A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance) (5 page)

She honked the horn, leaning an elbow on the edge of the open window. “Get your butt in here, girl.”

Mya bounded up to the truck and climbed in. “Thanks for picking me up, Phil.”

“No problem,” Phylicia said, her radiant smile and envy-worthy face clashing with her well-worn overalls. The smudge of dirt on her high cheekbone didn’t detract from her appeal one bit.

“Sorry I didn’t make it to the house after the funeral,” Phil said. “I had to get back to work. I’m on a tight deadline with this project.”

“You never told me what it is you’re doing.”

“I’m working on the Rosedale Plantation,” Phil answered with the kind of lustful sigh one employed when talking about a lover.

Mya laughed at the pure ecstasy on her friend’s face. “You must be in heaven.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on that house.”

Phylicia’s dad, Percy Phillips, was the original Phil, but the nickname and the restoration business had passed down to Phylicia when her father died. Phil had expanded the business, catering to special restoration projects across the South.

As they drove back to her grandparents’ place, Mya filled her in on her grandmother’s condition. She was about to ask Phil what she knew about Corey’s relationship with her family when they pulled up to the house and she spotted his Escalade parked next to the mailbox.

Mya’s eyes roamed around the yard, and then grew wide. Corey Anderson, shirtless and sweaty, was picking up the vegetables that had fallen to the ground in her grandfather’s garden.

“Good Lord,” Phylicia breathed. “Is it safe to leave you here?”

Mya wasn’t so sure, but she answered, “Of course. That thing between Corey and I happened a long time ago, Phil. I’m over him.”

Phylicia slid her that unconvinced look that hadn’t changed since high school.

“Oh, whatever,” Mya said, opening the door and sliding out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride. We’re going to get together before I leave, right?”

“Just tell me when and where,” Phil said. She motioned to the garden with her chin. Mya glanced over her shoulder and found Corey standing next to the stalks of corn, watching them. Phil’s brows rose and one corner of her mouth hitched up in a smile. “Good luck,” she said with a little wave before driving off.

Mya took a deep, fortifying breath before turning and heading toward the naked chest she’d dreamt about for a solid five years after leaving Gauthier.

Chapter 4

C
orey carried the bushel overflowing with mustard greens and sat it on the back porch, then picked up another of the wooden baskets and headed back toward the garden. He could feel the blood rushing faster in his veins as he neared Mya, who had stopped just at the edge of the garden, next to the tomato patch.

“I see you finished cutting the grass.” She motioned to the lawn he’d finished trimming an hour ago, before pulling the weeds from the front flower bed. After he was done with the weeds, he’d started on the garden. He kept telling himself he was just being a good neighbor. He hadn’t been finding things to do just so he could stick around until Mya came home.

“How’s Mrs. Eloise doing?” Corey asked.

“Stubborn as ever and causing the hospital staff all kinds of grief.”

“That’s my girl.” Corey laughed.

After a beat, Mya tilted her head to the side and asked, “Since when?”

The curiosity in her voice was expected, but he was thrown by the unease coloring the simple question. Was the fact that he got along with her grandmother a sign of the apocalypse? He’d thought—rather, he’d hoped—that she would be pleased about the way things were between him and her family.

“Things change, Mya. People change.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Do you have a problem with me getting along with your family?”

“No. It’s just...I don’t know...different.” She rubbed her arms as if she were chilly, despite the fact that they were smack in the middle of a ninety-degree day. “But I guess you’re right. Things change.”

Corey moved past her and started picking ripened tomatoes from the vines. Mya bent over the stalk a couple of feet away and plucked several tomatoes.

“On the other hand, some things never change,” she said. “I was just on Main Street. Felt as if I’d stumbled into a time machine.”

“It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Had you expected anything different?” Corey asked.

“I guess not. Though, according to Grandma, support for the businesses on Main has been dwindling because of the new outlet mall in Maplesville. She strong-armed me into attending a meeting Monday night with her civic association. They’re trying to revitalize downtown Gauthier and stop some big-box store from setting up shop.”

Corey’s back stiffened at the mention of Monday night’s meeting. Should he tell her it was marked on his calendar, too, since he was the association’s parliamentarian? He decided to keep his mouth shut. If she was going to the meeting, she’d find out soon enough.

“Actually, I think the new store is a good idea,” he said instead. “It’ll bring in jobs and additional tax revenue.”

Mya’s brow dipped in a slight frown. “It’ll also hurt the surrounding businesses,” she said. “Those mom-and-pop shops along Main Street add to Gauthier’s charm. If you allow some national chain to come in, then Main Street will start to resemble your average strip mall.”

“Mya, one of the reasons this town hasn’t grown is because people think it’s still stuck in the past. I’ve spoken with the developer—”

“You have?”

He nodded. “I’m considering becoming an investor. I’ve seen their plans, which are still in the very early stages, I should point out. I really think this could be a huge plus for Gauthier.”

“Corey, if you want to put your money into this town, then invest in the businesses that are already here.”

“Those family-run businesses have been here for ages. They’re not the key to growing this community.”

“And some generic chain store is?” Mya shook her head. “I’m with Grandma and her civic organization on this one. I think this new development would harm Gauthier more than help. It’ll be interesting to hear what they’ve come up with at the meeting Monday night.”

“I didn’t think you’d be in town long enough to attend their meeting,” Corey said.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve decided to stay for another few days, at least until Grandma is out of the hospital. I’m between shows right now, so I can spare the time off.”

The thought of Mya remaining in Gauthier caused his pulse to race and his chest to tighten with a painfully sweet ache. He felt like a seventeen-year-old kid again, getting excited because the girl he liked had bothered to look his way.

“I was told I have to cook Sunday dinner for you.” Mya shot him a look that clearly said she’d rather strap on a pair of waders and go searching for frogs in the swamp.

“Don’t worry about it.” Corey laughed. “I figured Sunday dinner was off since Mrs. Eloise is in the hospital. I made other plans.”

“You did?”

The subtle inquiry in her voice brought Corey’s head up. She quickly turned her attention back to the tomatoes, but not before he caught the brief uncertainty that flashed in her eyes. The thought that she was even the slightest bit interested in how—or rather
with whom
—he was spending his Sunday felt damn good.

“I promised my buddy Jamal that I’d help with some house renovations,” Corey said, overcome by a sudden urge to ease her mind. “He bought one of the old houses on Pecan Drive and has been doing all the work himself, though I told him to call Phil to help with one project.”

“I think she’s on her way over there now. She told me she was headed to that part of town.”

Mya moved to the tomato plant next to the one he was working on, and her arm brushed against his. Corey sucked in a quick breath. The brief contact felt like fire against his skin.

“Good,” Corey managed to get out. He swallowed hard and pulled in another deep lungful of air. “I was afraid he would try to do the work himself.” He shot Mya a quick grin. “Now, if you start feeling domestic tomorrow, we won’t turn down lunch. You can bring it over to Jamal’s.”

“I think you’d better pack a sandwich,” Mya said. A bit of that sass returning to her smile, she tossed a tomato into his bushel. “Here, I’ll even provide the tomato.”

Corey shook his head. “You’ve still got a smart mouth on you, Peaches.” She cut her eyes at him, and Corey realized his mistake. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to think of you as Mya.”

“Try harder,” she said. She emptied the tomatoes she’d collected into his bushel, then reached over and picked it up. Propping the basket on her hip, she turned and started toward the house. Over her shoulder she said, “Thanks for helping with the garden, but you can leave now. I’ll take care of the rest of these tomorrow.”

Corey stood between the rows of vegetables, staring at Mya’s backside as she climbed the porch steps and entered the house. How one woman could possess so much audaciousness was beyond him, but he had to admit he was happy she would be around to flaunt it awhile longer. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that he would never be bored when Mya was around.

* * *

Corey parked behind Jamal’s truck and lifted the beat-up leather tool belt from the passenger seat. It was his father’s. Corey felt a stab of pride every time he used it.

He walked along the side of the huge Georgian. According to Jamal, the house had been unoccupied for years before he bought it, but you’d never know by looking at it. The outside of the house was in pristine condition.

The inside was a different story. Over the past six months, Jamal had completely gutted it. His friend had some wild ideas when it came to incorporating green technology into older structures. The original owners were probably turning in their graves at the changes Jamal had made to the place.

Corey rounded the house and found Jamal hunched over a sawhorse, splitting a board of plywood with a table saw. He waited until the whirl of the saw had quieted before speaking.

“Looks as if things are going good,” Corey greeted him.

Jamal looked up with pure murder shining in eyes that were covered with safety goggles.

Corey held his hands up in surrender. “What did I do to get the death glare?”

“It’s what you
didn’t
do,” Jamal said. “You could have tipped me off about Phil.”

“What about Phil?” Corey asked, trying like hell to keep a straight face as he hooked the tool belt around his waist.

“Don’t give me that innocent crap,” Jamal groused. “You could have told me Phil was a woman—one who looks like a damn swimsuit model.”

Corey couldn’t hold back his grin any longer. “I didn’t even think about it,” he lied. “I went to high school with Phylicia. She’s always looked like a swimsuit model, even when she’s dressed in those baggy overalls. Did she do a good job with your wood?”

Jamal’s glower was lethal.

“Sorry.” Corey laughed. “That was too good to pass up. Seriously, will Phil be able to help? I know her business keeps her pretty busy.”

“She’s pretty bossy is what she is,” Jamal said. “She chewed me out because I removed the paneling from the entryway. Told me I was destroying this house. I had to keep reminding her that it is
my
house.”

Corey barked out a laugh. “Sounds like Phil. She gets passionate about this stuff.”

Jamal mumbled something under his breath. Looking up at the sky, he said, “If this rain holds out long enough for me to get all these boards cut, I might get the floors in the bathroom done today. Then I’ll just have to lay down the ceramic tile.”

“You know, Phil does a good job with flooring, too.” Corey held his hands up when Jamal shot him another of those looks. “I’m just messing with you.”

Corey dodged the wood chip Jamal pitched at his head and set about sanding the baseboards for the bathroom. Hours passed as they worked in silence with only the radio playing from a boom box, circa 1992, and the occasional roll of thunder rumbling in the distance. Despite the ominous clouds creeping in from the west, just enough sun shone down to make Corey’s mouth water for one of the beers peeking out of the ice-filled metal bucket.

As if he’d read his mind, Jamal asked, “You ready for a break?”

Corey glanced at his sports watch. “It’s about time for lunch. You feel like eating a po’boy from Mitchell’s? I think they’re open until two on Sundays.”

“I still don’t understand why people around here can’t just call it a submarine sandwich like the rest of society,” Jamal said.

“Because we do things differently down here, in case you haven’t noticed,” Corey said, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and checking to make sure he had enough cash for two sandwiches and a couple of bags of chips. Jamal tried to hand him a twenty, but Corey waved him off.

As he pocketed his money, Jamal’s eyes focused on something over Corey’s shoulder. He held up a hand. “Hi there.”

Corey whipped around to find Mya walking toward them, carrying a foil-wrapped plate in each hand. She wore the same khaki capri pants and sleeveless shirt she’d changed into after her grandfather’s funeral, but his heart started to race so fast one would think she was wearing a string bikini.

“Hi,” Mya greeted them.

“You actually brought us lunch?” Corey asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve already visited Grandma, picked the rest of the ripe vegetables from the garden, swept the entire house and hung the bedsheets on the clothesline, although that was probably a mistake,” she said, looking back at the gray clouds inching closer. “Grandma has no internet or cable, and the library is closed, so I can’t even find a good book to read. Making lunch gave me something to do. You didn’t tell me which house on Pecan. Good thing I spotted your SUV.”

“I honestly didn’t expect you to come by,” Corey said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jamal said. “I’m Jamal, by the way.” He relieved her of the plates and handed one to Corey. “You want a beer?” he asked Mya.

“No, thanks.” She motioned toward the house. “You mind if I have a look? I’ve always wanted to see what this house looked like inside.”

“Go ahead.” Jamal nodded toward the open back door that led to what Jamal called a conversation room.

“I’ll give you a tour,” Corey offered. The food would be there when he got back. He wasn’t sure how long Mya would be around.

She studied each and every feature as they methodically went from room to room. “I’ve always loved this house,” Mya said, stepping over the threshold of the arched doorway that led to the formal dining room. “I can’t count the number of times I tripped on that bump in the sidewalk because I was so busy trying to catch a glimpse through the curtains as I walked to work.”

“I know Jamal paid an arm and a leg for it, but he was determined to have this house.”

“I’m surprised the family sold it. Most of these houses have been owned by the same families for generations.”

Corey shrugged. “I guess the younger generation decided they didn’t want small-town life. You know how that is, don’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed in a reproachful glare. “I’m not the only one who left,” she said.

“I came back,” Corey challenged. “Even if it was just long enough to lay flowers on my parents’ graves and stop in on a few of our friends from high school. I came back.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“But for how long?”

The air crackled between them like a charged wire. Mya held her chin stubbornly in the air, and all Corey could think to do was take it in his hand and tilt her face so he could kiss her. Desire pumped heavy and hot in his veins, the need to claim Mya a tangible thing.

Her chest rose on a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes dipped to his mouth. She ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

“Have you shown her what I did to the kitchen?” Jamal’s yell from the hallway snapped the pull between them.

Mya was the first to look away, tearing her gaze from his and looking beyond his shoulder over to Jamal, who’d just stepped into the room.

“No, he hasn’t,” she said. “I’d love to see it.” She dipped under and away from him, walking over to admire the wainscoting Jamal was pointing out. “You’ve done a great job here,” Mya remarked.

“I haven’t done it alone,” Jamal said. He nodded toward Corey. “My man here has been right beside me for most of it. If baseball hadn’t worked out for him, I think he would have made a good house builder.”

Mya cut him a sly glance. “House builder, huh? I’m not sure if that fits the Corey Anderson I remember.”