card bill had come last night, and it hadn't been pretty. Sure, she had the funds for now, but she couldn't—shouldn't—keep up the spending like this. Things were starting to come unraveled around the edges; she knew it on some level, just didn't know what to do about it.

“Don't let her get to you, Charlotte. You love that house. You belong in that house.”

That was still true. Charlotte leaned back on her elbows, admiring the emerald-green of the leaves as they fluttered in the breeze overhead. It was so wonderfully green here. Everything seemed to be thriving—well, everything except her. “I didn't say I was going to sell the house. I just may not get to live here for a while.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'll still finish the renovations, but I might have to rent it out for a while.”

Melba twirled a leaf over Maria's head, watching how her eyes followed the shapes and colors. “I can't imagine anyone in that house but you. You can't rent it to just anyone.”

“Actually,” Charlotte said carefully, keeping her voice as neutral as possible, “I was thinking of asking Jesse if he wanted to rent it. I know he just lives in an apartment now and it might make it easier to finish the renovations.”

“Yes.” Melba raised her eyebrows. “Let's talk about Jesse. About what's going on between you two. You could have lit half the valley on the sparks flying between you two at the talent show last night.”

“He's a showman.”

“Yes, he is. But while he sang to some other people, it was a whole different thing when he sang to you. And you still haven't told me about Friday's dinner in your kitchen. I want to hear it all—everything from dinner to why you disappeared after the talent show.”

Bit by bit, Charlotte unfolded the entire story of dinner at the cottage. It felt useful to put the thing into words, to try and describe—if she couldn't hope to explain—what had sprung up between her and Jesse. Melba's response was an unlikely mix of surprise and “I told you so.” She, of all people, could understand the pile of conflict mounting in Charlotte's heart.

“Wow,” she said when Charlotte finished her tale and fell flat on her back on the blanket. “I mean, really, wow. This is a side of Jesse I don't think anyone's ever seen. He's mostly just a goofball around the firehouse, but it seems the man is an insufferable romantic.”

Charlotte put her hands over her eyes, the vision of Jesse's magnetic gaze heating her cheeks all over again. “So what if he is? That doesn't mean he's capable of—or even looking for—commitment. Come on, your own husband called him ‘an insufferable bachelor.' I don't want to be just another member of the Jesse Sykes fan club.”

“I'm sure you can tell the difference.”

“No, I can't. Not yet,” Charlotte admitted, rolling onto her stomach to bury her face in the blanket. “I was defenseless when he sang to me in my kitchen, too. ‘You Send Me' while he made the Alfredo sauce.”

“The Sam Cooke song? I think I'd melt right into the Alfredo.”

“I'm pretty sure I did. And the kiss...” She rolled back over and draped her hand over her face dramatically. “Glory, but that man can kiss. I was a goner. If it hadn't been for Mo, I'd have been in serious trouble. I
am
in serious trouble.” She sat up. “That's what makes it so hard—I can't tell what's genuine. If he was just a guy on the make, I don't think he would have backed off when I asked him to in my kitchen. There's really something there. But you saw what he did to those other women in the audience. I don't know what's real. I'm not even sure he knows.”

“I don't, either, but I'm pretty sure moving to Vermont isn't the answer.”

“But it could be. I've lost my job and Mima. I'm not in a good place to think smart right now.”

“Have you talked to him about any of this?”

“We were going to talk at dinner tonight, but he called me earlier and said he got pulled onto duty and we have to postpone. What if some time and distance is exactly what I need? The cottage will still be here in a year, and I'll be stronger.”

“And Jesse? What if he's not here?”

That would be okay, wouldn't it? That would mean God had helped her shut a door she wasn't strong enough to shut on her own. That was what she'd prayed for, what she'd come to understand as the opportunity this Vermont job offer presented. Only if that were true, where was that sense of assurance, that ability to leap forward that had always been her strength? “Then I'll know it wasn't supposed to work out.”

Melba gave her a doubtful stare. “You need to talk to him, Charlotte. You need to tell him in person that you're thinking about the Vermont offer. You need to ask him outright what's going on between the two of you.”

“I know. I know. We'll have dinner tomorrow and I'll do it then.”

Chapter Fourteen

T
here was a reason most firefighters hated the Fourth of July.

It was as if the world was ganging up on him to make sure he didn't have enough time to think through what was going on with Charlotte. Three false alarms, two parades, multiple firecracker-related incidents and four guys sick on the squad. As Jesse was fond of joking, “Some weeks it just didn't pay to be a volunteer firefighter.” And that wasn't even counting the two construction jobs that were stymied by the holiday and back-ordered supplies.

He'd used the time away from Charlotte to go over that night at the talent show a dozen times in his head. It wasn't as if he'd planned what he was going to do when he went into the audience, but the way Charlotte looked at him had practically pulled him offstage. He loved what his voice did to her eyes, the way his touch could raise color in her cheeks. They had such a strong connection that he felt just a bit out of control when he sang to her.

That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The leap in his gut made him pull back, made him resort to old tricks and play up to other women in the audience. He'd known exactly what he was doing when he'd shifted his attention to the high school teacher, had even guessed how Charlotte would react. It didn't surprise him that the other women were as entertained as Charlotte was. It did stun him that he didn't enjoy their blushing smiles. He'd walked back to the stage that night not wanting to sing the final chorus to anyone but Charlotte. That was not who Jesse Sykes was. He wasn't ready to be so serious with Charlotte, or with any one woman right now.

Still, he couldn't stay away. The tone of her voice—the hurt and confusion when they'd spoken on the phone—echoed in his head no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. He told himself it was okay, maybe even a good thing, that things felt off-kilter when they'd talked. It was for the best that things had cooled off considerably when he was forced to postpone their date for Dellio's until after the Fourth. This unpredictability was part of his life, part of why he couldn't get serious with a woman. It was better that they'd have to take separate cars, because he was still wearing a beeper tonight, on call in case one of the other firefighters called in sick with whatever nasty bug was still making its way around the firehouse.

If he got called in out of their dinner, the interruption would be a sore spot for Charlotte. Still, the firehouse and its demands were part of who he was. If anything were ever to work out between them, they'd have to figure this part out. He just didn't know if that was possible. He still wanted to take this in small steps, and he just didn't know if Charlotte was capable of small steps in anything.

Even though it had been his idea, Jesse found Dellio's an annoying opposite of their first dinner. It was a local favorite; a noisy, greasy, delicious diner—one of the few places Jesse felt produced burgers nearly as good as his own. And the French fries? They were legendary—everybody loved them.

She was waiting in his favorite booth. That had to be a good sign. Despite all the complications, he still wanted tonight to go well, still wanted to move things forward and halt the backward slide they'd taken. Other women had never wandered continually into his thoughts like this—even on the job, where he used to be known for his single-minded focus.

“Glad you finally made it.” She was trying to make a joke of it, to keep things light, but it was clear the long postponement had hit a nerve.

“Yeah.” He surprised himself by hiding the beeper in his pocket and switching it to Vibrate so that she wouldn't see he was on call.
Cut her some slack, okay, God?
He was equally surprised to feel the tiny prayer rise up out of him, hoping the God she spoke to so easily had enough kindness not to rub salt in the wound tonight.
No calls—I'd consider it a favor.
He switched subjects. “How's Mo settling in?”

“Generous of you to ask, considering. He's doing okay. He hasn't broken or shredded anything, if that's what you mean, but there isn't a lot to shred just yet. I can't really hang curtains downstairs until the new windows get installed.”

Of course she had to mention the back-ordered windows. “They'll be here in ten days, they tell me. The two new doors are supposed to come in tomorrow, along with the closet fixtures, so I can get started on those as soon as things calm down.” She'd ordered top-of-the-line interior doors for the upstairs bedrooms, but the master bedroom closet was the thing that really stunned him. She'd moved one wall and taken a corner of the upstairs hallway to build out what she termed “a decent-sized closet.” Jesse would have considered something half that size “decent.” This was edging closer to decadent. And expensive. She'd gotten defensive when he made even the tiniest remark about the cost.

“The sink's working great, and everything in the bathroom is just perfect.” She was picking at the edge of her menu with one fingernail.

“Glad to hear it. That tub looks just as good as a new one, don't you think?”
Come on, you're supposed to be patching things up with the lady and the only conversation you can manage is plumbing fixtures?

“It was a good idea. I've got a few more ideas I want to try out on you, but let's order first.”

Things eased up once the food came, but while he waited for her to bring up the subject of the talent-show night, she failed to raise the topic. Should he bring it up first? That didn't feel right—it was mostly her issue; he should follow her lead.

Instead, Charlotte said a quiet grace over the food—not as long as the prayer she'd said over their previous dinner, but it had the same effect on him. To be continually thankful like that—over something as mundane as burgers and fries—it got to him. When she added a plea for safety for Jesse and all the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department, his heart did a startling twist in his chest as if the prayer had physically embedded itself there. Her voice took on a different quality, soft and lush, lively and yet peaceful at the same time. Jesse found himself easily and even gladly saying “Amen” to her blessing over the food.

The effortlessness he was so drawn to in her cottage came back to their conversation bit by bit. Maybe things had settled on their own—and that was okay, wasn't it? He didn't want to make this more complicated than it already was. That smile—the one that managed to tumble his insides in a matter of seconds—came back. Still, it was easy to see she had a lot on her mind, and at some point they were going to talk about whatever went haywire between them the other night.

“So.” He decided to press the issue when they were halfway through the heart-attack-on-a-plate hamburgers and they still hadn't talked about whatever she needed to say. “What's up?”

“You mentioned your apartment lease was nearly up the other day.” He'd expected a deluge of emotional questions and concerns, not that. She fiddled nervously with a French fry, drawing artistic circles in the puddle of ketchup on her plate. What was going on?

“I did,” he replied slowly, cautiously.

“I don't know if you'd find this at all appealing, but if I ended up taking a job offer out of town, would you consider renting the cottage for a year?”

Where had that come from? And what did a question like that mean given everything that had gone on between them? “You're leaving?”

“No. I mean, I don't know. What if I have to? It hasn't...well, it hasn't been as easy to find a new job as I'd hoped.”

If this was about how he'd behaved at the talent show, the cottage was no place to take it out on him. Rent? Why? “Well, sure it's a tough market out there, but...” It surprised him how much the thought of her leaving stung him.

“I don't want to spend my days marketing widgets just because it's the only marketing job I can do from home. I want to work in the fiber industry. Textiles at the very least. There are only so many companies big enough to hire. I've gone a whole month with no serious prospects. Now there is one in Vermont that's starting to sound promising and...well...I may need to go where the work is.”

This seemed a hundred miles from the impulsive, passionate Charlotte of just a few days ago. He reminded himself that she'd wanted to slow things down. She'd put the brakes on their relationship, and he was happy about that. Wasn't he? That didn't explain the irrational annoyance climbing up his spine. He hadn't wanted to get serious with anyone, least of all her, so he knew he shouldn't be ticked that she was considering an out-of-town offer. It made no sense. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said, just because he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

“What do you think?”

Was she asking him if he'd take the lease? Or was she looking for him to ask her to stay? How was he supposed to know the right answer to a question like that—especially after the other night? He sat back in the booth. “Are you leaving?” The words made her flinch just a bit—they'd come out sharper than he would have liked.

“I just said I don't know yet. I don't want to go—” she gave the words an emphasis that made Jesse's insides tumble in eight different directions “—but what if I don't have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Charlotte. If you really want to stay here, then you can find a way to make it happen.” He looked at her. “Vermont? You don't really strike me as the rural New England type.” He knew it wouldn't sit well, but he had to ask anyway. “So now you're sorry you bought the cottage?” If she were to walk away from it now, it would feel like rubbing salt on the wound she'd dealt him by buying it out from under him in the first place.

“No. I'm not sorry. I'm not saying Vermont's perfect, but it may have to do for a little while. And I don't want to sell the cottage. I'll want to come back to it. I love it and I want to keep going on the work on it. But I can't stomach the idea of just anyone living there.”

So I'm a convenient stand-in?
“I'm not so sure that would work.” It was time she knew the full story. It was clear she needed to know. “Look, Charlotte, you should know that this hasn't exactly been a cakewalk for me seeing you in that house. I'd been plotting to buy the cottage for months before you showed up.”

Surprise widened her eyes. Maybe now she'd understand why this might be an especially touchy subject.

“The reason why I have all those good ideas on what needs to be done is that I've been thinking about it all year. I just needed two more months to save up enough for the down payment. Not all of us get windfalls from loving grandmothers, you know.”

* * *

Windfalls from loving grandmothers?
The edge in Jesse's words cut off Charlotte's breath. Did he realize how hurtful that sounded?

“The home you were going to buy to launch your business was my cottage?” Suddenly everything that had transpired between them became suspicious, as if he'd been working some hidden agenda she wasn't clever enough to notice. Was it so hard to believe he'd played to her just as he played to other women in the audience—that she was just a customer like any other—after hearing that fact?

“Was. So you can see that renting it from you might be a bit of a touchy business for me?”

“Why didn't you say anything about this before?” It made no sense that he'd keep it from her unless there was some reason behind his silence.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Leave me just a little bit of pride in this, won't you? I didn't have any legal claim to the cottage—I just hadn't moved fast enough when you struck like lightning. The gracious loser thing doesn't come easily to me. I figured it'd just make things uncomfortable between us if I brought it up.”

“So if you couldn't be the owner, you'd get the owner as your biggest customer, is that it?” She began to think through every decision he'd encouraged or discouraged, wondering if his charming helpfulness was ever fully genuine.

“No, that's not it.” He planted his hands on the table, his eyes darkening at the accusation. “My offer to help was mostly on the level.”

Well, that was a telling choice of words. “Mostly?”

“Of course I saw it as a good business opportunity. Your house represented a big job for me, and I needed a big job. I won't say I wasn't ticked at first. I was. But you clearly needed help, and I knew that I was the best guy for the job. And it wasn't long before it became more than business. You know that.” He tossed his napkin on the table, and for a moment she wondered if he'd simply stand up and walk out. He didn't.

Instead, he leaned in. “I'd procrastinated on my plans too long and it came back to bite me—that's not a new lesson for me. This one just hurt a bit more than the others, and maybe that's good.” His eyes took on that intense quality that always pulled her in, always made her heart skip. “Charlotte, you belong in that house. Every time I said that I meant it. You belong there. Why on earth are you leaving it? Leaving here?”

At that moment, it struck her that she was waiting to hear “Why are you leaving
me?
” Only that was not what he said, and that omission said everything. “I don't know that I'm leaving. I don't want to leave. But if I can't find a job here, I may not have a choice. I'm just trying to find a good solution for the property if I have to go.” She paused, struck again by the enormity of his omission. How could he spend so much time with her in that place and keep his original intentions from her? It felt so manipulative. All the intensity of his persuasion at dinner, his attentions at the talent show, they all felt fabricated now.

“So that's what I am? A useful solution?”

She was not using him. She'd made the suggestion to be helpful. Yes, to both of them, but she hadn't used him the way he'd used her. “That's not fair. I didn't know you wanted the cottage. And the reason I didn't know was because you hid it from me.”