the next morning Kelsey stood outside her shop, gripping the key tightly enough to dig grooves into her palm. The unexpected phone call from her landlord couldn’t have come at a better time. She still had plenty left to do for Emily’s wedding, but she couldn’t think of Emily without thinking of Connor. And Kelsey definitely did not want to think of him. Last night, she’d felt a connection—that loss and difficult childhoods gave them something in common. But Connor didn’t want common.
He didn’t want her.
With the morning sunlight glinting off the windows, she couldn’t see inside, but in her mind’s eye she pictured her shop. The subtle green and pink colors, the faded rose wallpaper, the shabby-chic-style parlor where she would meet with clients. Romantic without being overblown; classy while still being casual.
It was going to be perfect. Excitement jazzing her veins, Kelsey stuck the key in the lock, opened the door and blinked. With her dream office so firm in her thoughts she could practically smell her favorite peach potpourri, reality hit like a slap to the forehead.
No soft colors, no floral wallpaper…Shabby, yes, but chic?
“Not even close,” Kelsey muttered as she flicked on the lights and stepped inside.
The landlord had shown her the space a few weeks ago, when it had been a struggling craft store. Shelves and bins had lined every wall, filled with yarn and cloth, paints and silk flowers. She’d focused on the space, knowing everything else would go when the other store closed. But she never stopped to think about the mess left behind.
Holes from the now-absent shelves marred the walls with peg-board consistency. The carpet had a two-tone hue thanks to the areas exposed to foot traffic, and the bare fluorescent bulbs overhead buzzed like bug zappers in August. No wonder the landlord had left the key hidden outside instead of meeting Kelsey.
But Kelsey hadn’t spent her childhood living in sub-par apartments without learning a thing or two from her mother. “Wilson women against the world,” she murmured as she pulled the phone from her purse and called the landlord.
If there was one thing Connor hated, it was being wrong. The only thing worse was being wrong and knowing he had to apologize. Meeting his own gaze in the mirror, he knew he owed Kelsey a big apology. He’d seen the hurt in her chocolate eyes at his abrupt withdrawal and he felt like a jerk. She’d reached out to him—physically and emotionally—and he’d pulled away.
He could justify his actions with the same excuse he always used when thoughts of the past intruded. That time was over and done, enough said. And yet, the sympathy and understanding in Kelsey’s expression made him want to talk about the past. He’d wanted to turn his wrist, take her hand into his and hold on tight. That completely foreign desire had so rattled him, that he’d locked his jaw and put an early end to the evening.
After showering and throwing on some clothes, Connor called Kelsey’s cell. The phone rang four times before she answered, sounding breathless and sexy and—“Where the hell are you?” he demanded before he could keep the words from bursting out.
And what was she doing to give her voice that husky, bedroom quality?
“I’m…working.”
She was lying. Before he could remind himself what Kelsey did or who she did it with was none of his business, he heard a loud clatter followed by an abbreviated scream and a thump that sent his heart racing. “Kelsey!” Silence filled the line, giving Connor plenty of time to imagine half a dozen dangerous possibilities. “Kelsey!”
“I’m here. I’m fine,” she said after what sounded like a scramble for the phone. “I knocked over a ladder and a bucket of spackle went flying.”
Ladder? “Spackle?”
“You know,” she said, her voice sounding slightly muffled, and he imagined the phone held against her shoulder. “That compound stuff you use to patch walls.”
“I know what spackle is. The big question is, why do you know what it is?”
“I’m just handy that way,” she said a little too brightly, and Connor flashed back to the hurt in her eyes. Her answer might have been different if he hadn’t pulled away the night before. “Kelsey—”
“I’ve found an office space to rent. That way I’ll have more room to sell my lies about happily-ever-after to unsuspecting brides and grooms.”
Connor flinched despite her light-hearted tone. Seemed as if he might have even more to apologize for than he’d thought. “What’s the address?”
“Why?” she asked, as if she thought he planned to come by and torch the place.
“Because,” he said after a deep breath and a ten count for patience, “I owe you an apology.” Kelsey didn’t respond, and in the silence, Connor knew she wanted more. That need rose up again, pressure building inside him as words he’d held back for years struggled to get out. “I owe you an apology,” he repeated, “and an explanation.”
“I’m an idiot,” Kelsey muttered as she washed spackle from her hands in the tiny bathroom. She would have liked to look herself in the eye as she spoke those words, but the bathroom was missing a mirror, had no hot water, and a questionable-at-best toilet.
Why had she given Connor the address? Why had she invited him to invade her place? The dream office that filled her thoughts so strongly that morning had faded over the past several hours of hard work. The last thing she needed was Connor’s presence to overwhelm what was left of her lace-and-roses dream in a deluge of cotton and denim.
Not to mention his cynicism.
Yet she’d been unable to resist the demand in his voice or his promised apology.
The ring of the bell above the front door alerted her to her first visitor and saved her from her own thoughts. “Kelsey?” a familiar female voice called out.
She banged on the faucet handle a few times to turn off the water and hurried out, shaking her hands to get them dry. “Lisa? What are you doing here?”
Walking through the shop with a bouquet of gerbera daisies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, her friend cast a dubious look around. “Not quite what I expected,” she said as she met Kelsey at the back of the shop.
“It needs work,” Kelsey admitted. “But I called the landlord and talked him into reducing the first month’s rent if I handle the repairs.”
“And that’s why I’m here,” her friend announced as she set the wine and flowers on the ladder. “I know you too well. You’re always willing to help your friends, but you never ask for help. Of course, I had no idea you’d need this much help, but it’s a good thing I called Trey, too.” Trey Jamison was another good friend, and she frequently hired him as a DJ for her weddings.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kelsey told Lisa.
“Yes, I did because you wouldn’t. I knew you’d be here all alone with no one to help you and…”
Lisa turned as the bell announced another arrival, her words trailing away. Kelsey couldn’t blame her friend. She felt pretty speechless as Connor stripped off his reflective glasses and locked that green gaze on her from across the shop. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Kelsey responded, the word far more breathless than she wanted to admit. Her stomach did a slow roll at the sight of him. Just as she’d feared, he shrank the space until it encompassed only the two of them. Thoughts of lace and roses fell away, overwhelmed by Connor’s masculine presence. Her senses took in every bit of him—the faded gray T-shirt that stretched across his chest, the jeans that clung to his muscular legs, the low murmur of his voice.
Lisa’s silence didn’t last nearly as long as Kelsey’s. Her friend gripped her arm and whispered, “Who is that?”
“Connor McClane,” Kelsey murmured back.
“Connor—”