If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1) (12 page)

Joe shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you. This is my sister, Sylvie.”

“I just
love
your jewelry,” Sylvie gushed.

“Thank you. I love
it, too.” Audrey sent smiles all around.

“Do you mind if we
sit in your back room for a while?” Willa asked. “There weren’t any seats available
next door. We need to go over some ideas.”

“Go right on back,”
Audrey invited. “I made a fresh pot of coffee about twenty minutes ago. Help
yourself.”

As Joe and Sylvie
walked towards the back room, Audrey snagged Willa’s arm. “You are
not
leaving until you spill all the details,” she whispered dramatically.

Willa rolled her
eyes. “It’s just a business meeting.”

Audrey’s expression
begged to differ.

Willa entered the
room to find Sylvie sitting on the loveseat. She’d set the crullers and napkins
on the coffee table. Joe stood at the kitchenette pouring coffee into a white
porcelain cup. “Coffee?” he asked Willa in a polite tone.

“No, thanks.” She
shrugged out of her rain slicker and hung it on the coat rack near the door.
Then she sat down next to Sylvie.

Joe set his coffee
and notepad on the table and then removed his own jacket. Beneath lowered
lashes, Willa observed the way his black tee-shirt stretched across his chest,
the way his dark blue jeans molded his lean hips and muscular thighs as he
walked over to the coat rack. He sat down in the armchair across from them,
propped his right ankle on his left knee, and leaned back in the chair.

“So,” Sylvie said,
nudging Willa to get her attention. “Will you be serving coffee in your
bakery?”

“I hadn’t thought
about that,” Willa said. “If I do, it would just be ordinary coffee. Maybe
self-serve. I’m not competing with the coffeehouses.”

“You could sell
cartons of milk,” Sylvie suggested. “You know those small containers you get
with a school lunch.” She sat up straighter. “I know! You could have a milk and
cookie package, something for the college students to take back to their dorm.
Joe, give me a piece of paper. I need to write this down.”

Joe had been
watching them with a quiet expression as he sipped his coffee and consumed a
cruller in four bites. He set his coffee down, wiped his hands on a napkin,
then placed both feet on the floor and leaned forward. He ripped a sheet of
paper from his notepad and handed it to his sister. “I like that idea,” he
said. His eyes landed on Willa. “You might consider offering student and senior
discounts, too.”

Willa gave him a vague
nod.

Joe flipped the
notepad to the floor plan he’d drawn out. He traced a long line with his index
finger. “Sylvie’s suggestion to put counters along the front windows here is a
good one. The counter doesn’t have to extend out more than nineteen inches.
That still leaves you plenty of room over here for a grouping of tables. And,
here, you could…”

Willa’s gaze
drifted across his features as he continued to speak in an impassive tone. His
head was bent over the drawing. His dark hair glistened under the soft light
radiating from the floor lamp. His hand—work-roughened, sinewy and strong—moved
across the notepad. His wrist, covered with a dusting of fine, dark hair, flexed
in a confident way as he pointed at another section of the diagram.

“…once we’re able
to see the kitchen and get the actual measurements, we can determine where to
put that wall unit. It may just be the upper portion. It would make a great
display area behind the counter. But we should keep those stained glass doors
in the middle. That might look nice.”

Willa felt a
clenching between her legs. Shocked by a sudden upsurge of what could only be pure
sexual desire, she shifted awkwardly in her seat. Striving to appear casual,
she crossed her right leg over her left, then instantly drew in a low, hissing
gasp as a sharp pain shot through her right knee.

Joe’s head jerked
up, dark eyes scrutinizing her face. “You okay?”

She winced. “My
knee.”

He shoved the
notepad and coffee cup aside. “You must’ve banged it up worse than you thought.
Put your foot up on the table. Sylvie, see if there’s some ice in the freezer
there.”

Willa stretched her
leg and rested it on the coffee table, even as she protested, “It’s fine. I just
kept the leg still for too long, that’s all.”

“Roll up your
jeans.”

She swallowed at
the command in his voice. Her forehead knitted in a frown as she held his gaze.
“It’s probably just a bruise.”

“Let’s take a look.
It might be swollen.”

“You better do as
he says,” Sylvie teased, coming back to them with a damp towel. “That’s his
‘I’m the oldest, don’t argue with me’ voice.”

“He’s not my
brother.”

Sylvie laughed.
“Doesn’t matter.” The younger girl seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

Joe’s eyes flickered
across Willa’s taut expression. His mouth relaxed into a coaxing smile. “Just a
quick look, Willa. I’ve doctored so many bruises and cuts on Sylvie and Tony
over the years. I can pretty much tell at a glance if it’s anything to worry
about.”

Willa released a
pent-up breath. Giving him a grudging look, she rolled up the pant leg to her
knee, revealing a darkening bruise just below the kneecap. She flinched as he
gently traced his blunt, callused fingertips around her kneecap.

“It’s a little
swollen. Sylvie. Ice.”

Sylvie handed him
the towel. He set it on Willa’s knee, then took Willa’s right hand and placed
it on the towel. “Keep it there for a while.” His fingers brushed across her
hand, his eyes holding hers. Then, as suddenly as if he’d just touched a hot
stove, he yanked his hand back. A shutter came down over his expression.

“I have a knee
brace in my truck if you need it,” he said, his tone casual and cool.

“My brother the
hero,” Sylvie said with a mock swoon.

“Not funny, Syl.”
Joe gave his sister a dark look.

“Geez, what’s
happened to your sense of humor? These last two weeks you’ve been—”

“Sylvie! Enough.”
Joe’s sharp reprimand seemed to echo in the small room.

Willa released a
quiet sigh of relief when Audrey chose that exact moment to stroll into the
room. “How’s it going back here? You
have
to catch me up on your plans,
Willa.” She sat down on the armchair next to Joe and gave him a coquettish
smile. “I’m
so
thrilled that Willa is taking on this wonderful venture.
It was my idea, you know.”

Willa
was up with the sun on Monday. The construction crew would be arriving at nine
o’clock. Veronica had called the night before to review the schedule for the
coming week. Curtis would be onsite for a couple of hours on Monday and Tuesday
to shoot something Veronica called “B-roll”. On Wednesday, he and Tiffany would
ride along with Tony and Willa to visit some local suppliers so Willa could
select things like granite countertops and paint colors, appliances and
furniture.

“These are the home
show sponsors,” Veronica explained. “So be sure to smile when Tony gives them a
plug. Oh, I’m also waiting for Joe to get back to me on what progress he’s made
with that wall unit. I’d like to get some footage of him discussing his plans
with you.”

“We might be making
a couple different things out of it,” Willa said.

After a long pause,
Veronica said, “And when did that conversation take place?”

“Last Thursday. I
called Joe.”

“You called
Joe
?”

As Willa updated
Veronica on the bakery plans, she could practically hear the other woman
seething. “I really wish you’d talked with me about this first, Willa. I’d have
liked to get all of that on camera.”

“Why?”

“That wall unit was
becoming a centerpiece of this project. We need to keep the continuity in that
storyline.”

“I just thought you
wouldn’t want me promoting my business on the show,” Willa said in a clipped
tone. “I’ve seen people do that on other reality shows, and it really turns me
off. Can’t you do one of those interview things with Joe and have him give a
synopsis of the conversation?”

Veronica gave a
grudging sigh. “Fine. I’ll be onsite on Friday. Ask Collette if she wants to
help paint some of the interior. I’ve shared some of the footage from last week
with the story producer and network execs. They’re thrilled. That lady is a riot.
She could have her own show.”

When Willa called
Collette to extend Veronica’s invitation, Collette relayed one of her own.
“This Saturday is the May Breakfast at Shirley’s church. We’re all going. We
need to leave by eight o’clock.”

Willa couldn’t
believe it was almost May. As she headed towards the beach on Monday morning,
she felt a different kind of warmth in the air, a hint of the hot, humid summer
days on the horizon.

Spying a line of
fishermen along the north shore, she began her walk on the south. The tide was
high today. As she reached the rocky section where she had to cut across the
park to get to the other side of the beach, something moving in the sand
several feet ahead of her caught her eye.

As she drew closer,
she saw claws digging into the air and a long object that looked like a tail
moving back and forth.

It was some kind of
sea creature in a strange helmet-like shell. It appeared to be stuck on its
back, flailing its claws as it futilely tried to flip over.

In all her studies,
Willa had never come across anything like this. It looked like a crab. But its
claws reminded her more of a scorpion. And the tail had what appeared to be a
sharp, pointed end. Or was that a stinger?

Whatever it was, it
was a living thing, and she couldn’t just leave it there to die.

She looked about
for something to push the creature back into the water and saw a short stick in
the rocks nearby. It wasn’t much longer than a ruler, but it would have to do.

As she hovered
closer, the strange creature’s legs moved faster, the claws snapping in
warning. “It’s okay,” Willa murmured. “I just want to help you.”

She reached down
with the stick, aiming for the harder part of the creature’s shell and gave a
push.

Up came the tail,
almost touching her arm.

She gave a startled
shriek and leaped backwards, the stick flying from her hands.

From behind her
came the sound of laughter, rich and warm. “It won’t hurt you.”

She twisted around.

Joe stood a few
feet away, hands buried in his jeans pockets, a grin creasing his clean-shaven
face.

Willa caught her
breath. Finding herself unable to look directly into his eyes, she returned her
gaze to the creature. “What
is
it?

“A horseshoe crab.
They’re one of the gentlest creatures on earth, and one of the oldest.” He strode
forward, his arm brushing against hers as he walked past her. Placing a hand on
either side of the hard section of the creature’s shell, he picked it up with
confident ease and strode down to the water. He flipped the creature over in his
hands and set it down in the water.

Willa followed him,
standing at his shoulder as she watched the horseshoe crab use its tail and
claws to propel itself into deeper water. “They don’t have those in
California,” she said. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“Nope. Their normal
habitat is along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. I bet we’ll find some more on
the other side of the park. It was a full moon on Saturday. When the weather
starts getting warmer, they come on shore to lay their eggs. It’s usually right
around the full moon and new moon.” He grinned. “Things can get a little tricky
during the egg fertilization process. The males can fall off the, uh, females
and land on their backs. Or they get surprised by a wave.”

She glanced up at
him. “You seem to know a lot about them.”

He kept his eyes on
the water. He folded his arms across his chest. “My dad taught me about them.
He’d take me and Tony fishing at least once a month during the season. We came
here a few times.”

“That tail isn’t a
stinger then?”

He chuckled. “No,
just a tail.” Returning his glance to her, he pointed his thumb towards the
next section of beach. “Want to see if there are any more to rescue? I’ll show
you how.”

She nodded.

She walked beside
him up a path to the main section of the park. An elderly couple sat hand in
hand on a bench facing the lighthouse. Joe gave them a friendly wave as he and
Willa strolled past, and they waved back.

Joe offered his
hand as they descended down a slight, rocky incline towards the beach. “Your
knee seems to be better,” he observed, releasing Willa’s hand as soon as she
stepped onto the sand.

“I kept it elevated
most of the day yesterday.”

“Good.” He pointed
to something several feet ahead of them. “There’s another one.”

This time, he showed
her how to pick up the crab by the hard section of its shell and flip it over.
Willa slowly carried it at arm’s length to the water’s edge and set it down
gently. It glided forward, then turned around, seeming to look up at her
through the water, before continuing into the depths until it disappeared from
view.

Something lifted
inside of her. Funny, how this small gesture gave her more satisfaction than
solving an intricate mathematical equation ever would.

She beamed up at
Joe. “Let’s keep looking.”

His long, dark
eyelashes lowered on a mysterious gleam as he returned her smile. “All right.”

As if by mutual
agreement, they kept silent as they walked from the point to the end of the
northern section of the beach, only speaking when they spied another
floundering creature. They came across almost a dozen stranded horseshoe crabs
along the way.

“They’re so
helpless,” Willa observed. “What if we weren’t here to help them? How long
could they survive?”

“Only a few hours,
I think. When they get too weak, the seagulls dig in.”

She gave him a look
of distress. “That’s terrible!”

He reached out as
if to touch her face, but quickly drew his arm back. “Good thing you walk here
every morning then,” he said in a light tone. “You can make this your mission
for the summer. Willa to the rescue.”

“I will,” she
avowed. “Look, there’s another!”

He walked alongside
her to the water and, together, they watched the creature swish along the sand
bottom. It paused, turning as if to thank them before swimming away.

Joe stood close,
his arm brushing against Willa’s shoulder. She stared silently into the water,
not willing to move just yet.

“It’s kind of like
life, you know,” he said after a few quiet minutes.

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes we’re
swimming happily along, or playing in the sand. And then we get knocked over,
turned around. Stuck on our backs. You think everything is hopeless, until
someone or something will come around and make you right again, put you back on
your feet and bring you to where you’re supposed to be.”

She looked up at
him. “Have you ever felt hopeless?”

Looking straight
ahead, he nodded slowly. “Many times,” he admitted gruffly.

She released a
shaky breath. “Like when your parents died,” she murmured. “You must have felt
so alone.”

“I didn’t have time
to think about the way I felt. Not then. There were too many things that had to
be done. Looking back now, it’s all just a blur.”

“You were only
eighteen. I couldn’t imagine taking on all those responsibilities when I was
that age. Did you ever feel like giving up?”

He gave a firm
shake of his head. “Never. No matter how hopeless things got at times.” He met
her curious, troubled glance. “There are things you do without question, Willa.
You never stop to wonder why. I had to take care of my brother and sister, to
make sure they were safe and secure. I never gave it a second thought. They’re
my family. Nothing is more important than that.”

Her heart squeezed
at the fierce conviction that shone from his eyes. “I envy them,” she said in a
wistful voice. “Having a brother like you.”

“You don’t have any
brothers or sisters?”

“No. I was an only
child. My mother died when I was five years old. It was just me and my father.
He…wasn’t a good father.”

Joe inhaled sharply,
his concerned gaze scrutinizing her upturned face. “Did he…hurt you?”

“No. Not in the way
I think you mean. He was always very stern. After my mother died, he became
even more cold and controlling. He held that control over me until the day he
died. He made me believe that I wasn’t able to manage anything on my own. Every
decision made about my education, my career, my living arrangements, was his,
not my own.”

Again, Joe seemed
on the verge of touching her. This time he folded his arms across his chest,
hands clenched into fists. His mouth compressed in a harsh line. “He sounds
like a bastard.”

Even as Willa
continued talking, she was astonished by how much she’d revealed to Joe
already. She felt so attuned to him, as if he were the missing piece that made
her feel whole. Words never spoken aloud poured from her mouth like water from
a rainspout. “I could only read the books he wanted me to read. He took away
the children’s stories my mother had given me. I wasn’t allowed to play with
the kids in our neighborhood. He didn’t want my mind cluttered with what he
called childish things.”

Joe’s scowl grew
more severe. “And no one stepped forward to put a stop to this? No one spoke up
for you?”

“No. Because I
was…special.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed. “If
you do an internet search on Wilhelmina the Whiz Kid, you’ll find out all about
me.”

“Wilhelmina? That’s
your full name?”

“That’s the name my
mother gave me. She was German. It’s an old family name. My father only called
me by that name. Most often it was spoken in anger or impatience, never in the
sweet way my mother said it. I grew to hate it. My Aunt Pauline is the first
person who called me Willa. Away from my father, that’s the name I went by.”

“Bastard,” Joe
seethed. “To make you hate your own name. It’s a very pretty name. Unique.”

The tiny thrill of
pleasure she felt at his compliment was overpowered by stronger, deeply painful
emotions. She had to take calming breaths and look off towards the Providence
skyline for a moment, afraid that she was on the verge of losing complete
control.

Joe kept silent and
still for a few minutes, then encouraged softly, “Tell me about her. This
Wilhelmina.”

Her mouth quirked
in a wry smile, her eyes flitting briefly back to his. How strange that he
chose to speak of Wilhelmina in the third person; that’s how Willa, herself,
viewed the girl she used to be. It helped keep the pain at bay. Maybe he’d
sensed that, just as he seemed to know the very heart of her.

“She could read
when she was only eight months old. She can still remember the first time she
understood what the black symbols on the white pages meant. She could solve
complex mathematical problems at the age of four. At her mother’s insistence, she
went to pre-school and kindergarten, just like any normal child. But, when her
mother died, her father homeschooled her. He bragged about his daughter, his
child prodigy, to the local media. The story was picked up nationally, and it
took off from there. She was paraded around the country, made to show off her
skills in front of the camera like she was some kind of circus performer.”