“God, thank you,” Phil whispered, her shoulders sagging with relief.
Unfortunately, the peaceful calm that had enveloped her didn’t last very long. As she traveled along Highway 21 on her way back to Gauthier, the aching in her chest kicked up once again. She had lived with it for well over a week, through Thanksgiving. It just wouldn’t go away.
She exited the highway, coming to the juncture at Maurepas Drive and Highway 436. She wanted to turn left toward her house. She could hole up in her big, empty bed and not surface for days. Maybe even weeks.
But she wasn’t one to hide, nor did she shirk her responsibilities.
She turned left and headed for Loring Avenue. The restoration on Belle Maison was nearly complete. She had no idea when Jamal would return—or even if he would. Maybe Tiffany would show up here in a few days with a For Sale sign.
But Phil had been hired to do a job. She was going to get it done.
She parked in the driveway and headed for the downstairs bathroom. She would put the finishing touches on the trimming she’d restored and then take an inventory of what was left to do before guests began arriving in a few days.
As she worked, Phil thought about how her views on the house had changed over the past couple of months. When she’d first started the job, the thought of a host of strangers breezing in and out of Belle Maison made her physically ill. But as she worked to restore the house to its former glory, she’d come to the realization that this house was too special to remain uninhabited. Her great-great-grandfather’s hard labor was meant to be enjoyed. She was looking forward to seeing the reaction of guests when they crossed the grand home’s threshold.
Hurt pierced her chest as she accepted the likelihood that she probably wouldn’t get to see their faces. She’d pictured herself here with Jamal, inviting people into Belle Maison, showing off her family’s legacy with pride. She’d imagined the two of them sharing the history of the house and the story of how they had restored it. Even how Jamal had updated it with green technology.
“You can get that out of your head,” she said to the empty room.
She’d allowed herself to be pulled into this fantasy, and it had come back to bite her square in the behind. This was Jamal’s house. They were not the happy little couple who would spend their days running a cozy bed-and-breakfast. She was Jamal Johnson’s employee, nothing more.
She would finish her work here and get back to pulling herself out of debt. The money from the property that sold in Maplesville would help tremendously. If she was able to get a steady stream of restoration work, she would be on the right track. Except for this broken heart she was still nursing. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be healed anytime soon.
“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong,” Phil reprimanded herself.
It didn’t matter that it was with the best of intentions. None of it mattered. She was here to do a job. She’d allowed herself to get swept away by Jamal’s charm and his incredible body, and now she was paying the price. She’d been through something similar with Kevin and survived. She could do it again.
Although Phil had the forbidding feeling that it would take much,muchlonger to get over Jamal. At least she hadn’t had to see Kevin after he’d picked up and run off to California. If Jamal decided to return to Gauthier, avoiding him would be nearly impossible in this small town.
But the fact that she’d fallen much harder for Jamal than she had for Kevin—than she had foranyman— was the major difference when it came to the anticipated recovery time for this particular broken heart. It would take forever.
She gave herself a mental shake and got back to work. The quicker she was done here, the quicker she could move on.
An hour later, as she wiped down the mantel in the parlor, an eerie feeling tiptoed down Phil’s spine. Seconds later, she heard a rumbling coming up the driveway. She left the dust cloth on the mantel and went out the front door onto the porch.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as Jamal’s black-and-chrome pickup truck pulled to a stop and the driver’s-side door opened. When he stepped out, Phil’s heart ached at the sight of him.
Time stood still as they stared at each other across the expanse of the front yard. After several long, uncomfortable moments, Jamal broke the silence.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” he said.
Phil had to clear her throat before speaking. “I have a job to do,” she said.
He closed the door to the truck and took a few steps forward. He stuffed his hands in his front jeans pockets then pulled them out again and ran a palm over his head and down his face. His fidgeting was unnerving, but Phil maintained her composure as best she could.
“Is that the only reason you’re here?” he asked. “Are you leaving once the job is done?”
“I figured that’s what you would want,” she managed to get out.
Jamal shook his head; the sincerity shining through his eyes pierced her heart. “No,” he said. “I don’t want you to leave, Phylicia.”
Phil’s chest expanded with the deep breath she pulled in. She was afraid to read too much into his words, afraid to hope.
In a few strides, Jamal was on the porch, standing before her.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”
