Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Andrea woke to the smell of coffee percolating and the sound of Phantom’s contented purring. Weak winter sunlight filtered through the bedroom curtains, and for a moment, she forgot where she was—until she tried to roll over and her ankle reminded her of yesterday’s spectacular fall.
“Good, you’re awake,” Phantom said from his perch on the windowsill. “Your Romeo is outside.”
Andrea pushed herself up against the pillows, her eyes bleary. “My what?”
“The lumberjack,” Phantom replied with a swish of his tail.
Andrea rolled to the edge of the bed, reluctant to leave its warmth, and gingerly placed her feet on the floor. She hesitated a moment before testing her injured leg. Her ankle had swelled a bit, but not to the point where she was overly concerned.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself as she stood, testing how much weight her ankle could take. It protested a bit, but didn’t buckle as she hobbled to the bedroom window and peeked down at the front porch.
Sure enough, Wes was standing on the front walk, with two coffee cups nestled in a cardboard tray in one hand and a paper bag in the other. As she watched, he glanced at his watch, then up at the house, clearly debating whether it was an appropriate time to knock.
As much as she wanted to see him, she was also keenly aware of her current state. She hadn’t showered the night before, as was her custom, wanting to avoid the chance of her ankle giving out and landing her in the ER for real. Her hair wasn’t terrible, but it could use a wash.
A knock sounded and Crumpet lurched up from his place on the foot of the bed. His ears went forward as he let out a low woof before launching off the side of the bed to go and find the source of the noise.
Phantom flicked his tail and made a disgusted noise. “Mangy beast…”
Andrea lurched into action as fast as her ankle would allow, and wiggled into a pair of black jogger-style sweatpants and a tank top with a built-in bra that was nowhere near structurally sound enough to keep her ladies in check, but better than nothing.
She pulled on a sweater and finger-combed her hair as she carefully made her way downstairs, one hand never leaving the railing.
“Crumpet, you’re not helping!” she scolded as the dog raced down the stairs alongside her. She exhaled into a smile before opening the door.
Wes smiled as she appeared. “She’s upright!”
Andrea laughed. “She is.”
Wes chuckled and glanced down at her feet as Crumpet let out another warning bark. “Seriously, though, you doing okay?”
“I’d give it a solid eighty-five percent.”
“That’s not too bad.” Wes held up the cardboard carrier and white paper bag. His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. “Maybe these will give you the extra fifteen percent.”
“Can’t hurt to try. Come in,” Andrea said, gesturing with a wave as she took a small, limping step back.
Wes’s expression crumpled in sympathy. “You got it?”
She nodded and shooed Crumpet out of her path. “Crumpet, place,” she said, pointing at the sofa.
Crumpet let out a soft bark and bounded off into the kitchen.
Andrea frowned. “Or that…”
Wes chuckled. “He’s a character, huh?”
“That’s a word for it.”
“Here, you get comfortable,” Wes said, moving to adjust the pile of pillows Andrea had abandoned the night before when she finally mustered the will to climb the stairs and go to bed.
Once she was situated, he handed her one of the coffee cups. “Do you want a plate? I got breakfast sandwiches from the diner. I didn’t know what kind you would like, so there’s a veggie one with spinach and egg whites, and then one with all the good stuff.”
Andrea laughed as she settled back against the cushions. “This might shock you, but even people in LA eat cheese and sausage. Sometimes.”
Wes chuckled. “All right, all right. Looks like it’s veggie and egg whites for me then.”
“Nah. I’ll take it. But a plate would be good.”
Wes headed for the kitchen and came back a moment later with two small dessert plates, each bearing a foil-wrapped sandwich, and a stack of paper napkins from the wooden stand Marren kept near the microwave.
They were labeled with assorted restaurant logos and in varying sizes, suggesting she never purchased napkins for herself, but used whatever she was given from the various eateries around town.
And judging by the amount she had, Andrea thought Phantom might have not been kidding when he’d said his owner couldn’t cook for herself.
“You really didn’t have to do all of this,” Andrea said as Wes took his seat in the armchair opposite her. “It’s your day off, too. Shouldn’t you and Emma be out and about?”
Wes smiled as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Emma’s out Christmas shopping with her grandmother, actually. I’m not allowed to know where, so I’m assuming she’s trying to find something for me.”
Andrea’s chest tightened. It was evident Wes was the kind who would be a hands-on dad, even if his wife were still here, and it was hard not to let some of her own complicated feelings around fathers and her own childhood come swelling to the surface.
“That’s sweet,” she said after a long moment. “Any idea what she’s getting you?”
“No idea. Last year she got me a machine that separates and counts spare change because I always have a handful of it in the cupholders of my truck. And the year before that it was a necktie with dinosaurs on it, despite the fact that I wear a necktie about once a year, and that’s only if I really can’t avoid it. ” Wes chuckled.
“Dinosaurs, huh?” Andrea grinned.
“Oh, and not just any dinosaurs,” Wes added, his brows arching as she smiled. “They had bowties. So it was really a whole Inception kind of moment.”
Andrea snorted a laugh before taking a sip of coffee. “That’s cute.”
“It’s the thought that counts, I suppose,” Wes replied with a nod.
He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to the large picture window beside the fireplace.
A soft flurry of fresh snowflakes sailed past, caught in a light breeze.
“Looks like it might be one of those days where it’s best to hunker down and stay warm. ”
Andrea nodded as she swallowed, and it was impossible not to imagine herself the little spoon to his big one, curled up on the sofa, watching the day drift by.
She cleared her throat and took a swig of coffee, banishing the image from her mind. “That was the plan. Depending on how I feel, I might try to do a little more baking. At least it’s quiet today,” she added, sending him a pointed look and a smile.
Wes chuckled and held up his free hand in quiet surrender. “I know, I know.”
Andrea laughed. “It’s fine. Sometimes the quiet can be its own kind of problem. It can give too much time to think about things.”
Wes arched a brow. “Like what?”
The question was casual, but his eyes were attentive and focused in a way that made her feel like her answer really mattered.
For a moment, she wished she could take it back, or brush it away with a self-deprecating joke.
It would be so easy to blame it on her workaholic tendencies or the ever-increasing burden of running a growing business.
And then there were the barbed words from William’s review that were still bouncing around inside her mind, in between the pounding of the hammer and the whirring of power tools that had filled her first few days in Maple Crossing.
“Sorry,” Wes said after the moment stretched out a bit too long. “It’s none of my business, of course.”
“No, it’s not that.” Andrea shook her head. “I guess my brain feels like a bowl of spaghetti sometimes, and I can’t quite pull out one piece of pasta without unwinding the whole meal.”
Wes smiled. “I get that.”
“Really?”
He reached for his coffee cup and then leaned back in his chair, a soft smile fixed on his lips.
“Between school pick-ups, slumber parties, client meetings, project deadlines, and the day-to-day stuff: groceries, oil changes, mowing the lawn—” He broke off with a bemused chuckle.
“Maybe a smoothie would be a more apt description of my mental state.”
Andrea snorted a laugh, nearly choking on her latte.
“I’m serious!” Wes said, his laughter rumbling deeper as he looked at her with those warm golden-brown eyes. “I tell Tilda I’d be a headless chicken without her.”
“Tilda?”
“My late wife’s mother,” he clarified, his smile faltering.
“She moved in after the accident to help me with Emma, and it just hasn’t made sense for her to leave yet.
My work schedule can get a bit hectic, especially in the summertime, and it helps for Emma to have someone who is always available for her. ”
“That must have been so difficult for you both,” Andrea replied, her voice low.
“It was. Still is, sometimes.” Wes tilted his head to one side as he ran the pad of his thumb along the plastic lid on his cup. “Emma was so young when it happened. I worry she won’t remember Sarah at all. Kids forget things, you know? Their memories fade.”
The pain in his voice made Andrea’s chest tighten. “She might not remember everything, but I’m sure she will remember being loved.”
One side of Wes’s mouth curved upward. “I hope so.” He paused and took a sip, then nudged his chin in her direction. “What about you? What’s in your bowl of spaghetti?”
Andrea laughed softly. “I’m not sure you even want to know.”
“I do!”
She sighed and rocked her head back against the sofa.
In the past, she would never consider opening the ex-files with a man she was interested in, especially not so early on.
But then, Wes wasn’t like any other man she’d been interested in.
For some reason, the idea of revealing her past wounds didn’t make her want to run screaming for the hills.
There was something about him—something in his eyes—that told her he could take it on.
“Well, I told you I have my own bakery, right?”
He nodded.
“And as you can imagine, this is a busy time of year. But about a week ago, my ex published a bad review in his newspaper column, and we had a bunch of clients cancel their seasonal orders.”
Wes swore quietly.
“Yeah.” Andrea smoothed her forefinger over her left eyebrow. “And my inclination was to stay and batten down the hatches, but then I also have this cookbook deadline, and it’s already my third extension—” She paused to breathe and gather her thoughts. “In short, it’s a hot-ass mess.”
Wes choked on a surprised laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said after a quick cough cleared his throat. “That honestly sounds like a nightmare. What a prick.”
“Tell me about it. So, anyway, I’m here in Vermont of all the places, trying not to have a mental breakdown, and my editor won’t stop emailing, my bakery manager has me on ice and isn’t answering my texts, and while I know she’s trying to help, it’s also driving me a little crazy.
And now this—” She gestured at her injured ankle.
“Which is basically the last thing I needed. But I guess it could have been worse. Although, my editor would probably be forced to give me another extension if I’d managed to give myself a concussion. Hmm.”
Wes laughed. “Don’t even think about it!”
Andrea smiled and took a sip of her coffee.
“All right, so I’ve got a handle on what’s not working right now. Tell me something that makes you happy,” Wes prompted.
Andrea considered the question, running her thumb along the edge of her coffee cup. “Well, this latte is doing a lot right now, I can tell you that,” she teased.
Wes’s eyebrows lifted as he chuckled. “I’m glad I could help.”
“But I don’t know. Isn’t that terrible? I feel like all I do is work.
Even when I do go out, it’s still tangentially related to work.
You know? A fundraiser for a charity, where I rub elbows with other quasi-celebrities.
Most of the travel I’ve done lately has been for book signings, and while they’re enjoyable, they’re also draining, and I rarely get to see any of the sights or play tourist.” Andrea trailed off, then shook her head.
“I don’t mean to throw a pity party. I know how fortunate I am. ”
“Hey,” Wes interjected gently. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel. You don’t need to add a disclaimer. Not with me.”
Andrea stared at him for a long moment, drinking him in, and letting her mind wander to a world of possibilities. But just as quickly, she reined them in and closed the door. “What about you, then? What makes you happy? Besides your adorable daughter and your secret chocolate stash?”
Wes smiled, but there was a rueful tinge around its edges as he glanced toward the large front window, out at the snowfall. “I think I’m still working on that part, too,” he finally replied, his voice quiet and almost husky as his gaze moved back to her and traced the curves of her lips.
Andrea felt her breath catch. The look in his eyes made her wonder what it would be like to close the distance between them, to feel his hands on her face, to taste his coffee-flavored lips against hers.
Wes set his plate on the coffee table between them and started to rise, his expression darkening with desire, and for a moment, Andrea thought he might actually kiss her—
“Andrea, I want to—”
His phone rang, the sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet room.
The spell broke. Wes blinked, sitting back as if suddenly remembering where they were. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted to one of responsibility and slight guilt. “Sorry, it’s Tilda. I should take this.”
“Of course,” Andrea said, hoping her disappointment wasn’t obvious.
“Hey, Tilda,” he answered, stepping slightly away but still close enough that Andrea could hear the faint sound of a woman’s voice on the other end. “What’s up?”
Whatever Tilda was saying made Wes check his watch and run a hand through his hair.
“Oh, okay. No—no, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I’ll be right there.” He paused, listening. “I’m still here in town. I was checking on the neighbor who fell yesterday. I’ll explain when I get home.”
He ended the call and turned back to Andrea with an apologetic smile. “I have to go. Tilda forgot her wallet at the house, and she’s at the grocery store checkout.”
“Oh no,” Andrea said, offering him an understanding smile despite the sinking disappointment.
“I’m sorry. I could come back, but—”
“It’s okay, Wes. Really. Enjoy the day with your family. I’m not going to be all that fun today, anyway. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Right. Okay.” Reluctantly, he nodded and headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more, but then he simply nodded and slipped out the door.
And then he was gone, leaving Andrea sitting in her pajamas with the taste of coffee on her lips and a dozen questions about what it was he’d been about to say.