A Forever Kind of Love, page 5
“Should have thought about that when you ate all that cake yesterday,” Maureen said.
“Would you take her back to New York with you?” Grandma asked.
“I’m not sure New York can handle Aunt Mo for more than a week at a time.” Mya laughed. “Besides, I’m not going back just yet. I’m going to stay for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay.”
The grateful smile that came over her grandmother’s face sent a bolt of shame careening through Mya’s chest. Her decision to remain in town an extra couple of days should not have been a big deal, but her grandmother’s joy at the announcement spoke a truth that was hard for Mya to face.
If her grandmother had expected her to leave while she was lying in a hospital bed, Mya must be just a step above Elizabeth in Grandma’s eyes.
“I have a wonderful idea.” Her grandmother squeezed her hand. “You can go to the meeting in my place Monday night!”
A tight ball of please, don’t make me! ricocheted against the walls of Mya’s chest. It wasn’t as if she had plans for the time she would spend in Gauthier—she wasn’t even supposed to be in Gauthier this long. But she could think of a thousand things she’d rather do than spend a Monday night with a group of her grandmother’s contemporaries.
“Grandma…” Mya groaned.
“Oh, Mya, please. We only have a month left, and there’s so much work to do. I need to know what they talk about.”
“But Claudette said she’ll let you know,” she tried.
Her grandmother waved her off. “Claudette hardly pays attention. She’s always too busy gossiping, as if she doesn’t do enough of that in her shop all day.”
Mya stared at the instruments above the bed so she wouldn’t have to see the entreaty on her grandmother’s face.
“If you don’t go, I’ll just have to go myself. I’ll drag all these machines with me if I have to. And if I happen to pass out again…” Grandma shrugged.
“You are so not playing fair right now,” Mya accused her. “Aunt Mo, tell her.” She looked to her aunt for support, but Maureen kept her eyes on the crossword puzzle in her hands. Mya noticed the faint smile tipping up the corner of her lips.
She shook her head, accepting defeat. “Fine. I’ll go to the meeting.”
Her grandmother reached over and patted her hand. “I knew you’d do the right thing. Now, go to the house and look on the bureau in my room. I have a green binder with all my notes. You need to look over them before the meeting. And don’t you let Clementine Washington bring up that magic show again. I told that woman nobody is going to come downtown to see her grandson perform magic tricks. He’s not that good anyway.”
“No magic,” Mya said with a sharp nod.
“And take out that cornbread casserole I have in the freezer for dinner tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about dinner,” Mya said. “I’ll probably just open a can of soup and make a sandwich.”
“Corey will not be satisfied with soup and a sandwich.”
“Why do I have to worry about what he wants?”
“Because he always comes over for Sunday dinner,” her grandmother answered, as if having the boy she once ran off her porch with a broomstick over for dinner was no big deal. Apparently, it wasn’t a big deal to anyone but Mya.
This new dynamic between her family and Corey was hard to comprehend.
“Mama, Corey knows you’re in the hospital. I doubt he’s expecting Sunday dinner,” Maureen reasoned.
“Just to be on the safe side, you take out that casserole and cook some greens to go with it. You remember how to make greens, don’t you?” Grandma asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Mya answered. Though she wasn’t about to cook greens or anything else for Corey. She placed a kiss on her grandmother’s forehead. “Don’t worry about anything at the house, or at the meeting. You just concentrate on getting better. And don’t give the hospital staff a hard time.”
Aunt Mo huffed a laugh.
“Oh, shut up, Maureen,” Grandma said. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked Mya. “After you go to church, of course,” she added.
Mya groaned but nodded before leaving the hospital room.
She called her best friend from high school, Phylicia Phillips, who happened to be ten minutes away. Phylicia arrived in a blue pickup, a magnetic sign publicizing Phillips’ Restoration on the door.
She honked the horn, leaning an elbow on the edge of the open window. “Get your butt in here, girl.”
Mya bounded up to the truck and climbed in. “Thanks for picking me up, Phil.”
“No problem,” Phylicia said, her radiant smile and envy-worthy face clashing with her well-worn overalls. The smudge of dirt on her high cheekbone didn’t detract from her appeal one bit. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the house after the funeral,” she added. “I had to get back to work. I’m on a tight deadline with this project.”
“You never told me what it is you’re doing.”
“I’m working on that big Greek Revival in Rosedale,” Phil answered with the kind of lustful sigh one employed when talking about a lover.
Mya laughed at the pure ecstasy on her friend’s face. “You must be in heaven.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on that house.”
Phylicia’s dad, Percy Phillips, was the original Phil, but the nickname and the restoration business had passed down to Phylicia when her father died. She had expanded the business, catering to special restoration projects across the South.
As they drove back to her grandparents’ place, Mya filled her friend in on her grandmother’s condition. She was about to ask Phil what she knew about Corey’s relationship with her family when they pulled up to the house and she spotted his Escalade parked next to the mailbox.
Mya’s eyes roamed around the yard, and then grew wide. Corey Anderson, shirtless and sweaty, was picking up the vegetables that had fallen to the ground in her grandfather’s garden.
“Good Lord,” Phylicia breathed. “Is it safe to leave you here?”
Mya wasn’t so sure, but she answered, “Of course. That thing between Corey and I happened a long time ago, Phil. I’m over him.”
Phylicia slid her that “unconvinced” look that hadn’t changed since high school.
“Oh, whatever,” Mya said, opening the door and sliding out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride. We’re going to get together before I leave, right?”
“Just tell me when and where,” Phil said. She motioned to the garden with her chin. Mya glanced over her shoulder and found Corey standing next to the stalks of corn, watching them. Phil’s brows rose and one corner of her mouth hitched up in a smile. “Good luck,” she said with a little wave before driving off.
Mya took a deep, fortifying breath before turning and heading toward the naked chest she’d dreamt about for a solid five years after leaving Gauthier.
Chapter 4
Corey carried the bushel overflowing with mustard greens and set it on the back porch, then picked up another of the wooden baskets and headed back toward the garden. He could feel the blood rushing faster in his veins as he neared Mya, who had stopped at the edge of the garden, next to the tomato patch.
“I see you finished cutting the grass.” She motioned to the lawn he’d finished trimming an hour ago, before pulling the weeds from the front flower bed. After he was done with the weeds, he’d started on the garden. He kept telling himself he was being a good neighbor. He hadn’t been finding things to do just so he could stick around until Mya came home.
“How’s Mrs. Eloise doing?” he asked.
“Stubborn as ever and causing the hospital staff all kinds of grief.”
“That’s my girl.” Corey laughed.
After a beat, Mya tilted her head to the side and asked, “Since when?”
The curiosity in her voice was expected, but he was thrown by the unease coloring the simple question. Was the fact that he got along with her grandmother a sign of the apocalypse? He’d thought—rather, he’d hoped—that she would be pleased about the way things were between him and her family.
“Things change, Mya. People change.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Do you have a problem with me getting along with your family?”
“No. It’s just…I don’t know…different.” She rubbed her arms as if she were chilly, despite the fact that they were smack in the middle of a ninety-degree day. “But I guess you’re right. Things change.”
Corey moved past her and started picking ripened tomatoes from the vines. Mya bent over the stalk a couple of feet away and plucked several too.
“On the other hand, some things never change,” she said. “I was just on Main Street. Felt as if I’d stumbled into a time machine.”
“It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Did you expect anything different?” Corey asked.
“I guess not. Though, according to Grandma, support for the businesses on Main has been dwindling because of the new outlet mall in Maplesville. She strong-armed me into attending a meeting Monday night with her civic association. They’re trying to revitalize downtown Gauthier and stop some big-box store from setting up shop.”
Corey’s back stiffened at the mention of Monday night’s meeting. Should he tell her it was marked on his calendar, too, since he was the association’s parliamentarian? He decided to keep his mouth shut. If she was going to the meeting, she’d find out soon enough.
“Actually, I think the new store is a good idea,” he said instead. “It’ll bring in jobs and additional tax revenue.”
Mya’s brow dipped in a slight frown. “It’ll also hurt the surrounding businesses,” she said. “Those mom-and-pop shops along Main Street add to Gauthier’s charm. If you allow some national chain to come in, then Main Street will start to resemble your average strip mall.”
“Mya, one of the reasons this town hasn’t grown is because people think it’s still stuck in the past. I’ve spoken with the developer—”
“You have?”
He nodded. “I’m considering becoming an investor. I’ve seen their plans—which are still in the very early stages, I should point out. I really think this could be a huge plus for Gauthier.”
“Corey, if you want to put your money into this town, then invest in the businesses that are already here.”
“Those family-run businesses have been here for ages. They’re not the key to growing this community.”
“And some generic chain store is?” Mya shook her head. “I’m with Grandma and her civic organization on this one. I think this new development would harm Gauthier more than help. It’ll be interesting to hear what they’ve come up with at the meeting Monday night.”
“I didn’t think you’d be in town long enough to attend their meeting,” Corey said.
She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve decided to stay for another few days, at least until Grandma is out of the hospital. I’m between shows right now, so I can spare the time off.”
The thought of Mya remaining in Gauthier caused his pulse to race and his chest to tighten with a painfully sweet ache. He felt like a seventeen-year-old kid again, getting excited because the girl he liked had bothered to look his way.
“I was told I have to cook Sunday dinner for you.” Mya shot him a look that clearly said she’d rather strap on a pair of waders and go searching for frogs in the swamp.
“Don’t worry about it.” Corey laughed. “I figured Sunday dinner was off since Mrs. Eloise is in the hospital. I made other plans.”
“You did?”
The subtle inquiry in her voice brought Corey’s head up. She quickly turned her attention back to the tomatoes, but not before he caught the brief uncertainty that flashed in her eyes. The thought that she was even the slightest bit interested in how—or rather who—he was spending his Sunday with felt damn good.
“I promised my buddy Jamal that I’d help with some house renovations,” Corey said, overcome by a sudden urge to ease her mind. “He bought one of the old houses on Pecan Drive and has been doing all the work himself, though I told him to call Phil to help with one project.”
“I think she’s on her way over there now. She told me she was headed to that part of town.”
Mya moved to the tomato plant next to the one he was working on, and her arm brushed against his. Corey sucked in a breath. The brief contact felt like fire against his skin.
“Good,” he managed to get out. He swallowed hard and pulled in another deep lungful of air. “I was afraid he would try to do the work himself.” He shot Mya a grin. “Now, if you start feeling domestic tomorrow, we won’t turn down lunch. You can bring it over to Jamal’s.”
“I think you’d better pack a sandwich,” Mya said. A bit of that sass returning to her smile, she tossed a tomato into his bushel. “Here, I’ll even provide the tomato.”
Corey shook his head. “You’ve still got a smart mouth on you, Peaches.” She cut her eyes at him, and he realized his mistake. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to think of you as Mya.”
“Try harder,” she said. She emptied the tomatoes she’d collected into his bushel, then reach over and picked it up. Propping the basket on her hip, she turned and started toward the house. Over her shoulder she said, “Thanks for helping with the garden, but you can leave now. I’ll take care of the rest of these tomorrow.”
Corey stood between the rows of vegetables, staring at Mya’s backside as she climbed the porch steps and entered the house. How one woman could possess so much audaciousness was beyond him, but he had to admit he was happy she would be around to flaunt it a while longer. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that he would never be bored when Mya was around.
Corey parked behind Jamal’s truck and lifted the beat-up leather tool belt from the passenger seat. It was his father’s. Corey felt a stab of pride every time he used it.
He walked along the side of the huge Georgian. According to Jamal, the house had been unoccupied for years before he bought it, but you’d never know by looking at it. The outside of the house was in pristine condition.
The inside was a different story. Over the past six months, Jamal had completely gutted it. He had some wild ideas when it came to incorporating green technology into older structures. The original owners were probably turning in their graves at the changes Jamal had made to the place.
Corey rounded the house and found Jamal hunched over a sawhorse, splitting a board of plywood with a table saw. He waited until the whirl of the saw had quieted before speaking.
“Looks as if things are going good,” Corey greeted him.
Jamal looked up with pure murder shining in eyes that were covered with safety goggles.
Corey held his hands up in surrender. “What did I do to get the death glare?”
“It’s what you didn’t do,” Jamal said. “You could have tipped me off about Phil.”
“What about Phil?” Corey asked, trying like hell to keep a straight face as he hooked the tool belt around his waist.
“Don’t give me that innocent crap,” Jamal groused. “You could have told me Phil was a woman—one who looks like a damn swimsuit model.”
Corey couldn’t hold back his grin any longer. “I didn’t even think about it,” he lied. “I went to high school with Phylicia. She’s always looked like a swimsuit model, even when she’s dressed in those baggy overalls. Did she do a good job with your wood?”
Jamal’s glower was lethal.
“Sorry.” Corey laughed. “That was too good to pass up. Seriously, will Phil be able to help? I know her business keeps her pretty busy.”
“She’s pretty bossy, is what she is,” Jamal said. “She chewed me out because I removed the paneling from the entryway. Told me I was destroying this house. I had to keep reminding her that it’s my house.”
Corey barked out another laugh. “Sounds like Phil. She gets passionate about this stuff.”
Jamal mumbled something under his breath. Looking up at the sky, he said, “If this rain holds out long enough for me to get all these boards cut, I might get the floors in the bathroom done today. Then I’ll just have to lay down the ceramic tile.”
“You know, Phil does a good job with flooring, too.” Corey held his hands up when Jamal shot him another of those looks. “I’m just messing with you.”
He dodged the wood chip Jamal pitched at his head and set about sanding the baseboards for the bathroom. Hours passed as they worked in silence with only the radio playing from a boom box, circa 1992, and the occasional roll of thunder rumbling in the distance. Despite the ominous clouds creeping in from the west, just enough sun shone down to make Corey’s mouth water for one of the beers peeking out of the ice-filled metal bucket.
As if he’d read his mind, Jamal asked, “You ready for a break?”
Corey glanced at his sports watch. “It’s about time for lunch. You feel like eating a po’boy from Mitchell’s? I think they’re open until two on Sundays.”
“I still don’t understand why people around here can’t just call it a submarine sandwich like the rest of society,” Jamal said.
“Because we do things differently down here, in case you haven’t noticed,” Corey said, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and checking to make sure he had enough cash for two sandwiches and a couple of bags of chips. Jamal tried to hand him a twenty, but Corey waved him off.
As he pocketed his money, Jamal focused on something over Corey’s shoulder. He held up a hand. “Hi there.”
Corey whipped around to find Mya walking toward them, carrying a foil-wrapped plate in each hand. She wore the same khaki capri pants and sleeveless shirt she’d changed into after her grandfather’s funeral, but his heart started to race so fast one would think she was wearing a string bikini.
“Hi,” Mya greeted them.
“You actually brought us lunch?” Corey asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve already visited Grandma, picked the rest of the ripe vegetables from the garden, swept the entire house, and hung the bedsheets on the clothesline, although that was probably a mistake,” she said, looking back at the gray clouds inching closer. “Grandma has no internet or cable, and the library is closed, so I can’t even find a good book to read. Making lunch gave me something to do. You didn’t tell me which house on Pecan. Good thing I spotted your SUV.”
