And only now that the structure is half built do you point out the problem.”
Eric’s smile was smug and full of satisfaction. “It was a regrettable oversight.”
One you’ll regret more than I will, Matt thought. If they could play hardball, so could he. He took a step toward Eric, amused to see the man take a nervous step back. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact that in high school I beat you out as starting quarterback and got lucky with your girlfriend in the bed of my truck? Didn’t you end up marrying her?”
It was only a rumor; he’d supposedly scored with so many of the girls in high school, but it served its purpose. Eric’s face turned an interesting shade of purple and the veins in his temple bulged. At twenty-eight, with a beer gut that hung over his belt and nicotine stains on his teeth and fingers, he looked like a heart attack in the making.
“I’m not shutting down construction,” Matt said.
“You’ve got until next week to bring it up to code, then I’m shutting you down.” Eric slammed his briefcase, and flashed Matt a greasy smile. “Have a nice day.”
Though the majority of the city had been supportive of his restaurant, there were a few people who had given him nothing but grief. The same people who’d had so little tolerance for him when he was a kid. No matter how well he did in school, or how he excelled in sports, thanks to his alcoholic parents he’d been labeled a troublemaker by some—guilty by association. Despite his recent fame, living in L.A. afforded him a certain anonymity. In Chapel, a traffic violation won you a spot in the local paper’s “Police Beat” column.
He hadn’t let them win back then and he wouldn’t let them now.
Matt heard an engine start and turned to see Emily’s truck pulling out of the lot. She was leaving before he’d had a chance to smooth things over. He felt as if he was being pulled in a dozen different directions at once.
He watched her truck disappear around the corner and felt more determined than ever to make amends. The only question was, how?
He was pretty sure there would be groveling involved.
“Look at you,” Emily scolded. “If you don’t pull it together, you’ll never get out of this place. There’s a sunny window somewhere out there just waiting for you.”
The Abutilon hybridum, commonly known as a Canary Bird Flowering Maple, sat on the isolation table near the rear of the nursery, looking wilted and sick, its leaves pale and drooping pathetically. Emily plucked an errant brown leaf. “It’s not aphids and I don’t see a fungus.”
She checked the undersides of the leaves for signs of mites. “Your brothers and sisters are healthy. What’s the deal?”
“Do they ever answer you?”
At the unexpected voice, Emily let out a squeal of surprise and spun around. She knew who it was even before she saw Matt standing behind her. Her heart gave an appropriate flutter at the sight of him.
Damn him for always looking so good, for bringing back memories that were better off forgotten.
“In a manner of speaking, they do,” she said. “It’s been scientifically proven that plants respond positively to verbal stimuli.”
He nodded thoughtfully and gestured toward the sickly plant. “Maybe this one is hard of hearing.”
She had to stifle a smile. He always did have a good sense of humor, and the ability to make her laugh. He’d been the brightest point in her life. Her life had grown dim since then, but she was used to it. She liked it that way. It was tough for people to hurt you, to disappoint you, if you kept them at arms’ length.
“What do you want, Conway?” she asked. “I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”
“You have my binder with the restaurant specs and I need it for tomorrow. The decorator has my only other copy.”
He’d only wanted his folder. Why would she even think he would want to see her for any other reason than business? Why would he be interested in someone like her when he could have a thousand other women? Beautiful, feminine women.
And why did she feel disappointment instead of relief?
“I get it for you and you’ll leave?” she asked.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She brushed past him, far too aware of the energy vibrating from his body, and headed toward the front of the building. The man was a walking powerhouse, and even worse, he knew it. Stepping into her miniscule office, she grabbed the binder off her desk, but as she spun around to leave she slammed hard into Matt’s chest. The heat radiating from his skin scorched her and she jerked away, bumping the backs of her thighs against her cluttered desk. “What are you doing in here?”
He reached behind him and closed the door. “Giving us some privacy.”
“You said you would leave. You did the Scout’s honor thing.”
He gave her a wide, toothy grin, looking just like the old Matt. “I was never a Scout.”
That was exactly the kind of stunt the old Matt would have pulled. He looked like the old Matt, and he was acting like the old Matt—
No. No way she would let herself even consider that. She didn’t want to like him. If she started to like him a little, that might grow into liking him a lot. Then he would leave and she would never hear from him again. No thanks. “What do you want from me, Conway?”
“I just want to talk to you. I’ve…missed you.”
“You missed me? That would explain why you stopped calling. Never once visited. Yeah, you sure seemed broken up about it.”
“Your parents came out to visit me. You could have come with them.”
She’d wanted to. It had torn her to pieces to watch her parents leave, knowing they would see Matt. Knowing how badly she’d wanted to see him, too. And knowing it just wasn’t an option. Not if her heart was ever going to heal. “I don’t remember getting an invitation.”
“You were always welcome.”
“Oh, was it one of those mind-reading things us women are supposed to be able to do? I probably should have told you, I was absent the day they taught that in home economics.”
Matt gave her a scrutinizing look. “I don’t remember you being this cynical.”
“I’m being realistic.” The phone on her desk rang and she turned to snatch it up. Her mood plummeted even lower when she answered the phone and recognized the voice on the other end.
“Emily, dear,” Alex’s mother said sharply. “I need to speak with my son.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Marlette, but Alex stepped out for the afternoon.” And tomorrow afternoon, and the one after that.
“This is the third time I’ve called this week. Haven’t you been giving him my messages?”
Emily
