*Brant did not stay put as requested, but Stevie hadn’t really expected him to. He was a guy. There was the possibility of making repairs and taking control of the situation, therefore he was close behind her. She turned off the basement thermostat as she passed by and the squealing slowed to a feeble whine, which ultimately led to blessed silence.
“Wow.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Brant, who’d stopped on the last step and was now taking in the rainbow explosion of tulle, satin, and lace that covered most available surfaces. “Welcome to prom dress rescue,” she said before opening the panel to the breaker box. “My leadership kids and I are making a prom dress closet.” She flipped the breaker as she spoke. Thankfully, the pale light filtering in from the windows near the basement ceiling was more than adequate to commence repairs.
Brant caught up with her when she lifted an armload of fluffy crinolines from the top of the antique trunk blocking the furnace door and turned toward him, squishing down billows of tulle with her chin so that she could see him properly.
“Here.” She handed him the armload of crinolines, rather enjoying his surprised expression as he automatically took hold of the billowing layers of tulle. “Put those on the love seat, please.” Maybe he’d think twice before following her into the nether regions of her home if she put him to work that didn’t involve tools.
He transferred the crinolines while Stevie moved the trunk from away from the door. She undid the clever toggles her dad had made to hold the door in place, then lifted it away from the wall. Brant took the door panel from her, just as he’d taken the crinolines, only he looked happier about moving the door.
“Do you know what the problem is?” he asked. “Bearings maybe?”
“Fan belt,” she said. “I’ve dealt with it before.” Just never in front of an audience. There was no reason for her fingers to feel all clumsy, but they did, and that annoyed her.
“Stop looking at me. I’m getting performance anxiety.”
He made a sound that might have been a laugh, but when she frowned at him, his face was expressionless, convincing her that it had indeed been a laugh. Serious Brant Gilroy had a sense of humor?
Directing her attention back at the blower motor, she took off the cover and then tested the belt. She needed to replace it, but for now she’d adjust. She opened the small tool case she left next to the furnace, pulled out a screwdriver, and went to work. It didn’t take long to get the belt to proper tension, and once done, she replaced the blower motor cover. When she stepped out of the alcove, Brant set the door into place, closing the toggles while she flipped the breaker back on. She turned on the thermostat and the furnace began to blow.
“Nice job.” Brant gestured at the prom dresses and said, “It’s great that you do so much volunteer work with the high school kids.”
“I can see where that might surprise you.”
“I never said you were a bad person.”
“You kind of did.”
One corner of his rather excellent mouth tightened. “Being a bad influence is different than being a bad person. And I was wrong about you being a bad influence. Wrong all the way around.”
Stevie nodded, feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied, probably because it felt a shade too intimate standing in her basement with Brant, surrounded by crinolines and prom dresses, receiving another apology. She jerked her head toward the staircase. “Our tea is getting cold.”
He didn’t move. “I drink cold tea.”
“So do I,” she admitted. Why was this suddenly feeling like a standoff?
“Cold coffee?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Tepid beer?”
“There are limits.”
He laughed, the sound warming her. Stevie was not ready to be warmed, and it must have shown on her face.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” Could she sound any more guilty? Apparently not, because he gave her a “yeah, right” look and she caved. “You make me jumpy, Brant.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. She was a bit startled herself at her spontaneous declaration.
“It’s due to years of unfinished business,” she explained, because she was totally going to blame her jumpiness on that, and not on the fact that she was noticing things about him she never would have allowed herself to acknowledge pre-apology. Like say, that she approved of the way he smelled. “But you’ve apologized twice, and I need to get over it.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I have no suggestions.” She started toward the stairs ready to get back to wedding planning, leaving personal matters behind.
“You’re the one who wanted to work together,” he pointed out.
“I wanted to make you suffer,” she replied darkly.
“Yeah? And now?” he asked as they started up the staircase.
“Now I’m suffering,” she said as they entered the kitchen and she closed the door behind them. “Serves me right.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners and she wanted to tell him to stop doing that. The last thing she needed was for him to look more attractive.
She folded her arms over her chest, deeply needing to get this conversation back on track. “Here’s how I see things. We’re opposites, and we can utilize our different strengths to execute the wedding, which makes working together the best option.”
“Opposites attracting rather than repelling?”
For one ridiculous moment she felt her cheeks grow warm. She was attracted and that needed to be nipped in the bud. “Opposites working together,” she said through her teeth.
“That’s what I meant.” There was something a little too innocent about his tone.
“Did you? Or were you trying to fluster me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I stupidly told you that you had that power when I confessed to jumpiness.” When he didn’t reply, she answered his question. “To gain an advantage of some kind.”
“Why would I need an advantage?”
She was doing an excellent job of talking herself into a corner. “Is this some kind of tactic, answering my questions with questions?”
“No,” he said. “These are real questions. I don’t need an advantage because this is not a competition.”
“Good thing because I’d mop the floor with you if it was.”
He let out an involuntary laugh. “Once you got over your jumpiness.”
“I already feel myself getting better,” she said with a lift of her chin.
“I could say go ahead and try, but that wouldn’t be conducive to a harmonious working environment.”
“But it might be fun,” Stevie said more to herself than to him.
“In a twisted sort of way.”
Their gazes were locked and neither of them made a move to look away. Seconds ticked by, and it soon became apparent that one of them was going to have to give. Finally Brant said, “I know something we do have in common.”
“Besides tolerating cold tea and coffee?”
“We’re competitive.”
She opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, then abruptly shut it again. Brant’s lips twisted into a half smile.
“All right,” she conceded. “We have something in common.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Stevie crossed the kitchen to take her seat. “That,” she said, the word snapping off her tongue as she pulled the calendar in front of her, “remains to be seen.”
Brant made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh before once again taking his seat, and Stevie focused on the calendar for a long second as she dealt with the realization that they were playing.
She and Brant.
Yes, she was definitely in an alternate universe. Her question was, how did she get here?
*
Brant found himself whistling under his breath as he drove away from Stevie’s house with several wedding-related assignments. But he wasn’t thinking about the wedding. He was thinking about Stevie and the fact that for the first time in a long time he felt like he’d been yanked out of the doldrums.
No. Doldrum was too strong of a word. Entrenched routine was a better description of his life. Unchanging was another. Funny, because that was what he’d been aiming at during his early twenties—sameness. Or rather, no surprises.
It was easy to trace his attitude directly to the loss of his parents. He’d spent years feeling overwhelmed, responsible, untethered. All he wanted was a secure home base, which he’d had to build himself.
Their aunt Ginger had moved into the family home after the accident, but it was patently and painfully obvious that she was only there to do her duty until Kara graduated. Brant started college, attending classes at Boise State during the day, then commuting home to Holly to study and spend the night. After two months, he suggested to Ginger that there was no reason for her to stay, that he was old enough to act as guardian to his sister. Ginger made a weak protest, then packed her bags, and after that, it was he and Kara against the world. And the more regulated and mundane the world was, the better. No surprises, no sudden loss.
But he’d had enough of mundane, thus his plan to expand the tree farm.
And thus his appreciation for a lively verbal battle with Stevie.
He felt…good.
Brant’s phone rang as he stomped the snow off his boots on the back step leading to the farmhouse kitchen. He pushed his way into the room, shutting the door behind him and thinking that Stevie’s kitchen was a lot friendlier than his.
“Theo, hi,” he said as he unzipped his coat and maneuvered his way out of it.
“Bad news,” Theo said.
“Yeah?” Brant’s stomach tightened and he found himself willing his friend and future brother-in-law to not say that the wedding was off. Not only would he have to do something about a guy, friend or not, hurting his sister, he’d no longer have an excuse to see Stevie.
“They’re sending me overseas day after tomorrow for some preliminary work. I’ll get the invitations out, but I might be incommunicado for a while.”
“You and Kara worked this absent bride and groom thing out in advance, right?”
Theo laughed. “Say the word and we’ll head to the courthouse.”
“Stevie likes doing this,” Brant said.
“Right. I bet that you’re the one who would be crushed if we eloped.”
“Guilty,” Brant said with mock grudgingness.
“Thought so. I’ve booked blocks of rooms at the Holly Inn and the Get Away Inn, so that part is taken care of. Thankfully, Kara and I don’t have many friends.”
Brant rolled his eyes. Kara and Theo had tons of friends, but with a quick-fire wedding, it had seemed wisest to keep the invites limited to close friends and family, and most of that family came from Theo’s side. Ginger would be getting an invitation, but Brant doubted she’d make the trip.
“Talked to Raj. Big goings-on at your company.”
Theo had worked at Gifford Systems, Brant’s company, for two years before being spirited away by a competing firm, and he kept touch with his many friends at Gifford including Brant’s immediate supervisor, Raj Birla.
“The Austin start-up?”
“Yep.”
“It’s a big deal,” Brant agreed. “The Boise office will become a more streamlined branch because of it. We’ll be a lot more efficient.”
If all went according to plan, Raj would be leaving at the end of the month and Brant would take over as supervisor in early February, a promotion in title only, since he was already doing the job while Raj oversaw the Austin expansion.
“Last thing before I go,” Theo said.
“What’s that?”
“Could you look into finding me a Tundra Tuxedo?”
“I’ll see what I can find with fur on it,” Brant replied, making a mental note to do just that.
Theo laughed. “Shoot me a message if you run into any issues. I’ll be in and out of communication range.”
“Will do.”
“You know how much we appreciate this. You definitely picked the right time to go on vacay.”
“It’ll be a great dry run for the whole rent-the-tree-farm thing. I’m glad to do it.”
“Talk to you later.”
Brant ended the call and stood in his not-so-cozy kitchen for a moment. Lots of work ahead of him, but that was his thing. Working so hard that he didn’t have time to think.
But perhaps it was time for a shift in paradigm.
Maybe it was finally time to think, to feel. To enjoy a good argument or two with the woman who would be his wedding planning partner for the next several weeks.
*
“Well, we can’t hose it out,” Brant said as he and Stevie stood in the open bay door of the barn where the wedding reception would be held. He’d had the building cleaned the previous summer, when he’d first started considering the event venue idea, but a lot of dust had accumulated over the autumn months when farmers had turned over their fields.
“Not unless we wanted to create an ice-skating rink,” Stevie agreed. The temperature was a few degrees below freezing, but with the sun slanting down on their backs and no breeze to speak of, it felt warmer.
Brant took a step inside, tilting his head up to study the rafters. There wasn’t much in the barn—or next to it for that matter. The haying equipment had been sold when he’d started the tree farm. It was pretty much an empty space that he’d thought would work well as a venue.
“You know, when I started batting around the idea of opening the farm, I’d intended to kick off with a summer event.”
“Yes,” Stevie agreed. “That would have been the way to go.” Since arriving that morning, Stevie had been agreeable and careful with her words, almost as if she’d made a conscious decision not to engage with him. Brant was curious as to how long that would last.
“It’s not that bad,” she said, stepping forward to run a finger over the horizontal spacer board between two uprights. “I can borrow a couple of Dad’s industrial shop vacs and we can sweep and suction the place into submission.” She turned toward him. “What did you do with all the stuff that used to be in here?”
“Sold most of it.”
“Too bad,” she said. “You could have used some of it for rustic décor. The old milk cans. Stuff like that.” She tipped her head back to study the half loft. “You could put a band up there.”
“I thought we decided to go with a DJ?”
She looked over her shoulder. “We did. I was just tossing out ideas for future events.”
He had to admit that he liked the idea. He had no idea what the acoustics would be like, but the thought of loft musicians appealed to his sense of whimsy and it’d been a while since that particular facet of his personality had shown itself. Sometimes, after he’d worked too many hours to meet a crazy deadline, he’d head out with friends and blow off steam…but not often enough. If he had, then he wouldn’t be feeling this clawing need to bring something different into his life.
“Any other great ideas?”
“For Kara’s wedding or for future events?” she asked.
“We should probably stick to the wedding for now.”
“I have a few things percolating. I’ll let you know when they gel.”
“Fair enough.”
“Let’s go to the machine shed.”
“Why?”
“I want to take another look?”
He gave a slight shrug and stepped out of the barn. If she had ideas, he wanted to hear them. Once they reached the machine shop, he opened the door and reached inside to snap on the light.
Stevie stepped inside and, as she’d done before, did a slow 360. Brant watched, curious.
“You could do a lot of stuff with this building.”
“It’s too small for the wedding reception.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, pushing the fuzzy earmuffs she wore slightly askew. “No room for dancing,” she agreed. “But you could deck this out and use it for small venues. Or”—her face lit up—“you could make it into a kitchen. You’re already wired for heavy duty amperage,” she said, pointing to the plug for the arc welder, “so putting in a decent stove would be no problem. And…maybe a pizza oven. No wait. You could build a brick wood-fired pizza oven just outside. Think how much fun that would be.”
“Tons.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” she said, giving him a sidelong look. “It has nothing to do with Kara’s wedding, but she might like a pizza oven for her anniversary party.”
Brant couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe.”
Stevie took a couple steps closer. “A kitchen would be a nice addition to the venue. You’d have to look into health codes, etc., but it would allow caterers to do…well…more.”
“You’re right.”
“How involved do you plan to be in the venue?”
“I plan to rent the space along with tables and chairs. The people who rent are responsible for setup and cleanup and providing decorating materials.”
She nodded and turned back to the machine shed, and he could almost see her putting together a catering kitchen in her head. She suddenly looked at him, catching him off guard, but she didn’t seem to realize that he’d been staring at her.
“When can you get the shop vacs?” he asked just in case she had noticed.
“I can bring them tomorrow. One for each of us.”
“Can’t wait.” He went out the door and waited with one hand on the frame until she’d also stepped onto the snow driveway. “Anything else you want to see?” he asked after swinging the door shut and fastening the latch.
For a moment he thought she didn’t hear him.
“What if…” She met his gaze then took his coat sleeve and pulled him to the center of the wide drive facing the machine shop. “What if, instead of setting up the bower on the lawn, we put it here, where we’re standing? The trees are close enough to provide a great backdrop, and we can set up chairs in the machine shop with the big doors rolled open. People can watch the ceremony from relative comfort.”
“While the bride and groom freeze off their patooties?”
“That’s how Kara wants it.”
“You’ve heard that from her lips?”
“I have. However, she has agreed that if the winds approach gale force, she’ll get married inside.”
“She always did like a good storm,” Brant said musingly, studying the machine shed. “There’s probably enough room to hold the entire ceremony in there if it’s stormy, but it’s going to be cozy.”
“Cozy might be better than moving it into the barn because the caterer will be setting up for food service there.”
“Good point.” Brant pushed his hands into his pockets. “That’s twice the vacuuming, you know.”
“Both places seem cleaner than I would expect.”
“I hired a kid to pressure wash the interiors of all the empty buildings last fall when I started thinking about this venue thing,” he confessed.
“Way to think ahead.”
“Kind of what I do.”
“Me, too,” she said. A moment later she gave him a sideways look. “What? No disbelieving rejoinder?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because I don’t know you any more than you know me.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“So this is a good opportunity.”
“For…”
“Us to get to know one another?”
An odd look chased across her face, darkening her eyes. “I think that we should focus on the wedding.”
“Like two polite strangers?” he asked.
“As if.” She shook her head. “No. I just think that we should”—she made a gesture as she searched for words—“focus on the wedding.”
“So you want to focus on the wedding.”
She dropped her hands and tilted her head back to look up at cloudless sky. “Argh.”
He almost laughed, but didn’t.
Her green gaze drilled into him. Stevie was more comfortable when they were having words. “Yes. Focus on the wedding. We’re obviously not going to behave like polite strangers, because it seems that we trigger one another. Call it competitiveness, or whatever, it’s there. I assume that we’ll get to know one another as we work.”
“Probably so,” he agreed. “I’d like to think that we’d end this experience in a better place than where we started.” He shot her a look. “You know, so that you don’t have to cross the street when you see me coming.”
She rolled her eyes as they started toward her truck. “Okay. Here’s a get-to-know-you question. What made you decide to expand now?”
“That’s a nice safe question to start with,” he said on an approving note.
“I’m building up,” she murmured in response.
“I was too busy before,” he said.
“Are you less busy now?”
“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t see a need before. Property taxes weren’t as high. Artificial trees as popular.” I wasn’t as bored with my life. He couldn’t get the words out.
“I hear that real trees are making a comeback.”
“So have I.”
She slowed her steps as they reached her truck. “It occurs to me that you’re approaching the big 3-0 next month.”
It took him a second to catch her drift. “You think I’m having a midlife crisis?” If it weren’t uncomfortably close to the truth, he would have laughed. As it was, he managed a careless half smile.
“You can’t call thirty midlife.” She shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
“To tell you the truth, I am trying to keep from getting stagnate. The trees do well enough. We’re making a profit, but why not try something new and make more of a profit?”
“Because you’re too busy to manage a venue operation on top of a full-time job?”
“Looking for work?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Why not?” He immediately held up a hand. “Sorry if that’s over the line.”
She narrowed her gaze as if debating whether to answer or to take the out he’d just offered. “I have a plan.” She idly tucked a hank of hair back into her hat. “Surprised to hear that?”
“A little.”
He was working to move beyond his preconceived ideas about Stevie, but all signs pointed to her following through with the drift through life strategy she’d embraced during high school—the hand-me-down truck, living in her dad’s rental house, the temporary work.
“I’m not going to make a career out of being a shiftless gadabout,” she said as if reading his mind. “I want Mrs. Lovell’s job at the high school. She retires in eighteen months. I’ve had my eye on the prize since moving back to Holly.”
“Why that specific job?”
“I have a major in Biology and a minor in Social Studies, same as her. But if any job opened at the high school, I’d jump on it. The thing is, no one with my endorsements ever seems to quit or retire.”
“You have a plan,” he stated approvingly.
She scowled at him. “Did you think I was going to do temp work for the rest of my career?”
“Might have,” he admitted. She didn’t take offense, so he asked, “What if someone else gets the job?”
“I think I’ll get it. I put in hours of volunteer time with the kids, and I sub there frequently. If I don’t get the job, then I’ll start looking in Boise.”
“But you want to stay in Holly.”
“It’s a nice place,” she said simply. “I realized how nice when Dad broke his leg three years ago and I, being the daughter who was not employed in a high-paying job elsewhere, came home to help.” She gave a small shrug. “I like being close to my dad. He’s not getting any younger and even though Tess is here, I’d hate to leave everything in her hands.”
“You have no benefit package working like you do right now.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “No, but I make enough to pay my rent and utility bills and I have the freedom to do what I want. I’m willing to wait, and I’m having a few adventures along the way.”
The lack of security boggled him.
“A lot of people don’t want that kind of freedom.”
She glanced down at the heavy wooden planks that made up the machine shed floor, as if debating how deeply she wanted to get into the matter. Brant was treading on personal ground, but he was curious both as to the answer, and whether Stevie would give it.
“No,” she said softly, before looking up again, her green eyes serious. “They want the freedom. They just don’t want to sacrifice what it takes to live this way.”
Touché. She’d just described him.