A Kiss to Build a Dream On Read Free Page B

had to offer them, Willa reasoned. They were behind the times, and she had a New York aesthetic to bring to the town. People like Cindi would positively eat up the level of culture and sophistication she’d give them with her B and B.
    Right. Because shacking up with a fumbling investor and then leaving town when you’re on the edge of broke is so high-class , a voice inside her chided.
    Willa swallowed. Her past wasn’t blemish-free, that was for sure, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. And she wasn’t about to let Burk Olmstead stand in her way, either.
    He could give her attitude all day long and it wouldn’t matter. He could yammer about the Great Lakes Inn and it wouldn’t make an iota of difference.
    Her job was to think of him as a contractor now, and nothing more.
    She stepped out of the diner into the crisp sunshine and tilted her face to the sky. A breeze rustled the leaves of Main Street’s trees. The smell from the nearby bakery floated on the air, warm and sweet.
    Behind her was New York and all the mistakes in her life she couldn’t fix. The embarrassment of it was right there, a tar pit of humiliation bubbling just under her skin. But she refused to crack. She blinked away the tears that sprang into her eyes. A herculean wave of embarrassment was trying to drown her in the idea that she was just a stupid, shallow socialite, and she’d lost everything as a result.
    But she wouldn’t go under just yet. Because ahead was the one thing she could fix: her house.
    Or more precisely, Burk Olmstead could fix her house.
    Briefly she wondered if she could trust herself alone with him for weeks on end, but then she shook off the thought and the all-over tingle that accompanied it. She exhaled to cool the heat in her body. The girl who had loved Burk Olmstead was long gone, and the boy who had loved her back had disappeared into an exterior as hard as concrete.
    Which was just as it should be.
    Houses needed lots of concrete, after all.

C HAPTER TWO
    Wednesday, September 19, 11:57 a.m.
    B urk Olmstead started up his battered red pickup and told himself that his hands were shaking from the vibration in the engine—not from seeing Willa Masterson again after all these years.
    When she left twelve years ago, he’d longed for her to come back with a ferocity that bordered on insanity. But now —well, seeing her in White Pine again after all this time, he was anxious for her to turn around and head back the way she’d come.
    Not that it was any big deal. After all, she barely even looked like herself anymore. Her blond hair was shorter and darker. Her clothes were crisp and tailored, so prim and proper compared to the wisps of T-shirts and shorts he remembered her wearing, the kind that would expose great swaths of her silky skin. In other words, she was a woman now, curvier and more solid in a way that had caught him completely off guard. And if he was honest, had him wanting to place his hand in the space where her hip met her waist—a contour that hadn’t been there when they were kids.
    He shook his head. Whatever she looked like today, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the fiery, hotheaded blonde he once knew.
    And once loved , he thought.
    Except that was a long time ago. He was a different person now.
    And clearly, so was she.
    He drove down Main Street, keeping the hardware store on his left and the Birch River on his right. The sidewalks in front of all the stores were dappled with sun and shadow, the leaves on the nearby trees fluttering and dancing. The bright green of summer was yellowing as fall approached—the air was already turning cool, and the sky was that impossible, cloudless blue that would soon form the backdrop for fat orange pumpkins and stacks of yellow hay and baskets of red apples.
    The American flag in front of Loon Call Antiques flapped above painted pots bursting with yellow and orange mums. When the snow started, the store would pull in its wooden benches. But for now,