Tools of Engagement Read online

  “We’re doing show-and-tell at school on Monday,” Laura said, around her toothbrush.

  “Oh yeah?” Wes tried to bury the heel of his hand in his eye socket. “What are you going to bring?”

  “Bethany’s magnolia candle. I already put it in my backpack.”

  “Why the candle?”

  She spat into the sink. “It smells like her.”

  His heart lurched. “Yeah. It does.”

  “I like the way she smells. I like everything about her.”

  “I like everything about her, too.” Even the crazy parts. Last night in the kitchen, he’d loved her through that entire argument, hadn’t he? He loved her so much now, his hands ached with the need to touch her face, stroke her hair. She must be working so hard staging the house and he wasn’t there to tell her she was extraordinary. That she could do anything.

  “Uncle Wes?”

  “Yeah?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t really been sleeping very much in the bedroom across the hall from me, have you?”

  It hurt to smile, but he couldn’t help it. “No, kid. Not really.”

  “Danielle told me what you and Bethany do at sleepovers.”

  He froze. “Oh yeah? What’d Danielle say?”

  Laura hopped down off the stool Bethany had put in front of the sink, so she could reach the mirror. Had the home visitor even considered that? All the little touches Bethany had added, like a canister of Cheerios in the kitchen and the Disney princess shampoo in the shower? He hadn’t even asked her to do those things. “She said when her mom and dad have sleepovers,” Laura continued, popping his thought bubble, “they new their marriage vows.”

  Christ. He was not mentally prepared for this conversation when his head felt like it was buried in cement. “New? Do you mean . . . renew?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled brightly. “They new them.”

  Wes stayed really still, hoping his lack of movement might work the same way as avoiding a bear attack. “Okay. That’s nice, I guess.”

  “Yeah, but you and Bethany aren’t married.”

  This was it. He was going to be mauled by a bear. He’d never wished harder for Bethany to be standing next to him. She wouldn’t know what the hell to say, either, but that was the beauty of the relationship. Whether it was an impromptu tea party or a bleeding finger, they muddled through it together. Fuck, he’d blown it with her. His first and only time in love and he’d barely made it out of the starting gate before letting Bethany down.

  He’d let Laura down, too.

  Look how happy she is. How is she going to react to moving again?

  “No,” he rasped, finally. “Bethany and I aren’t married.”

  “Then what vows are you newing in there? Can people make vows even if they aren’t married?”

  She nudged him out of the way and he followed her into the hallway, toward her room. And it was a good thing her back was turned, because he was probably white as a sheet. “Yeah, sure . . .” he started, and thought of words he’d spoken to Bethany in the dark.

  I’m rock solid, Bethany. Okay? Put your faith in me. I’m here with you because you’ve been my woman since the beginning, even before you realized or accepted it. I’m standing right here and I’m staying right here. There is nothing you or anyone could do to make me want to be somewhere I couldn’t hold you.

  Something jagged lanced his throat. He’d said that to Bethany.

  He’d meant it, too. What the hell had he been thinking, telling her they were going to leave? Would she ever believe another word out of his mouth?

  “Yeah, people who aren’t married can make vows,” he finished, dropping onto the edge of Laura’s bed and burying his pounding head in his hands.

  “Oh.” Laura sounded disappointed. “But you can still also make the married kind, right?”

  “Why?”

  He lifted his head to find Laura sprawled out on the bed beside him. It struck Wes how comfortable she was in this room, no matter what the hell it looked like. It wasn’t about the décor . . . it was the feeling she got being inside the room. Inside this house.

  Where the hell did anyone get off saying Bethany’s home wasn’t suitable?

  Laura spoke again, diverting his anger. “I don’t know. I have a mom already. But I could have two. Couldn’t I?”

  A rake clawed at his insides. “You want Bethany to be your mom?”

  He swore there were stars in her eyes when she sighed. “Yeah. Do you?”

  “No, I don’t want her to be my mom.”

  Laura giggled and his lips curved into a smile, despite the desolation making his chest burn. This whole situation suddenly struck him as unfair. Sure, he knew the court had a responsibility to make sure kids went to a safe home, but Lord, what he would have given back in the day for someone who cared about him the way Bethany cared about Laura. She’d set aside her insecurities and become a fixture in his niece’s life, picking her up from school, protecting her from potential pain when Becky showed up, given her a home. A warm one, to hell with what that woman said about it. They were just new at this.

  But he didn’t want to be new at anything without Bethany.

  He needed her.

  Laura needed her, too. And he’d completely failed to let her know that when she needed to be reassured most. She’d given him an out, because she’d been scared, and he wanted to punch himself in the face for taking it.

  She needed to know he would never, ever take an out.

  That he would never even think about it.

  “You mind spending a few hours with Let’s Color, kid? I’ve got some work to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In an effort to juice every ounce of drama from the competition, the producer sent Bethany across town with the camera crew—and Slade—to have her tour Stephen’s flip prior to the winner being announced. When they parked at the curb, Wes’s truck was no longer in her driveway across the street. Had him and Laura left for good?

  Her stomach took a dive at the thought.

  Just get through this morning.

  Easier said than done. Her knees almost buckled upon stepping over the threshold of Stephen’s flip. The first-glance effect was spectacular. He’d opened up the entryway and carved a little mudroom into the east wall. A pendant light caught the sunshine and projected fragments of rainbows on the lemon sorbet–colored walls. Oak floors beckoned her deeper into the open floor plan and she could only gape at the changes. Bethany was well aware that the cameras were documenting her every reaction, but she didn’t have room to care.

  Right in this spot, just under three weeks ago, Wes had Zellweger’d for her.

  “If we can get through a meeting without biting each other’s heads off, then we’ll consider working together.”

  “We’re just going to pretend you have other options, huh?”

  “Are we having a meeting or not?”

  “Yeah.”

  Even then, he’d been winding through her insecurities like a maze. How could it have taken her so long to realize Wes was a hero in disguise?

  “How are you feeling about your chances?” Slade asked, coming up beside her in a classic construction-man pose, arms crossed, legs braced. “Are you surprised by what your brother managed to pull off without you?”

  “Yes, actually. I am.” She let out a long exhale and advanced into the living area, shocked once again by the tasteful elegance. “Looks like I’m not the only decorator in the family. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  Slade displayed a half grin. “You sound worried.”

  His cajoling tone, along with the bright camera lights, amplified her headache. “We could definitely lose. But losing won’t make me any less proud of our house.”

  “Speaking of we, where is your foreman?”

  A pang caught her in the sternum. “I don’t know.”

  Around her, the camera operators shifted, as if they were excited by the subject of Wes and wanted to get a
better angle. “Do you have any regrets about trusting him with so much responsibility?”

  “No. No, I have a lot of regrets, but trusting Wes will never be one of them. I’m not sure if he could say the same about me.” Burning pressure greeted the backs of her eyes, and she cut through Slade and the director, heading for the door. She piled into the middle seat of the network van and took deep breaths to steady herself. And then the van was moving, Slade and the director chatting loudly in the front seat about potentially changing his wardrobe for the big announcement. It made her wish for Wes so badly. Made her wish for one of his eye rolls or drawled comments in her ear.

  Chaos reigned back at Project Doomsday, interns running between trailers and the house, landscapers helping to set up shots of the exterior—Ollie and Carl being interviewed out front in tuxedos, which would have made her laugh out loud if her heart wasn’t dragging behind her like tin cans.

  The van door slid open to Bethany’s right, drawing her attention. “Both houses have been toured by three impartial real estate agents and given an unofficial appraisal. Your brother is inside touring Project Doomsday so we can bank his reaction shots. When that’s over, we’re going to bring you both out on the lawn and announce the winner. Your friends and family are already being arranged in the shot.”

  “Oh.” Sure enough, in the distance she could see everyone on her favorites list, including her parents. Her mother was wearing the same dress she’d worn to Georgie’s wedding and applying lipstick in an endless coral oval. “Great.”

  As Bethany was escorted from the van to the staged filming area, butterflies swept through her stomach, surprising her. All morning, she’d been hollow and calm—heartbroken, to get technical—but now . . . she wanted to win. She needed the win. Not for herself, but for her and Wes. She desperately needed something positive to come from their relationship. Sure it had been painfully short, but it had impacted her like nothing else. Their time together might as well have lasted a decade and she needed something to show for it. For the changes he’d inspired in her, for the unconditional support he’d given.

  Bethany reached the crowd of family and friends, everyone speaking to her at once and none of the words penetrating. Stephen exited the house, capturing her attention. He was wearing a shirt that read ONE HUNDRED PERCENT THAT FATHER without an iota of shame and Bethany could only shake her head.

  “You’re really going to wear that on television.”

  “Kristin got one for you, too.”

  “Do either of you need a bottle of water?” a harried intern asked.

  “We’re fine,” Stephen answered for them, sending the young man scurrying off into the swelling crowd of crewmembers. “It’s okay, Bethany, you don’t have to congratulate me on the pregnancy. Saying congratulations twice in one day would be too much.”

  “Oooh, you should have saved that zinger until the cameras were rolling.”

  Her brother shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of them.”

  “All right, everyone,” shouted the director, holding up a hand. “I like the energy here. Let’s keep it going, so I can get a panning shot of the audience. On my signal, everyone cheer like your lives depend on it. Like you’re outside of a Best Buy on Black Friday, or whatever excites suburbanites.”

  “What a tool,” Bethany muttered.

  “We can agree on that,” Stephen said out of the corner of his mouth. “So who is going to crack first and ask for an opinion on their flip?”

  “Not it.”

  Stephen cursed.

  “All right! Here we go! Black Friday energy!” The director settled his hands on his knees. “Action.”

  Behind Stephen and Bethany, whistles and woos filled the mid-morning atmosphere, calling more attention to her loneliness. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be standing there by herself.

  Slade disrupted her thoughts by stepping between her and Stephen, rubbing his hands together. “Two small-town flips, condensed into an incredibly short time frame. Brother versus sister. Ultimate bragging rights on the line.” Dramatic pause. “I have to say, both of you delivered beyond our expectations. But who will come away victorious?” He fired a finger gun at the camera. “Stay with us. We’ll be announcing the winner after the break.”

  “Cut! Perfect, Slade,” called the director. “Let’s go right into the announcement next. Build the drama. Stretch it out. Folks, on my signal, cheer your faces off. Cameras ready?” He waited for a nod from the cameraman. “And . . . we’re rolling.”

  Once again, the sounds of clapping and cheering filled Bethany’s ears, the bright lights blinding her until all she could see were vague outlines of human beings and blurs of color.

  Slade’s voice cut through the noise like a buzz saw. “Flip Off is back, coming to you from Port Jefferson, Long Island! If you’re just joining us, we’re primed to announce the winner of a brother-sister showdown of epic proportions. How are you feeling, Stephen? Confident?”

  Bethany’s brother puffed up his chest. “Always.”

  “Bethany? What about you?”

  “Nervous,” she breathed, the honesty beginning to come easier.

  She only caught a hint of Stephen’s frown before Slade blocked her view. “Our judges have done a thorough inspection of both houses, and while both of you did an outstanding job, there can only be one winner. Without further ado . . . we’re going to announce who impressed them the most. The winner of Flip Off is . . .” He stopped talking for so long, Bethany almost pinched the host to see if he was alive. “Stephen! Congratulations, buddy.”

  Bethany felt every camera train on her face and knew she should grin and bear the news, but she couldn’t seem to make it happen. It was insult to injury. She’d lost Wes, and now this home they’d worked on tirelessly for weeks had been declared a loser, just like their relationship. It hurt, like a nail in the coffin.

  Still, she stepped around Slade, prepared to shake Stephen’s hand. “Hey, congratulations. It’s a well-deserved vict—”

  “Now, hold on one second,” Stephen blustered, avoiding her hand. “What exactly were the judges’ criteria? Because my sister started with a ramshackle nightmare and I started with a slightly outdated house. And she had little to no experience, on top of everything.” His face was starting to turn red. “I just went in there and . . . Bethany, you killed it. All those little details are going to sell the place. The broken-up backsplash in the kitchen, those built-in bookshelves, and the ornamental trim you ran along the middle of the bedroom walls. I mean, what the hell were the judges even looking at?” He jabbed a finger at Slade. “My sister won. Announce it again.”

  Somewhere in the distance, Bethany heard her mother burst into tears. “My children love each other.”

  “Stephen,” Bethany said thickly. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m not blowing smoke, Bethany. You won.”

  “Your house was beautiful, though. Your staging was spot-on.”

  “You know why? I pulled up one of your past furniture orders and put everything exactly where you did.” He threw up his hands. “I just copied one of your old stages.”

  A gasp went up from the crowd.

  “Oh. Come to think of it, the arrangement did look pretty familiar,” she murmured to herself.

  “The twists and turns keep coming on Flip Off,” crowed Slade.

  Bethany swiped at the gathering moisture in her eyes. “You know what? I wanted to win. I wanted to have something positive to hold on to in the middle of the mess I made, but . . .”

  “But what?” prompted the host.

  She stared into the abyss of people behind the cameras. “It doesn’t feel right accepting the win without Wes here. My foreman. My . . . ex-boyfriend, I guess?”

  Her mother was in full vapors now. “She already broke up with him? I didn’t even get a Sunday dinner out of it.”

  “Wes saw every side of me while flipping this house. Stubborn Bethany. Scared, stressed, and silly Bethany. And he stuc
k it out. He was patient. More patient than I deserved. I would have spun out so many times if he wasn’t standing beside me, making me fall in love with him.” She could practically feel the cameras zooming in on her face, but she’d stopped hearing anything but the rapid pound of her heart. “So, maybe . . . hopefully six to eight months from now he’ll watch this show on his couch and he’ll hear he made a difference. Wes, you were always more than a pit stop for me. You were the destination. I just got lost on my way there one too many times—”

  Wes stepped out of the blur of bodies and slowly removed his cowboy hat.

  They stared at each other, five feet apart, the cacophony of noise falling into a hush around them.

  “You’re here,” she whispered, rooted to the spot. Held there by the sheer overwhelming pleasure of being near Wes, seeing him, absorbing his presence. How did she ever go a day without him? How would she ever do it in the future?

  “I’m here,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Right where I’m going to stay. What about rock solid didn’t you understand?”

  Bethany started to tremble. Was he forgiving her? Was she dreaming?

  “I’m late because I was filing the appeal. Next time I saw you, I wanted to have a next time on the horizon. We don’t quit, Bethany. We muddle through it together. We’re in everything together.”

  Her lungs released their contents in a rush. “I love you so much.”

  His eyes became suspiciously damp. “I heard.”

  Neither of them moved to close the gap between them.

  “I promise to be rock solid for you, too.” A sound welled up in her chest and burst free. “I’m so sorry—”

  Wes surged forward, dropping his hat at her feet in favor of cradling her face in both hands. He took a moment to search her gaze before his mouth landed on hers with eager precision. Determined fingers tangled in her hair, his tongue stroking hers in a way that was at once tender and hungry. “You’re my first home, Bethany, and my last,” he rasped against her lips. “I’m yours, too. And sometimes a floorboard is going to get creaky or a porch light will need fixing. We’ll repair it and be good as new. That’s love. I wouldn’t have known what love felt like without tea parties. Or a beautiful woman showing up at my window at midnight. Or that same woman opening up her home even though it scared her.” He kissed the tears off her cheeks. “I am your destination. And you didn’t get lost on the way to me, you just circled the block one extra time. Now park the goddamn car, darlin’, come inside and tell me you love me again.”