Where You Least Expect (3 page)

She laughed. “Fine, be that way. But you’ll be able to say you knew me when. Have fun polishing your tool,” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward her house.

••••

The next morning, Verna was up at four and out the door by four thirty, and though it was ungodly early, the sun not even a faint shimmer on the horizon, her happiness at having made a sale still had her in a state of bliss that was better suited for skipping through a field of sunflowers as opposed to preparing for another long day on her feet. Since Blakely was meeting her at the cafeteria this morning to look over some fabric samples, she’d pulled a few she thought would work and was carefully packing them in her backseat before she left for Love’s.

“What’s got you out so early?”

“Argh!” Verna screamed and jumped, hitting her head on the roof of her car as she did. When she recovered, she turned around to glare at the interloper.

“Dammit, Joe! You’re gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack,” she said, rubbing the sore spot on her head.

“Just paying it forward,” he said, a smile of pure glee spreading across his full lips.

As much as she was loath to admit it, enraged Joe was not the only appealing version. When he wasn’t being a tightly wound jerk, he was still really quite handsome, his brown eyes and heavy, masculine jaw giving him classic, chiseled good looks. She glanced down quickly, taking in yet another tight T-shirt, this time paired with running shorts, and trying to ignore the hard muscles of his large masculine form, which was nearly impossible given his attire. A rush of heat flooded her, and she immediately returned her gaze to his face. It was much safer to look at it; well, safer to look at when Joe happened not to be fully clothed.

“Why doesn’t the Air Force pay you enough to buy clothes that fit?” she blurted, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Navy, Verna,” he said, his smile fading, much to her relief. It was way too early for her to handle a smiling, half-naked Joe.

They stood silent for a few moments, Joe staring at her, his expression somewhere between neutral and displeased, though he seemed in no particular hurry to leave.

“You’re out for your ‘PT,’” she said with a dismissive roll of her eyes.

“Yep. Wanna join me?” he said, his voice slightly harsh.

The harshness she heard could have been her imagination, but the admiration that she’d felt moments ago shifted on a dime.

“Fuck you,” she said much more coolly than she felt, narrowing her eyes.

Based on the brief flash of surprise, followed by understanding, that crossed his face, he picked up on the implication of his statement.

He had the decency to look embarrassed, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he shifted topics entirely. “I’ve seen you out here this time of morning before. What do you do so early?”

She threw him another nasty glare and then softened her expression. He did sound sorry, and genuinely interested, and she was in too good a mood to let Joe MacAsshole ruin her morning.

“We lost the biscuit guy, so I’m filling in. It should only be temporary.”

At least her father had said so. Two months ago.

“Huh?” Joe said.

“Our biscuit guy, you know, the guy who makes the biscuits? He moved, so my dad figured I could step in until he found a replacement.”

“Wow. So you go this early and work through lunch, what, six days a week?”

She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. And once I get the biscuits on, I can work on the books until we open, so it’s a win-win. Anyway, I gotta go,” she said, the awkwardness of the situation hastening her retreat. “He’ll raise hell if I don’t have the first batch done by six. Try not to terrorize any more innocents this morning, Joe Ellen,” she said as she walked around to the driver’s side and got into her car.

“It’s still just Joe,” he said as she slammed the door.

He watched her pull out of the driveway and then began jogging in the opposite direction, and Verna couldn’t help but stare after him through the rearview mirror as he went, the sting of what she’d decided was an unintentional insult fading with his retreating form. It was a crying shame that a man as capital-H hot as him could be such an asshat, though she chose not to question what it said about her that she so enjoyed taunting him.

Quinn had sung his praises, always talked about what a nice guy he was, and he may have been to her. But beyond his physical appeal, Verna had always felt uneasy around him; he was so damn serious all the time, and when she’d discovered that any old thing she did got under his skin, she hadn’t been able to resist picking.

Though in truth, it was a bit of a front. She’d never admitted it to anyone, not even to Quinn, that she’d practically drooled the first time she saw him. She’d been working away at the restaurant as usual, and he’d strolled in, a huge mountain of a man, muscle on top of muscle. And when he’d spoken… God, that deep voice, one that fit him so perfectly, had made her lose her own, and Verna Love was seldom at a loss for words.

He shouldn’t have had that effect on her. Thornehill Springs was crawling with military men, some even more handsome than Joe, and, if such a thing were possible, she’d thought herself immune to them. Not a single one of those guys would have looked at her twice, but still, if she’d seen one handsome soldier, she’d seen them all.

Or at least she’d thought so, until she’d seen Joe. And when she’d found out he lived next door to Quinn, it had been a blessing and a curse. Pathetic though it was, she’d lived for those glimpses of him, and when they’d finally been introduced, she’d felt like a giddy teenager.

And, much like her teenage years, the meeting had gone disastrously.

She couldn’t even remember what she’d said or done, but she’d glimpsed into his eyes, seen the discomfort there and the tight, disapproving expression on his face. He’d clearly thought her uncouth, obnoxious, especially when compared to Quinn. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction, one that she’d thought she’d long ago grown accustomed to. But something about seeing it from him had hurt deeply; the ache in her chest it had triggered had been one she hadn’t felt for years. So she’d lashed out, and she’d gotten a reaction from him, one that replaced that faint whiff of disapproval with outright anger.

And so the parameters of their relationship had been set: she was rude; he was rude back; and all was right in the world. She’d come to look forward to their little exchanges, secretly consoling herself with the fact that though he might find fault with her—and who wouldn’t?—he’d never forget her name. It was childish attention-seeking, but she’d more or less come to terms with it. It was safer that way. Joe really was one of the good guys; she’d seen it in the way he dealt with everyone but her. He was kind, giving, and so goddamned dreamy it made her heart hurt. So yeah, she went out of her way to provoke him, certain that if she kept him mad enough, the constant sight of his anger, even if it only enhanced his attractiveness, would be enough to keep her from doing something stupid like developing feelings for him.

And it was working so far. At least, that was what she told herself.

••••

“You okay, man?” Cody Sommers asked.

Joe glanced over at the younger man that ran beside him and then shrugged slightly. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re not your usual jovial self this morning is all,” Sommers said with a laugh, the topic of Joe’s sometimes-serious demeanor a common point of discussion among his friends.

A decade younger than Joe, Sommers was a good kid, had all the enthusiasm and fresh-faced optimism that Joe had only recently realized that he himself had lost. It was actually kind of tough to be around Sommers, because his youth and energy was a living embodiment of what Joe used to be and of what he, deep inside, didn’t think he’d ever be again. Still, Joe had seen the guy’s potential and thought that he had the tools to be a superior SEAL, so he’d taken Sommers under his wing.

“Leave the psychoanalysis to Poole and focus on what you’re doing, Sommers.”

Joe sped up, intent on showing the whippersnapper that he still had a step, and Sommers laughed and kept pace. Joe was happy that he’d successfully diverted attention from his mood. In truth, he was a little distracted this morning. Seeing Verna had left him disoriented. He’d cursed himself for his faux pas, and for the hurt and anger that had flared in her eyes because of it, even though it had been entirely unintended and very much regrettable.

But other than that dicey moment, he’d been unexpectedly pleased and genuinely happy for Verna, both yesterday and this morning. She was a challenging person, that was certain, but she was also a hard worker, one of the hardest he’d ever known, and he knew she deserved her success. But it bothered him that he even cared, and even more that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all night.

None of his mental energy should have been devoted to Verna Love, especially when she wasn’t even in his presence, but he hadn’t been able to shake the thoughts of her last night, and the trend had continued this morning. She’d radiated pure joy, and it had lit her face and body—and given her a glow that he’d found surprising and appealing. Far too appealing, especially since Verna was, well, Verna. Thinking about her as anything other than his annoying neighbor shouldn’t happen.

“You up for it, Mac?”

He looked over at Sommers, shocked that he’d been so consumed with thoughts of Verna that he hadn’t even realized the other man had been speaking. Apparently, his distraction hadn’t gone unnoticed, for Sommers said, “So? Last one to the post up ahead buys breakfast?”

“Sure,” Joe said as he took off in a dead sprint, snorting at the look of surprise that crossed his friend’s face at his underhanded tactic. It wasn’t clean or noble, but he’d take any advantage he could.

Chapter Three

Seven very long hours later, the breakfast crowd had slowed but the lunch rush hadn’t yet started, so Verna stole a few minutes to consult with Blakely.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” she said to the woman who sat across from her looking like a queen on her throne, even amid the kitschy wall decorations and heavy steel chairs that had been inside Love’s for as long as Verna could remember.

“You’re welcome,” Blakely said, glancing around the room. “This is a lot different than I recall, but still strangely familiar.”

Verna raised an eyebrow in surprise. “We did some renovations but kept the same decor. You’ve been to Thornehill Springs before?”

Blakely laughed, the pitch-perfect sound and accompanying smile giving her features a softness and warmth that Verna hadn’t seen in their previous meeting.

“Oh, yes. I spent the first eighteen years of my life here,” Blakely said matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. I don’t remember you, and the only Bishops I know are—”

“You wouldn’t.” Blakely cut her off, the warmth fading in an instant. “And yes, those Bishops,” she said with finality that Verna didn’t dare ignore.

“Umm, well, here are the fabrics I thought might be good options,” she said, switching gears, not only because she didn’t want to risk losing her very first client—an embarrassing outcome that sent shudders of dread through her at the very thought—but also because of the way Blakely had shut down. It seemed she’d touched a sensitive topic, and Verna understood all too well how uncomfortable that could be.

“No, no, no,” Blakely said as she flipped through the images and swatches Verna had laid out on the table. “Yes to this one, this one, and this one,” she said, pointing at her selections. “Do you need anything else?”

“Well…” Verna considered, tilting her head. “No,” she said after a moment.

“Good. Very efficient. I like that. And you’ll meet the three-week schedule and let me know if challenges or delays arise?” Blakeley said, the precision of her words similar to that of her steps.

“Of course,” Verna said.

Blakely nodded and then stared at her. Verna had planned for a long and detailed consultation, oohing and awwing over fabrics and patterns, although as she looked over at Blakely, she couldn’t imagine why. Blakely didn’t strike her as the type of woman who oohed. But Verna looked on the bright side. If she could produce something that would meet Blakely’s exacting standards, other clients would be cake.

She extended a hand. “I’m so excited, and I hope you like what I make. And please, stay and have a bite.”

Blakely shook Verna’s offered hand and smiled slightly. “Do you still serve those amazing pancakes?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure do. Same recipe since the place opened.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll have them right up,” Verna said as she stood.

As she walked away, she felt her father’s watchful glare. He didn’t like it when Verna “talked the ears off” customers, but she wouldn’t dream of telling him that Blakely was her own personal client. She could practically hear him shitting all over the very idea before she even got it out. Nope, Vernon had made it clear that his youngest daughter’s sole purpose, the only thing she could ever be good at, was working at the cafeteria. But not running it. Never that. Verna felt the first pangs of melancholy since her initial encounter with Blakely, but that wasn’t unexpected given the direction of her thoughts. She loved her father, but he had the unique ability to make her feel awful without saying a single word.