Page 11 of Suddenly Yours

The house had two staircases, one grand wooden staircase at the front that curved up to the second floor with those hand-carved railings that had hooked me the moment I saw them. And the second one, narrower and straight, tucked in the back hall near the kitchen. That one also led down to the mudroom-slash-laundry room I had rewired last month.

Tonight, the back staircase was my mission. I headed there after stopping off to get a cold beer from the fridge.

I dropped my tool bag on the floor and took a sip of the beer before cracking my knuckles and pulling up the edge of the old carpet. It released with a groan and a puff of ancient dust. I slipped on my mask and gloves and went back to it.

“Come on, baby,” I muttered, yanking harder. “Show me something good.”

The carpet tore free, rolling back like a dusty wave, revealing beautiful inlay hardwood of birch and maple beneath.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was salvageable with some work. Oh, hell yes. This could be fun to remake.

A thrill ran through me. These floors were unique, original, full of life under all the grime. All they needed was sanding, staining, and a little love.

I kept ripping at the old carpet, going slow so as to not pull up any of the wood.

As I worked, my smile faded slowly while my mind drifted back to Missy. How she’d looked when she talked about her parents. The flash of hurt she always tried to hide from, even from me. The way she held herself together like she was used to being disappointed in life.

I hated that look on her. I felt the same way, so I knew how deep the cuts were.

When we were kids—middle school, junior high—Missy Sharpe had been chaos in the form of a girl. Her hair had always been escaping her ponytail. She’d been bright, cheerful and almost always laughing too hard at everything I said.

And yeah, I’d had a crush on her. A stupid, awkward, thirteen-year-old crush that I buried under years of pretending that I didn’t notice her.

Then life happened. She had dance classes. I had rugby and whatever other sport my parents had signed me up for.

She had her plans. I had mine. We shared our dreams.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that I’d outgrown whatever that was between us. Maybe I’d been too embarrassed to confide in my best friend that I wanted to kiss her. Dreamed of it. I still did.

But working beside her these last few months to get Sweet Expectations ready, listening to her plans, watching her grin when a project turned out exactly like she wanted, those old feelings had bubbled themselves right up from under the floorboards of my chest like they’d never left.

Stubborn as hell. Just like the girl herself.

I pulled up another section of carpet, breathing harder than the work required.

“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself as I hauled the roll down the stairs. “You’re not thirteen anymore.”

But the truth settled as heavy as the dust around me: I wasn’t over it. Over her. Not even close.

And the more time I spent around her, the harder it was getting to pretend that my feelings were nothing but the history between us.

Missy had changed over the years. She’d grown into herself, built the life that she’d chosen. But at her core? She was still that warm, bright girl who made everything around her feel a little more alive. Brighter.

I set the carpet down in the mudroom, wiped sweat off my forehead, and glanced up toward the back staircase that I’d just exposed.

Hardwood. Solid. Worth restoring.

Just like some things, and some people, you never really let go of.

And dammit, I wasn’t sure I wanted to let go.

Chapter Four

Missy

The bakery was too quiet tonight. I’d closed the doors almost two hours ago and was focusing on my special orders.

Most people found quiet to be peaceful. I found it, oddly, too loud. Loud with the tick-tick-tick of the cooling ovens, loud with the hum of the refrigerators, loud with the thoughts I avoided all day by keeping myself busy.