Twenty minutes later she’d accumulated several glass bottles, a wooden shutter she had no idea how she’d ever use but hadn’t been able to pass up and some wide picture frames. And then she saw it. The inspiration for the head table’s centerpiece—an antique lantern.
Now all she had to do was get to it. Easier said than done, as it was on top of some sort of workbench behind at least three feet of junk. Grabbing the arms of a hideous velvet high-backed chair, she pulled. Nothing happened. Not only was this the ugliest chair she’d ever had the misfortune of seeing, it was also the heaviest.
She slid her snug skirt up a few inches, bent and adjusted her grip on the chair.
“Excuse me.” She froze. That deep, oh-so-familiar voice. A voice that, even after all these years of trying to get him out of her head, Yvonne still heard in her dreams. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The nape of her neck prickled. She didn’t have to turn to know that Aidan Sheppard stood behind her, getting a good look at her rear. She straightened quickly, swayed a little before regaining her balance.
“Hello, Aidan,” she said, praying he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice. She smoothed her skirt back down to just above her knees, then turned. “How are you?”
He looked older, of course. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was her reaction to him. Her mixed emotions. He was so tall and lean and…male. Unshaven, his face was sharper, the angles more pronounced. His shoulders broader in his sweaty, white T-shirt.
But his eyes were the same, a light blue with enough green in them to make it seem as if they were ever changing. For so long, she’d tried to be the woman he saw with those eyes. Until she realized she’d much rather be loved for herself.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated.
“I was trying to move this.” She indicated the chair. “I saw that lantern and—”
“And you thought you’d take it?”
She pursed her lips. “To use as a centerpiece,” she clarified.
He looked pointedly at the other items she’d collected. “And you couldn’t find a lantern—or any of this other stuff—in Charleston?”
“I’m sure I could. But I’m not in Charleston, am I?”
“Which brings me back to my original question.”
“I wanted to check out the building, see what I have to work…” His words sank in. She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He raised one eyebrow. “What are you doing in Jewell? Why are you on my family’s property?”
Surely Diane—Mrs. Sheppard—wouldn’t keep something this…big, important, awkward…from her son. Would she? “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Obviously not.”
Yvonne forced herself not to stare at his bare legs. He must be getting cold in those running shorts. “She hired me.”
Thanks to her parents’ tutelage in presenting an unruffled facade in any given situation, there was no way he could sense her nervousness. Her uncertainty.
“To work at the Diamond Dust,” she added when he said nothing.
“Is that so?” he murmured. “In what capacity?”
“She… I…” Yvonne licked her suddenly dry lips. She tugged at the bottom of her jacket. “I’m an events coordinator.”
He just stared.
Maybe her mother had been right and this was a mistake. A huge one. Maybe Yvonne shouldn’t have come here.
Shouldn’t have thought—hoped—Aidan would forgive her.
“You’re an events coordinator,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. My specialty is weddings.”
“Weddings,” he repeated in a monotone. “Putting that business degree to good use, I see.”
Ducking her head so he couldn’t see that his dig had hit home, she shoved the chair a few more inches to get behind it. His was a familiar set-down, one she’d heard often enough from her parents. One she knew better than to respond to.
“Yes, well, plans change,” she said, moving aside a box of record albums. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed. She wasn’t here to antagonize him. She was here to do a job.
But Aidan he didn’t seem angry that she’d reminded him of his own forgotten plans. In fact, he now seemed indifferent…to the cold and to her.
She wanted to throw her shoe at him. Or that damn lantern. If she ever reached it.
“Since you seem surprised to find out your mother hired me,” Yvonne said, setting a tarnished brass table lamp on the chair, “I suppose she also didn’t mention that I’ll be staying here, as well.”
“Tell me you mean here as in the town of Jewell.”
“At the cottage. It seemed more…convenient…than trying to find a place in town.”
“We wouldn’t want you to be inconvenienced now, would we?”
“I offered to pay rent,” she assured him. “But your mother said it was empty, and included lodging as part of my fee.” She met his eyes unflinchingly. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of Diane’s generosity.”
“One thing I never worry about is my mother being taken advantage of.”
Yvonne would have smiled, if he wasn’t looking at her so coldly. “No. Of course not. Diane’s very…capable.” Capable. Confident. Intimidating. Almost as intimidating as her own mother.
Yvonne leaned against the hard edge of the counter and reached for the lantern. Her fingertips grazed the metal base. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t suppose you could…?”
“No.”
His refusal surprised her. He’d never refused her anything before. But that was then, she reminded herself.
She searched the area and spied a blue metal toolbox halfway under the bench. Kneeling, she wrestled it forward. “Do you…are you living here as well?” she asked, straightening. “At the Diamond Dust, I mean.”
Generations of Sheppards had lived at the historic plantation.
Aidan didn’t jump in to tease her out of her nerves. Smooth things over. He simply crossed his arms. “No.”
He certainly was getting good at using that one word with her. How was he not freezing in his running gear?
She turned her back to him and quickly pulled her skirt halfway up her thighs. Her face was so hot, she expected her hair to catch on fire. She stepped onto the toolbox, grabbed the lantern and stepped back down.
And yanked her skirt back into place.
“So you’re still at the house?” she asked, the lantern clutched to her chest.
The bungalow with vaulted ceilings and bright, airy rooms.
Their house.
“What I can’t help but wonder,” he said, “is what made you or my mother think that you working here would be a good idea.”
“I can’t speak for your mother…” Even if she