The Second Chance Café (Hope Springs, #1) (24 page)

Ever.

He wasn’t going to think about her discovering his deception until he had to. Being near her after all the years and all the damage and all she’d gone through because he’d left her behind was the only thing that mattered. And he was willing to take whatever risks that required.

“When you said farm,” Will said, minutes after Luna had extricated herself from the egg hunt and led him to her weaving shed. He circled her loom on his way to the pegboard holding her rainbow of yarn. Red on one end. Violet on the other. A spectrum in between. “I was expecting corn and wheat fields. Not sheep.”

Luna found that remarkably funny. “Did you think I used flax fibers or stalks of grain in my weaving?”

“Farming. Weaving. I wasn’t associating the two.” Will chose a skein of sapphire blue and flipped it in his hand like a juggling club. “And I didn’t connect either with you being famous for your scarves.”

That took her aback, but in a good way. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“How so?”

She pulled the scarf she wore from around her neck, looped it around his. Circles woven in the colors of marshmallow Peeps peered back at her like wide, frightened eyes against his wolf black. “I’d obviously started believing in my own press.”

Will laughed, lifted the scarf to his nose, and breathed in. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. And I sure didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. And this smells like you, only closer.”

The wolf smelling her marshmallows did something sharp to her tummy. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. Not at all. I forget Hope Springs is barely a pinpoint on the map.”

“And everyone in this pinpoint knows you?”

“Obviously not,” she said with a laugh. “But those who do are good to keep my secret.”

“Which secret would that be? Your true identity?” He sniffed at her scarf again, his lashes like a sweep of feathers as he blinked. “The one you’re keeping from a new friend? Or the one you hide with your hair?”

She was not going to get into this with him today. She was not going to let him draw a dark cloud over her fun. And yet she found herself asking, “What did you mean that my scarf smells like me, only closer? Wouldn’t I smell the most like me?”

“Your work holds your blood, sweat, and tears.”

“And that’s what you smell.”

“Call me…”

“Crazy?” she finished for him when he let the sentence trail. Except
crazy
wasn’t the right word. He was intuitive,
intelligent, the strangest being she’d ever met, and he frightened her more than a little bit, the way he saw her. Knew her.

She didn’t want anyone being that close…which was exactly what Will was saying. He had looked at her work and learned the things weaving drew out of her. The stories she told in her work because she couldn’t share them elsewhere. She swallowed, wondering about his magic.

He held her gaze, lifted a hand, and moved his thumb a scant quarter inch from his index finger. Then he smiled. Then he winked. And her heart flipped as if from a high wire.
Crazy
wasn’t the right word. He was dangerous—to her, certainly, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was a danger to himself.

Returning the skein to the pegboard, he said, “Your father raises the sheep, shears them. Your mother spins their wool and dyes the yarn. And then you get to play. This is some kind of gig you’ve got going on.”

“It’s not play.” But it was, wasn’t it? She played and had fun and got paid ridiculous money for a job she sometimes went days without doing. “Okay, yes, I play. I work the hours I want. I work when the mood strikes. I answer to no one but myself. When I try to help around the house, I get shooed out. It’s a wonderfully amazing life.”

“And you keep waiting for it to fall down around you.” He walked back to her loom, dragging a finger along the frame, bending to peer through the shed of yarn, raising only his gaze and snagging hers as he said, “No, wait. It already has, hasn’t it?”

“What has what?” she asked, because she was caught by the look in his eyes, piercing, seeking, as if he’d found a crack and peered into places she no longer looked.

He straightened, picked up an empty boat shuttle, and turned it over and over in his hands without looking at it at all. “Your life. It’s not the amazing wonder you say it is. Something happened and you’re living a lie because of it.”

“That’s nonsense,” she said, grabbing the shuttle and returning it to the shelf. He had no idea. She was not that transparent. Surely she was not that transparent. “You have secrets. I have secrets. That doesn’t mean either of us is living a lie.”

“What if I am?”

“Then you probably don’t need to be working for Ten Keller. He’s not big on dishonesty.” She narrowed her gaze. “Besides, I don’t think you could get away with living much of one. Not while you’re on parole.”

He gave her that with a nod that had his hair falling forward to his brow. “That leaves your secret, and I’m thinking it’s more than keeping a father from his child.”

Avoiding his gaze, she glanced toward the door, wondering how Mitch was faring, knowing who Kaylie was, unable to say anything. Had he stayed after seeing her? Or had he let Luna’s father take over the cooking chores and driven away?

“It’s Mitch, isn’t it? The friend who came home from the service to find his daughter gone.”

She pressed her lips tight, holding in the truth and then looking over to ask, “What makes you say that?”

“Seeing the two of you together. I’d say you’re as close to him as you are to Harry, who’s a great guy, by the way. I dig him.”

Dig him? Really? “I’m not talking about this with you. It’s done. We put the subject to bed a week ago.”

“Any regrets?”

“About what? Inviting you here today?” She nodded, being honest. “A few.”

He laughed, that wicked-sounding thing he did deep at the base of his throat. “Then I appreciate the tour. Since I won’t be seeing you for a while.”

“Are you finished working for Ten?” she asked, confused.

He shook his head. “I’m not ready to get mixed up in anything.”

“Anything?” Arrogant, arrogant man. “You mean me.”

“It’s complicated. I’m complicated. I’m pretty sure you’re more complicated than anyone I know.”

It was probably for the best, Luna mused, as they walked toward the door, Will continuing to lift the scarf to his nose, rubbing against it. She wasn’t sure how to react, or what to think about this man who, in the end, hadn’t made a pass at her but still brought to mind hungry, devouring wolves.

“It’s Kaylie. She’s Mitch’s daughter.”

How in the world…“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She shook her head, not admitting, not denying. Not giving him the satisfaction, or herself a reason to keep him close. She turned away and opened the door to make her escape before it was too late.

“Hi,” said Kaylie, stepping forward, her gaze going from Luna to Will and back. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Two Owls’ Nutty Chocolate Brownie Buddy

a peanut walked into a chocolate bar

The Chocolate Part

½ cup unsalted butter

4 ounces semisweet chocolate

2 ounces unsweetened chocolate

⅔ cup flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

¾ cup sugar

3 large eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla

The Peanut Butter Part

¼ cup melted butter

½ cup powdered sugar

¾ cup smooth peanut butter

½ teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 325°F. Grease or spray with cooking oil and flour (or line with aluminum foil) an 8 x 8–inch baking dish.

The Chocolate Part

Melt the butter, the semisweet chocolate, and the unsweetened chocolate in a double boiler (or in a microwave), stirring often so as not to burn the chocolate. Cool. Whisk the sugar into the cooled chocolate mixture. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing until smooth, then stir in the vanilla. Sift the flour, the baking powder, and the salt into a bowl. Fold the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture.

The Peanut Butter Part

Stir all the ingredients together in a bowl until smooth.

Pour half the batter into the prepared pan. Drop the peanut butter mixture by tablespoons on top. Cover with the remaining batter. Swirl the peanut butter mixture into the batter with a dull knife.

Bake 40–45 minutes, or until an inserted tester comes out with a bit of batter attached. Cool completely before cutting.

T
en made his reluctant way from the third floor of Kaylie’s house to the first, slowing his steps the closer he got and grimacing. While tearing into a kitchen wall this morning, he’d found one of the studs slightly damp. Knowing the only water she’d been using besides that on the ground floor was in her bathroom, he’d headed upstairs. And sure enough, he could hear dripping beneath her pedestal sink.

He didn’t like being the bearer of bad news. Especially on top of Will discovering the termites not even two weeks ago. Thing was, until the pipes in the rest of the house were checked, he wouldn’t know the full extent of the damage. It would be hard to give her an estimate of the delay or the repair cost. And figuring the best way to let her know that was stalling him further. But he was mostly stalling because of the way she’d looked at him yesterday when she’d asked him to kiss her. Her mouth, her eyes…it had taken willpower he didn’t know he had not to tumble to the grass on his back and pull her on top of him—

“I can hear you not walking out there,” she called, her voice carrying through the empty house as clearly as his footsteps. Or the lack thereof.

He found her in the front parlor, sheets of butcher paper on the floor cut and taped into squares. He liked this about Kaylie. No computer programs for this one. No mockups of how the tables she’d ordered would fit. She got down and dirty and figured things out for herself. “You decided on the four-tops for this room?”

“I think so. The space is smaller. Makes sense for seating smaller parties. Or not. But I think so,” she said, nodding as if she’d won the argument with herself. Then shaking her head before nodding again. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s fun to watch the two of you argue.”

She glared at him, but did so while still looking at the floor. “What was with the not walking?”

He shoved his hands to his waist, weighing the words, not weighing them fast enough, obviously, because his delay earned him a “Spit it out.”

“I’ve got some bad news.”

“Then never mind. Don’t spit it out.”

“Okay,” he said and turned for the kitchen.

She groaned. “Can it at least wait until I finish getting over and paying for the last bad news you brought me?”

“It could, but since it’s more of the same, I thought you might want to take care of it all at once.”

She pushed a hand from her forehead into her hair. “More termites?”

“Not bugs this time. Water.”

“Water?” she asked, cocking her head as if she didn’t understand. “You mean from the damage to the shutters and window casings? A leak where rain got in?”

He shook his head. “An inside wall. The third-floor bathroom. I doubt it would’ve showed up had you not been using it there the last couple of weeks.”

She blew out a breath bursting with frustration. “So you’re saying it’s a good thing.”

“No, I’m saying it’ll be a whole lot easier to fix now than later.”

“Then it’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t think the one leak is that bad, but I won’t be able to say until I get a plumber out here to go through the whole house.”

“The whole house?”

He nodded. “The whole house. Unless you want to risk another leak from the second floor dripping onto your customers’ heads while they’re eating.”

She groaned louder this time, pulled at more of her hair. “Fine. Get a plumber out here. The sooner the better.”

“I know a guy—”

“Of course you do.”

When he laughed, she gave him a look that had him thinking of backing away. Then had him thinking of pushing forward and slamming his mouth down on hers. She was beautiful. Angry beautiful. Aggravated beautiful. Just beautiful. “Would you rather I ran my finger down the yellow-page listings and had you yell stop?”

“No,” she said, her gaze withering, her tone skating straight into sarcasm. “I’m very glad you know all the guys you do. Now call one of them so I’ll know the money part of the damage. If I’m going to have to sell my soul, I’ll need to start lining up buyers.”

He thought she was probably exaggerating; she’d paid cash for the house, after all. But just in case…“We can slow things down, you know. If you need to. But I don’t think it’s all bad.”

“How can it not be all bad? Do you know how soon Memorial Day weekend will be here? What if all the plumbing has to be replaced? How many walls will have to be torn apart, and floors and ceilings, and…I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t.”

“Yeah. You can. You’ll figure out a way because that’s what you do.”

She looked up when he said it and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”