Chapter 33
Sarah plopped the last piece of her second sandwich into her mouth as she glanced up at the tree she and Joan sat under. A pair of brown and white birds that Sarah guessed to be Carolina wrens were perched on the lowest branches. They ate seed from a wooden feeder nailed to the side of it. Sarah noticed the elaborate scroll design that had been etched into the edges of the feeder. Whoever had made it had skill. Was it the same person who had made the shoe cupboard?
Seeing where Sarah’s attention was directed, Joan said, “That was Charles’s idea.”
“The bird feeder?”
“Yes. He made it.”
Sarah heard the surprise in her tone when she said, “Charles made the bird feeder?”
Joan nodded, “The shoe cupboard too. He’s a very talented carpenter, but for some reason, he likes to keep it a secret.”
“Why? He’s so talented.”
Joan’s expression became serious, “You know how we have writer’s doubt?”
“Yes.”
“He has carpenter’s doubt.”
Sarah laughed, “Carpenter’s doubt? Is that even a thing?”
Joan grinned, “It is if you ask him.”
“Maybe I will.”
Sarah studied her mentor for a moment. Joan’s face was coated in light make-up that enhanced her features. Her hair was neatly brushed and tucked behind her ears. So far, the author had been kind and thoughtful. Nothing like the picture the press––or Linda Scott-Jackson––had sketched. Who could accuse this woman of being a diva? More than that, why would anyone believe it?
***
Charles saw his mother’s face crinkle as he approached. She’d noticed his bandages.
She jumped to her feet and rushed to his side, “What happened?”
Charles lied, “It’s just a cut. Nothing serious.”
“Oh, darling. What were you doing?”
She lifted his bandaged hand, as if to inspect it, but he pulled it away before she could get a close look. Or feel the coolness caused by the ice pack radiating from it.
“I’m fine. Really.”
His mother scanned his face for a moment then turned toward the spot on the grass where she’d been sitting, “Did you bring your sandwiches? I left them in the fridge for you.”
“No. I didn’t know.”
And I had other things to take care of.
She gave him a pat on the back, “I’ll get it for you.”
Before he could object, she took off. He frowned. She was doing that too often. He added it to the mental list of things he’d have to talk to her about.
Sarah interrupted his thoughts, “Your mother told me your little secret.”
A biting frost enveloped his chest. It hurt when he tried to breathe. Sarah knew the secret. What would this mean for him? More importantly, what would she want to keep it from the media?
He masked the fear from his features and made himself speak, “What is it you want for your silence?”
She grinned, “I want one.”
He stared at her. What was she talking about? “You want one what?”
She nodded at the tree beside her and pointed upward, “A bird feeder.”
He knew he must have looked as stunned as he felt. Thankfully, she didn’t see because she was focused on the feeder he’d made years earlier. His chest thawed with the understanding that came. The “secret” she’d discovered was his ability to make wooden handicrafts.
To be certain, he double-checked, “You want me to make you a bird feeder?”
She looked at him, “Yes. Your mother said you have a talent for carpentry that you like to keep secret. I hope you don’t mind her telling me? Your work is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He faked a relaxed smile, “Thank you.”
“Joan said you have ‘carpenter’s doubt.’” One corner of her mouth rose, showing clear amusement.
“Carpenter’s doubt? What’s that?”
She chuckled, “It’s like writer’s doubt, but for amateur carpenters. Hey, maybe you should make a motivational note? Like the one you got me to make.”
He managed a genuine laugh at the memory of the “You do have potential” note he’d suggested she make on their session at her apartment. In the silence that followed, it dawned on him that his mother wasn’t back with his sandwich yet. Was she taking too long? It was hard to judge with Sarah looking at him the way she was: her head tilted with the hint of a smile on her lips. His stomach clenched. Hard. The sensation grew the longer he kept his attention on her.
His mouth went dry. When he tried to swallow, it hurt. The meaning of the sensation struck him like a fist to the mouth . . . he was falling in love with Sarah Woodward.
Shit.
He made himself look away. There was no room in his life for a relationship, not as long as the secret loomed. His priorities had to remain on maintaining it. In the long-term that meant convincing his mother to go along with his plan.
A subtle sting ripped through his hand. He stifled a grunt. The cold pack was starting to lose its healing power.
He bit his bottom lip, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re going to have to leave.”
“What? Why?”
“Something’s come up––an unexpected request from the publisher.”
It was the best lie he could string together on the spot. He couldn’t risk telling Sarah the truth about his hand. Too many questions were already going to be asked at the hospital.
She gave an understanding nod, but her expression showed an underlying frustration.
He couldn’t fault her for the reaction. Since the mentorship had started, they’d managed to give Sarah two full sessions, but the other two, including this one, had been cut short after a few hours.
“I know this is unfair on you. We keep cutting your sessions short.”
She nodded. After a second of hesitation, she said, “It’s just that we have a limited number of sessions, and I want to take advantage of the time we have together.”
His stomach heaved at the word “we,” even though he knew she was referring to his mother. Still, the way she lowered her gaze to the grass just now. He could’ve sworn her cheeks were flushed. Had she caught the other meaning to her words too?
He pushed the thought away. “I understand.”
An unexpected plan popped into his head. Sarah would get a solid mentoring session. It would be risky. Having her so close could expose the secret. Was this just an attempt by his subconscious to spend more time with her? Before he could decide, Sarah lifted her gaze.
The sweet vulnerability in her expression squeezed his stomach, and made him say, “Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you drive up on Friday afternoon and spend the whole weekend here in the cottage?”
Both of Sarah’s eyebrows lifted. It was only then that he realized how the invitation had sounded. “Spend the whole weekend here in the cottage.” With him.
He shook his head, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You could stay here. I’d stay with Mom.”
“That sounds amazing.” She was beaming. He gave her a wide smile in response. Then her features darkened. “Wait. No, I can’t. I’ve been invited to give a speech at the Southern Romance Writer’s convention in Charlotte on Saturday.”
“Oh.”
So much for that plan.
***
Was he disappointed? It sure appeared that way to Sarah. Why was he disappointed? Was it because he’d told her the media was off limits? But this wasn’t a tell-all interview; it was a harmless five-minute speech.
To make sure he understood that, she said, “It’s a speech about entering competitions and mentorships, but I won’t be mentioning anything about you or Joan specifically. Is that all right?”
“Of course.”
Sarah nodded. Another detail flickered in her mind. “Uh, there’s something else I should probably tell you.”
His gaze narrowed, “Yes?”
“The speech is being televised. Well, part of it will be anyway. The local news is doing a feature on the convention.” She heard her tone increase as she added, “But I didn’t arrange that, they––”
He cut her off, “It’s all right. I understand.”
She breathed out to calm her voice. “Good.”
He peered down and adjusted the bandage on his hand.
“It’s worse than you told your mother, isn’t it?”
He didn’t look at her when he answered, “It’ll be fine.”
She frowned when she saw worry mark his face. What was going on? Why was he hiding things and not telling the complete truth?
Sensing she wasn’t going to get the answers, she thought of their next session. Her stomach heaved. She would’ve loved to have experienced the entire weekend with Joan. And Charles, if she was being honest with herself. But the convention speech was an amazing opportunity. She couldn’t cancel. She felt frustration crease her features. Then an idea struck.
“My speech starts just before lunch. After that, I’m not really required to stay. If I leave straight away, I could be here early Saturday afternoon?”
“I don’t want to stop you from attending other workshops or talks.”
She smiled to reinforce her answer, “You won’t be.”
It appeared: his full smile. The one she’d only seen a couple of times. The one that shot right to the middle of her heart and lodged itself there, as if it belonged to her.
“All right. I’ll leave the cottage open for you. Feel free to make yourself at home. Call me once you’re settled in and I’ll come over.”
Sarah nodded. An urge made her catch his gaze. His eyes seemed to find every empty space she had and filled them. What was happening to her?
Hang on.
Was she . . . lovesick?
Now she knew what Mark was going through. She forced her eyes away. She’d heard about lovesickness. Heck, she’d written about it––the manuscript with that exact title had given her this mentorship––but it was something she’d never felt before. Ever. Not with Paul, not with Jacques.
“Are you all right?”
Charles’s voice drew her back.
“Mm. Just tired.”
Now who was the one not telling the complete truth?
***
Charles couldn’t respond, because his mother interrupted. “You two look like you’ve had a good chat while I was gone.”
He faced Joan, and heard Sarah speak the same words as him, “We did.”
His mother grinned then stretched her hand toward him, “Here’s your sandwiches, darling.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He thought to add, “What took you so long?”
“I had some things to do.”
He detected a hint of mischief behind the look she aimed at him. What was she up to?
Before he could ask, his mother linked her arm in Sarah’s, “Why don’t we get back to it while my beautiful son eats his lunch?”
Sarah frowned; her eyes found his, “I thought––”
He took a step forward, “Mom, something’s come up with the publisher, Sarah has to go.”
“Already?”
He nodded, “Afraid so.”
Ten minutes later, they waved Sarah goodbye. As Charles watched her car drive away, he wanted to kick himself. After what had happened today, why had he asked her to stay the entire weekend? He’d let his hormones override sense.
But the way she’d looked at him. The way it had made him feel . . . the invitation had tumbled out.
He’d lost control. Again. He would have to be even more vigilant over the coming weekend. There was no room for error. Especially since his attraction to Sarah was clearly deepening into something more. He glanced at his mother and took a deep breath. The plan. He had to convince her. Today.
His hand twitched, reminding him of the damage that had been done already.
First, he needed to get to the hospital.