“I think it would be good for Amelia, and—”
“I said I’d think about it,” Connor interrupted.
Charlotte snapped her jaw shut.
The silence turned awkward again, and Cole’s eyes darted to hers.
“We’re also going to have a few tribute dances.” Charlotte struggled to find something to say to fill the space. “People who loved her can do fun numbers in her honor, and—”
Connor cut her off again. “It’s good, Charlotte,” he said. “Jules would be so happy.” His voice broke and he looked away. “Maybe you’re right, Cole. Maybe I do need to take the day off.”
Cole clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Let me handle things here, all right?”
“Thanks, man,” Connor said. He turned toward the door, then stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you the other day, Charlotte. You meant the world to Jules, you know that, right?”
The words burrowed down inside her, and all she could do was nod in reply. Anything else, and Charlotte might’ve felt the depth of the loss they’d all suffered, and that was too raw, too real, for her to manage right now.
11
Connor went inside, leaving Cole standing on the steps with a woman who was apparently not who he thought.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Coming here after practice had been a rash idea, a plan meant to distract him from things he didn’t want to think about. Or maybe sort out what he needed to do to get his coaching back on track.
He planned to mow Connor’s overgrown grass, pull some weeds, check on the kids, make sure the guy was eating and then, with any luck, he’d go home and crash.
That plan had gone awry.
“I do,” he said. “But it’s gonna be a while.” He started off toward the garage and realized she was following him.
“I wish there was something I could do,” she said.
He stuck his head inside the garage and pressed the button to open the door. “You didn’t say you knew Jules.”
“You didn’t bother to ask.”
He deserved that. He didn’t acknowledge it, but he knew he deserved it.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was rude.”
“I can take it.” He spotted the lawn mower buried in the corner.
“I met Jules when we were just kids,” she said from the doorway. “She was my only friend.”
He glanced at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She seemed to be off in her own little world. When she snapped out of it and made eye contact with him, she shifted.
“She never mentioned me?”
Cole shook his head. “I really didn’t keep up with all the dance stuff Jules did back then. I had a lot going on at home.” He hoped she didn’t ask what—his dysfunctional family was about the last thing he wanted to discuss.
“But it wasn’t just back then,” she said. “We’ve always kept in touch, even after Jules left the ballet and got married. We were like pen pals.”
“Pen pals?”
“People who write letters to each other,” Charlotte said.
“I know what a pen pal is,” Cole said. “You’re from the city?”
She nodded. “Chicago.”
“So, how’d you end up here?”
She leaned against the doorjamb and watched as he gingerly took a step closer to the mower. “I needed a fresh start.”
“And you came here?” He would’ve laughed, but the look on her face stopped him. “It’s just really different from Chicago.”
“That was kind of the point,” she said. Embarrassment skittered across her face. “I wanted a quieter life.”
He tugged on the mower, clearing a path to the door. “Well, you’ll certainly get that in Harbor Pointe.”
“And I want to buy Julianna’s dance studio.”
He frowned. “Buy it?”
She shrugged. “Someone should keep it going.”
He squinted, sizing her up. He didn’t know Charlotte—had no memory of her, and Julianna hadn’t mentioned her to him, but he had a feeling she could do a lot better than owning a dance studio in a small tourist town. “Why?”
She looked away. “I have my reasons.”
“Fair enough.” He wasn’t one to push for conversation. He freed the mower and now stood at the front of the garage.
Charlotte came around the side to the driveway and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can I help?”
“Help what?”
“In the yard?”
He squinted down at her. “Have you ever done yard work?”
“No,” she said. “But how hard can it be?”
He eyed her for a long moment, dressed in her workout clothes (which showed enough skin to require him to lasso his wandering thoughts).
“I’m not as fragile as you think,” she said pointedly.
“I never said you were fragile.”
“All right, then tell me what to do.”
Charlotte ran home to put on more appropriate work clothes, and by the time she came back, Hildy had picked up the kids and Cole had mowed the front yard.
She considered inching her car right up on the bumper of his truck, just to be funny, but decided against it. She didn’t know Cole well, but she did know that his sense of humor wasn’t likely one of his best qualities.
The fictitious version of him she’d created in her mind all those years ago had been completely wrong.
Besides, he was watching her—probably to make sure she didn’t crash into the truck—and that was too unnerving for humor.
She parked the car, got out, and met him on the sidewalk.
“Are you sure you want to volunteer for this?” he asked.
“It’s the least I can do,” she said.
“Why’s that?” He adjusted his ball cap, then turned his attention to her.
She looked away. It didn’t feel like the right time to tell him what a lousy friend she’d been to his sister. “Can I just work on the yard?”
He shrugged, then handed over a rake. “It’s all yours.”
Charlotte had no idea what to do with a rake, which was undoubtedly exactly what her face communicated.
“Here.” He took it from her, then gave her a lesson on raking, in which he was slightly condescending. “Think you can do that?”
She took the rake and rolled her eyes, which he likely couldn’t see because she was wearing sunglasses. “I got it.”
They worked in silence for what felt like ages. It turned out that yard work was a lot more difficult than Charlotte would’ve ever imagined, and yet it calmed her. Gave her something to focus on, a task she could accomplish without any pressure, which was a welcome change.
Cole finished mowing, then started weeding the opposite end of the yard. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was avoiding her.
Which was why it got a little awkward around noon when her stomach growled. She stood and admired the section she’d just finished weeding, rubbing her right shoulder with her left hand. Kneeling in that position for any length of time was working a number on her body.