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  “I have a favor to ask of you, Becca.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s always been my intent to make a wedding quilt for each of my sons. I made one for Oliver. I’ve finished Mattie’s, not that he’ll ever settle down.” She laughed weakly. “But I don’t have Jack’s done. I have it pieced, but my hands are too weak to do the quilting on it.” She flexed her thin fingers. “I’d like you to finish it. You’re the finest hand quilter in town. I trust you with it.”

  Angela wanted her to finish Jack’s wedding quilt? Jack, of all people! This was so many shades of messed up, Becca felt a little faint. But what choice did she have? Angela was her mother’s friend. Her mother’s dying friend. If she said no … she took a deep breath.

  “I’ll pay you for your time, of course,” Angela went on. “And there’s no particular hurry to finish it, dear. It doesn’t need to be done before I am. And heaven knows, Jack shows about as much inclination to settle down as Matt does.” Angela’s laugh was soft, but wistful.

  “I can stop by your house to pick it up. I’d be happy to finish it for you,” Becca heard herself agreeing.

  Jack congratulated himself on smoothly foisting Cassidy Trevor off onto his brother. Her intentions had been clear, but Jack wasn’t interested in dating anyone this summer. What was the point? He had no career at the moment, no prospects. He wasn’t the great catch everyone in St. Caroline thought he was. Nor was Cassidy really his type. He didn’t go in for the all-American healthy athletic type. He liked women with more unusual faces. Long limbs, delicate frames. Women who looked like maybe they could be dancers.

  Women like Becca Trevor.

  Amazing how smoothly his brain foisted that thought off on him. He ignored it. His life was so not together at the moment, and it was clear that Becca needed a man who had his shit together. At least Matt had that going for him.

  At the moment, she was playing frisbee at the edge of the lawn with Oliver’s boys. Mason and Cam were seven and five, respectively, and accordingly not the world’s best frisbee players. Becca was patient with them, though, chasing down wild tosses with a smile on her face. He tried not to stare at the toned legs beneath her stretchy black skirt. Or the way said skirt kept riding up her thighs as she jogged back and forth.

  Those thighs had once been wrapped around his waist.

  It was an oddly vague memory. One that felt as though it had happened in some other life. With some other woman. To a man other than Jack.

  He tried to remember what she had been wearing that night at the party. Probably something black, ripped and torn. That was his general recollection of her, as much as he had paid any attention to her at all.

  At the moment, he couldn’t tear his attention away. Oliver called the boys over for a break, and Jack watched her chest rise and fall beneath her green blouse as she caught her breath after all that running. Her hair had settled back onto her shoulders, the strands glowing copper in the late afternoon sun. If she had allowed herself to look like this seven years ago, that night at the party would never have happened. She would have been so far out of Jack’s league, even Ian Evers wouldn’t have bothered suggesting it.

  She turned, a frisbee in each hand, and their eyes met. With a sharp flick of the wrist, she sent one of the plastic disks winging his way. His long arm shot out and snatched it from the air, then headed her way.

  She held out the other frisbee. “These belong to your nephews.”

  “Thanks for entertaining them.”

  “My pleasure. They’re cute kids.”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  She started walking in the direction of the house and he fell into step beside her.

  “What did my mother want to talk to you about?” He glanced over to see an odd look flash across her face. “You don’t have to tell me. None of my business, really.”

  Her laugh was as delicate as the rest of her.

  “She wants me to finish your wedding quilt.”

  “She wants … what? You don’t have to do that, Becca.”

  She crossed the deck and opened the back door to the Trevor house. He followed, uninvited.

  “I don’t mind.”

  There was no way that could possibly be true. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and looked around, as if she’d forgotten what she came in for. He glanced around the room with its white cabinets and cheery yellow curtains, his eyes searching for some clue as to what it was.

  “Can I help you carry something out?” he asked.

  She glanced past him, at the party going on in the back yard. “I don’t know why I came in here.”

  “To get away from me?”

  “No—of course not.” Her hands fluttered nervously in front of her chest. “I don’t need to …” She took a few steps back until she was leaning against the countertop.

  “You don’t have to finish my quilt. I’ll talk to mom about it.”

  “It’s fine. I can do it. No problem.” She crossed her arms over her chest, then uncrossed them.

  Clearly, he was making her nervous. He didn’t want that. He should leave. Go back outside. What had happened between them was a long time ago. If anyone felt awkward about that evening, it should be him. His fumbling efforts to kiss her came to mind. He’d had no idea what he was doing back then.

  Without thinking about it, he found himself closing the distance between himself and Becca. He reached out and cupped her cheeks in his palms. Her skin was beautiful this close, smooth and radiant, and it took all his willpower not to just stand there and stroke it with his thumbs. Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. When she didn’t shove him away or knee him in the groin, he deepened the kiss and after a moment she began to kiss him back. Hesitantly, softly. But definitely kissing him back.

  The sound of voices growing louder and closer penetrated the buzzing sound in his brain. He reluctantly broke the kiss.

  “I owed you that,” he whispered, then turned and walked back out to the party.

  Chapter 10

  Becca was up early the next morning. She made a pot of coffee and took a cup back upstairs to her bedroom. Her parents wouldn’t be awake for another hour, she guessed. Or not out of bed, at any rate. Michelle and Dan Trevor had a close and loving marriage, even after all these years. Becca doubted that kind of relationship was in her future. Even if she happened to meet a good guy, she’d screw things up somehow. She always did.

  Besides, she had a reputation here in St. Caroline. Case in point: Jack Wolfe kissing her at the party last night. She took a sip of hot coffee to wash away the memory. He was home for the summer and figured she’d be an easy lay. Right? Like the last time. Cassidy, on the other hand, would require far more effort. Dates, dinners out, movies, hand holding. Cassidy’s younger sister?

  Eh, not so much.

  She set her mug down on the folding table her father had helped her move from the garage. It was covered now with plastic cutting mats and stacks of pre-washed and ironed fabrics. From them, well over a thousand triangles had to be cut to make a replacement for the fire quilt. She needed to get started on it. Even more so since she had agreed to finish Jack’s wedding quilt.

  She flipped through the pile of plastic quilt templates her mother had deposited on the table until she found the one she needed, an equilateral triangle. She unfolded a length of fabric and laid the triangle on top. She hadn’t minded Jack’s kiss, and that bothered her. It was … nice. Nice enough that she was disappointed when two of her mother’s friends came in for more chips and salsa, putting an end to the kiss. But she didn’t want to like Jack Wolfe’s kisses. No good could come of that.

  In fact, she needed to just stay as far away from him as possible. For the entire summer. That shouldn’t be so hard. Between the three quilts she had to work on—the fire quilt, his wedding quilt and a replacement for the anniversary quilt she lost in the eviction—she had plenty to keep her busy. Plus, working at the restaurant and Quilt Therapy. I
t wasn’t as though Jack would be venturing into the quilt shop. Avoiding him would be easy.

  She picked up one of her mother’s rotary cutters and, one by one, began cutting the pieces for the quilt. As she worked her way through the stack of donated fabric, a sense of calm took hold. Quilting made sense to her, in a way nothing else ever had. And she could fix mistakes. Seams crooked? Points cut off? No worries. She could take out the stitches and do it again.

  There was no do-over with Jack. If she could go back and rip out the stitches of that one day, she would. In a heartbeat. But life didn’t work that way. Instead she had tried to fix things as best she could by leaving town and having the baby elsewhere. She bore the consequences of their mutual lapse in judgment by herself, to save her parents the embarrassment and to save Jack’s future.

  Hours passed and Becca stacked up triangles upon triangles. She was flying through the fabric, losing track of time as she went. It had always been easy for her to lose herself in fabric and thread. A knock on the door jolted her out of her zen-like state. She turned to see her mother in the doorway.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Ten-thirty.”

  “Seriously?” She glanced down at the now cold cup of coffee on the table. She shook her head. “I lost track of time.”

  Her mother gave her a knowing smile.

  “Shoot,” Becca added. “You probably need help cleaning up downstairs, don’t you?”

  “I could use a hand. But I have another favor to ask first.”

  “Okay.” Becca set down the orange rotary cutter she was holding, and flexed her fingers, stiff from hours of cutting. “Whatever you need.”

  “I just got a call from the woman who was going to teach the hand quilting seminar at our weekend retreat. She has to cancel. I was hoping you could fill in for her.”

  “Of course I can do that,” Becca heard herself saying. “I’d love to teach the seminar for you.” She really would, too. She wasn’t simply saying that to appease her mother. Becca loved to teach quilting. It was her one area of expertise. She hadn’t been a particularly good student in school, wasn’t a good athlete like Lauren and Natalie had been, didn’t have a head for business the way Cassidy did. Charlotte was all of those things, plus drop dead gorgeous.

  But Becca quilted better than any of them. Tiny, even stitches flowed from her fingers. And she had the patience to show others how to do it. It was her one superpower.

  “Truth be told,” her mother said, “you’re both a better quilter and teacher than she is.”

  “Thanks, mom. Mrs. Wolfe asked me to finish her wedding quilt for Jack.”

  “She did?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  Her mother shook her head, then sat down on the bed. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to be here all summer. I’ll have time. If you and Dad want me here all summer.”

  Her mother patted the bed next to her. Becca joined her.

  “We want you as long as you want to stay. You know that. I also know that you’re not telling me everything that happened in Ohio, and that’s okay too.”

  Becca sighed. “I have told you pretty much what happened. I got fired, got evicted. Brandon got arrested.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “I blocked his number.” After several angry texts about her not bailing him out of jail.

  “Good. What’s your schedule like today? Are you on at the Inn?”

  Becca nodded. “Dinner shift, so I’m all yours until then.”

  “Well, Cass and I are spending the day at the shop. Angie is sending Jack over to help put up some shelving. I want to at least have fabric for sale during the retreat, even if the shop isn’t fully open yet.”

  “Was that Cassidy’s idea?” Becca rolled her eyes.

  Her mother shrugged. “I don’t think Cass is really Jack’s type. And he has a life in California to return to, eventually. ”

  Becca watched as her mother fought to contain her emotions. She was so used to seeing her mother be strong, it hurt to watch her confronting something that being strong couldn’t help. Michelle Trevor was the rock of the Trevor family. All those times Becca had gotten into trouble when she was young—her mother was the one who never let her disappointment show.

  She reached out and touched her mother’s hand.

  “I’m good, Becs. It’s just hard sometimes.”

  Becca leaned over and gave her mother a quick hug. “I’ll help daddy clean up the yard before I go to work. So you can focus on getting the shop open again.”

  Ordinarily, Becca would prefer helping out at Quilt Therapy over putting the backyard into order after a party. If Jack was going to be at the shop, though, she’d rather stay home. If he wanted to dally with a Trevor sister this summer, it would have to be with Cassidy. Becca had a future to figure out. That was her priority—and she couldn’t afford to screw that up again.

  Jack tucked into his omelet, while across the table his mother barely touched hers. He pushed a plate toward her.

  “Toast?”

  She smiled, but left the plate alone. “I’m not hungry. I’m sorry, honey.”

  Jack had driven to his parents’ house early to fix breakfast for his mom.

  “Food tends to upset my stomach,” she added.

  Jack was a tightly squeezed ball of fury these days. Why his mother? Why dammit? In the back of his mind, he knew that swearing at God probably wasn’t going to help his case. But Jack found it hard to care about God much anymore, even as he found himself talking to God more and more. She’s a good person! If his mother had hurt even a single person, Jack had never heard of it. He seriously doubted anyone else had, either. She doesn’t deserve this. My father doesn’t deserve this. A case could be made that Jack had done things to deserve this fate. Matt too, in all likelihood. Oliver? Who knew? Ollie played things close to the vest.

  Make it be all just a mistake. It’s a stomach ulcer!

  His mother’s sleek silver laptop sat open on the table. She’d been up for hours, he assumed. Oliver mentioned that she slept only a few hours a night anymore. Jack didn’t have the nerve to ask why that was. The pain was getting to be too much? She didn’t want to spend the time she had left unconscious? He stared at the laptop and took a large gulp of hot coffee, daring it to burn his throat.

  “What are you working on?” he asked.

  “Typing up all of my recipes for your father. I can send them to you, too, if you want them.”

  He nodded numbly. Her recipes. It never would have occurred to him to ask for something like that. But it made sense. It was a good idea. He’d be able to cook the family recipes for his children someday. Since their grandmother wouldn’t be around. She’ll have grandchildren she’ll never meet!

  He stood up so quickly, the chair tottered on its back legs. He rushed to the coffee maker to splash more hot brew into his nearly full mug, splashing his hand in the process. Have someone come up with a cure for this! Right now! He sucked the coffee off his burned skin, then held the pot aloft.

  “More for you?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I’ve had too much already this morning. It’ll make me jittery if I have any more.”

  He set the pot back onto the heating unit and carried his mug over to the table.

  Deargodletherhaveanotheryearplease.

  “How’s your job, sweetie?” She cut off a small piece of the omelet with her fork, but didn’t lift the utensil to her mouth.

  Four months! At the outside! What do you mean, four months!

  “It’s going good. Busy, you know.” He let his words disappear into another hot gulp of caffeine. No way could he tell her the truth. See the position you’ve put me in! Better for her to live out her life believing he was the lawyer she’d always wanted him to be. Give us another year! He needed to change the subject. Then I could tell her the truth!

  “Why did you ask Becca Trevor to finish my wedding quilt?” />
  Six months! Come on, dammit!

  She flexed the bony fingers of her free hand. The movement was slow; Jack could feel the pain in his own fingers.

  “I don’t have the dexterity to quilt anymore. I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I just meant, why her?”

  She looked at him quizzically. “She’s the finest hand quilter I’ve ever met.” She slid her hand across the table to weakly cover his. “Only the best for my baby.”

  “Mom, don’t make me cry.”

  There has to be some other chemotherapy that will work! We aren’t quitters! Wolves. Are. Not. Quitters! Dammit!

  “It seems like an imposition on her.” He pinned his emotions to the mat. “I can pay someone to finish it at some point. It’s not like I’m getting married anytime soon.”

  “You never know.”

  Not while working as a security guard in California, he thought. He was sharing an apartment with three other guys and still barely making ends meet. Not to mention, the whole apartment sharing setup was a serious obstacle to romance.

  My mother won’t be at my wedding, you know? Have you thought of that? She’ll never meet my bride, never hold my children? Dammit, it’s not FAIR and you know it!

  “It’s between the two of you now,” she added. “If you want someone else to finish it, that’s fine with me. Or if you want to pay her. You’re adults. You can sort it out.”

  Chapter 11

  Jack parked his car at the firehouse and set off on a hard, punishing run—ignoring the heavy lump of breakfast in his belly. The Sunday morning streets of St. Caroline were empty, but despite the early hour the air was humid and close. Every breath seemed to catch in his lungs as his feet pounded the sidewalk. In the distance, the bells of the Episcopal Church pealed, as they had for three hundred years.

  Jack wasn’t sure he believed in God anymore. Not a benevolent one, anyway.

  He ran down Main Street, where the stores and restaurants were still closed with the exception of Two Beans, the coffee shop. A few people milled around on the sidewalk outside chatting. A friend of his father waved to him. Jack waved back, not breaking his stride. Two blocks on, Main Street returned to a residential thoroughfare with small but neat homes and immaculately kept front lawns. Like his parents’ home. His mother had always kept flowers planted in the beds flanking the front door and more in the stone vases on the stoop.