Unexpectedly in Love Page 4

  “No, to Carol.”

  “She was the cute one, wasn’t she?” Steve’s focus was soft, as if he was trying to conjure up a mental picture of Emma.

  My eyes narrowed involuntarily as an unwanted sting of jealousy hit home.

  “I heard you’re a helicopter pilot?” Carol asked Steve.

  “I am.”

  “But he doesn’t fight with starfighters,” my son interjected from the other room. “He stays in this galaxy.”

  “Thanks, Max!” Carol called. “I was wondering about that.”

  “What have you ladies been up to?” Steve asked. His cup had paused in front of his lips, making me notice how entirely kissable they were.

  My friends were getting in my head. I was not interested in him.

  “I’m Cassandra.” She reached out to shake Steve’s hand from her spot across from him.

  “I’m sorry. I should have introduced you,” I said.

  “In case you need a quick catch-up,” Carol said, “Cassandra runs her old family ranch, I own Rudolph’s Reads here in town, and Joy works in the daycare down the street.”

  “You do?” Steve asked, glancing at me. It was a curious look, not yet judgmental, but I figured all he needed was time. Because once he thought about it, he’d realize I had taken a job that didn’t pay well, needed very little training, held no prestige, no benefits, and was in the same small town I’d grown up in.

  I waited. The judgment didn’t seem to be coming.

  Realizing Steve was waiting for confirmation, I nodded.

  “Full-time?” he asked, his attention as focused as the unrelenting summer sun.

  I shook my head. “Half-time.” I accepted almost all shifts offered by Edith, but still couldn’t get myself over the hump to full-time.

  “Does Max go there, too?”

  I shook my head again. “He’s in school now.”

  “You’re going to ask to get closer to full-time, though, right?” Carol pressed.

  “Edith had to make additional cuts.” I sounded more glum than I meant to, and quickly put on a smile before my friends started to worry. “It’s fine, though. Tonya really needed the extra hours this month. She doesn’t get much in the way of child support, and Calvin takes good care of Max and me.” Anyway, the daycare couldn’t afford to hire us both full-time due to the increase in benefits they’d be required to pay. Plus there weren’t enough kids in town to support a large staff.

  “That boy is going to grow up one day,” Cassandra muttered in warning, before taking another sip of her coffee.

  “I heard you went to college,” Steve said, leaning an elbow on the table.

  “I took a few early childhood education classes.” Calvin had insisted I take some courses toward at least a diploma, so I’d have something to fall back on. I’d helped him get his degree by working reception at a car dealership while raising our son, but by the time Calvin finished school I was tired of being broke all the time, and had wanted to spend more time with Max. Calvin hadn’t been excited about me quitting, but he’d understood why I hadn’t wanted to pursue a full diploma or degree, and he’d seemed happy enough about no longer having childcare costs as I’d stayed home until Max entered school.

  “So you have a teaching degree?” Steve asked, his face lit up in a way that made me want to say yes.

  I shook my head and the excitement faded. I turned away before I could see that disappointed look I had grown to know so well in high school.

  “Do you ever think about expanding your career?”

  And there it was. Being a daycare worker wasn’t enough for him.

  Carol gave me a smile and raised her eyebrows.

  I shot her a questioning look.

  “You should upgrade your education!” she agreed, laying her palms on the tabletop. “Say goodbye to that daycare.”

  Being a teacher would be great, but it would take a lot of time and focus, as well as money—things I didn’t feel I had right now.

  “Goodbye to changing diapers and wiping drool,” Cassandra exclaimed.

  “Goodbye to poor hours,” Carol added.

  “The schedule is good. I need that flexibility,” I insisted.

  “Poor pay,” Cassandra said.

  “Max is in school full-time now,” Carol pointed out, seamlessly defeating my argument.

  “I like being able to go volunteer in his class.” My voice faded as I realized my excuse was actually more ammunition for them.

  “You could be getting paid for what you do in the classroom,” Cassandra stated firmly.

  My friends nodded, watching me.

  I leaned back, surprised by their encouragement. Didn’t they know things were okay with me working at the daycare—other than Steve stirring up a desire to want more? A dangerous, slippery slope any way you looked at it. And sure, being a teacher would be incredible, but I couldn’t afford to go back to school for several more years, or to uproot Max’s life as I returned to the city to study. He was my priority right now. He needed stability.

  “She is so awesome with the little ones,” Carol said to Steve. “Very patient and understanding.” Her attention went back to me. “You’d be amazing as a teacher.”

  “You should do it,” Cassandra insisted. “Forget depending on Calvin. Make something of your own.”

  “I bet your courses could be applied toward a teaching degree,” Steve said. “That would cut down on time and cost.”

  “I like the way you think,” Cassandra declared, high-fiving him.

  Carol propped her elbows on the table, looking thoughtful.

  They were planning a new career for me. And here I’d been worried they were going to try to set me up with Steve.

  “Working at the daycare is fine,” I argued, standing up. I went to collect cups, but everyone was still sipping away. They weren’t even ready for a top-up. I sat down again. “It’s rewarding.”

  “It’s not fine,” Carol said quietly. “You’re stressed about money and hours.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You might be able to take some of the courses online,” Steve suggested.

  “I know a guy in admissions at the college in the city. I’ll ask.” Carol pulled out her phone and began tapping out a message.

  “Ask how much she can do off-campus,” Steve told her. Carol nodded and continued to type.

  “Do you have to do a practicum?” Cassandra asked.

  “Mrs. Rogers at the elementary school takes education students all the time,” Carol said, not looking up from her phone. “She’d take Joy in a heartbeat. She’s always talking about how much her daughter, Anya, loves her.”

  “Really, I’m sure I can look all of this up—if I become interested. You don’t need to bother your friend, or Emily Rogers.” I really wanted to pull Carol’s phone from her grip and hide it from her.

  “She won’t look it up,” Cassandra whispered, reaching out to tap the table in front of Carol. “Send the message.”

  I heard the telltale sound of a text being sent.

  “Seriously, you guys.” I laughed nervously. “I like my job. I’m not going back to school.”

  “You’d love it, and you’d have the same holidays as Max,” Cassandra pointed out. “Add in benefits and health insurance, maybe even a pension… That’s huge. You aren’t getting that right now, and as a single mom you have to look out for number one.”

  Everyone nodded.

  The security was tempting.

  “I’m too quiet. I couldn’t control a classroom.” It would be so much work, juggling classes, lesson plans, and taking care of Max, too. I wasn’t sure I could do that.

  “You’re awesome with kids!” Cassandra practically shouted. “You can get those little turkeys at the daycare to line up like a bunch of penguins. Not just anyone can do that.” She said in an aside to Steve, “I can do it with horses. But kids? Forget about it.”

  Carol jerked her head emphatically. “You come alive with kids, my friend. I saw you pati
ently coaching those tykes how to snowshoe. They had so much fun I heard about it down at Prancer’s.” Prancer’s Pancake House was the hotbed of local gossip, and I was pleased to learn I was making waves down there for good reasons.

  “The kids make it easy,” I said modestly.

  “You make it easy.”

  “You know we’re right,” Steve interjected smoothly, a slightly smug smile in place.

  I fought the urge to glare at him. Somehow this was all his fault.

  “I couldn’t control a whole classroom full of kids,” I said firmly, wishing they’d let it go so I could at least give the idea some consideration without feeling the need to defend myself.

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Cassandra answered. “Just keep lying to yourself all day long.”

  “Lying is bad!” Max called.

  Seriously. Would that kid ever stop listening in on my conversations with others?

  “You can step onstage and play the piano for an entire community,” Steve said gently. “I’m pretty sure you could get up in front of a bunch of kids Max’s age.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. I did love volunteering in his class, and it was often the highlight of my week. But the tuition and time to get trained as a teacher...? The city was a long drive from Christmas Mountain, and who knew if there’d even be a job opening when I graduated?

  “Performing is different,” I said, backtracking. When I played for an audience the piano was like a shield. It wasn’t me everyone was focusing on, it was the music pouring through the instrument.

  “She teaches piano lessons,” Carol said. “She’s already teaching.”

  “Oh!” I said. “Speaking of pianos, does anyone know of a local tuner? The one who tuned mine after we moved cost me an arm and a leg.”

  “Must be difficult playing now,” Steve said drily, earning a chuckle from Cassandra.

  “Wise guy,” she murmured with a smile that made me want to push her away from him.

  “Are you trying to change the subject?” Carol scolded, looking at me.

  “The Christmas Extravaganza is coming up, and the community center’s piano is horribly out of tune after being moved around all year because everyone kept bickering over how best to renovate and restore the building’s interior. You guys won’t be able to sing on key if I can’t play on key.”

  “You still perform in the extravaganza?” Steve asked, perking up. He was leaning his arms on the table, relaxed, looking like he belonged here.

  Carol nodded. “We started up again last year.”

  Our little choir group had taken a hiatus for eight years, but we were reviving the tradition. We’d started in the sixth grade and continued until graduation. This would be our first year performing without Melody King as our leader, and it was something I tried hard to avoid thinking about.

  “Are you going to come?” Carol asked Steve, and Cassandra gave me a grin. I found myself looking to him, waiting for an answer.

  He shrugged and nodded. “Probably.”

  During my years away I’d missed the sense of community from the town’s holiday celebrations, and the concert always brought up good memories. But a confusing one, too, as I recalled seeing Steve standing against the back wall of the old church watching me play the piano. He’d had a look on his face that I still couldn’t quite figure out all these years later. I was curious if I’d see that expression again this year.

  “I can tune a piano,” he stated, breaking the silence that had descended.

  We all faced him.

  “What?” I asked softly.

  “I rented a room from a piano tuner when I was taking my paramedic courses. I can probably get it sounding okay if it’s not too far out of whack.”

  “You’re hired,” Carol exclaimed. She dug around in her jeans pocket. “In fact, I happen to have the key for the community center right here. I was there dropping off decorations. I’ll let Michelle Millar know Joy has the key. Feel free to tune it at your leisure. Although, just make sure you get the key back to our darling caretaker by five tonight, as she needs to let Ashley and Brent in to change some light bulbs.”

  I took the Santa keychain and handed it to Steve.

  He shook his head. “I need someone to come with me.”

  “Why? You’ve forgotten where the community center is?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “So that someone can tell me if my tuning is up to her specifications.” He took my hand, and a sharp zing waltzed its way up my arm from his touch. The key was still in my palm and he folded my fingers around it.

  What was with the zing? That was offside, unfair and unwanted. That was not how Steve and I worked.

  “That’s not how you tune a piano,” I said, feeling a bit breathless.

  “I’m not an expert. I also don’t play piano. Just guitar.”

  Why did I have a mental image of the two of us playing a tune together in my living room, laughing, smiling and sharing a moment?

  I shook off the thought. He’d probably learned just a few bars from “Stairway to Heaven” to impress a chick, and now told everyone he could play.

  “It would cost hundreds to bring a professional in—if we could even get someone before the concert,” Carol said, her voice holding a touch of warning. “So I guess you guys better go down there. Together.”

  “Now?” I balked, tugging my coffee cup closer as though it could protect me from time alone with Mr. Bossy Pants.

  “Now,” Carol confirmed.

  “We’ll babysit,” Cassandra offered.

  “We only have the key until five,” Carol said, taking charge. “And I know nothing about pianos. It’s up to you two.”

  “We can borrow it another day. I’m sure Steve is—“

  “No time like the present,” he interrupted, standing up. “Jim warned me the holidays tend to get busier with tourists wanting helicopter rides, so we may as well get to it.” He gave me a quick nod.

  “Always the bossy pants,” I grumbled as he ushered me to the door with a warm hand against my lower back. But for some odd reason I didn’t mind his touch or insistence nearly as much as I believed I should.

  Chapter 3

  The silence was awkward as Steve and I cut down Star Street, across Main and over to Church Street. The Christmas Mountain Community Center, converted from an old church, was only a four-minute walk from my house, but it felt like a decade. It didn’t help that Steve seemed content to walk in silence.

  When we started out I’d asked him if he wanted to grab his tools for tuning the piano, and he’d patted his pocket and announced that he was all set. I was starting to get the feeling he didn’t know how to do the job, given that his so-called tool kit could be tucked in his pocket rather than being large enough to resemble a doctor’s bag.

  “Here we are,” I said, trying to be cheerful as we approached the back door of the center. Thanks to the hard work of a community painting bee last summer that was led by some of my favorite gals—the old choir group—the converted church looked a little less abandoned than it had a year ago. The exterior white paint was fresh and bright, making the historic building look majestic with its mountain backdrop, and I inhaled the aroma of home. Snow and evergreens. And something new and equally wonderful.

  With a jolt I realized the new olfactory delight was Steve.

  The steps were still cracked and iffy in places, and we carefully chose our route as we climbed toward the door. I let us into the darkened building, light sifting through the windows in faded streams. Partially blind from being out in the bright sunshine which had been reflecting off the snowdrifts, I fumbled forward, trying to recall just how far down the wall the light switches were. I bumped into something solid. Steve.

  He mumbled an apology and pressed a hand to my back as he reached around me, hitting the lights, which flickered a few times before illuminating the large room. I was partly trapped between him and the wall, and found myself curious about who Steve really was. The one thing I’d learned
in the daycare was that everyone behaved the way they did for a reason. Everyone had a story and a history, even if they were only a few years old. And that story impacted their choices and the way they behaved. I knew that held true for Steve, a man who’d moved here as a teen, then left, like me. And now he was back. Like me.

  But why? Why here? And why now?

  “How long are you here for this time, Steve?” I could see my breath in the chilly air of the building, which was kept at a low temperature to avoid running up a high heating bill when empty.

  Steve still hadn’t stepped away from me. He was watching me, his eyes meeting mine. “As long as I’m wanted.”

  By who?

  “And then where will you go?” I asked, curious if he had family drawing him somewhere, like my family had drawn me back to Christmas Mountain.

  He shrugged. “We’ll see. How are your parents?”

  “Still the happiest married couple I’ve ever met.”

  He chuckled. “Why do you say that with disgust?”

  “There’s no disgust.”

  “There definitely is.”

  “Okay,” I admitted with a sigh, as he moved toward the piano at last. “Maybe there is a little bit. But seriously? Are they faking being that much in love? They make it look easy.”

  Steve cast me a glance over his shoulder. “Maybe if you find the right person it is that easy.”

  “And what would either of us know about that?” I asked with a laugh. The nice thing about Steve was that I never worried about hurting his feelings.

  The piano, an old upright, was on the stage, and I dropped down on its dusty bench, sloughing off my gloves, then mindlessly running my fingers up and down the keys, which had been left uncovered. There was a definite vibration on Middle C that shouldn’t be there.

  “Maybe we just need to open our minds,” Steve said, lifting the stiff lid to the piano’s cabinet.

  “To what? Possibilities? I am not going to date Old Man MacLeod. He gives every woman who passes the hairy eyeball, but that is not an invitation I plan on ever accepting.” I gave a fake shudder.

  Steve laughed. “That guy’s still around? He must be in his hundreds by now.” He took out his phone and used its flashlight app to peer inside the piano. He gave a whistle.