“That joke never gets old,” Cloe said as she bit into her piece.
They munched happily on their chicken and chatted about the upcoming week.
“How’s your drawing coming along?” Paige asked. She’d already polished off the leg and started on the thigh.
“Hungry?”
“I didn’t have breakfast, remember? Well, except for those potato chips.”
Cloe shook her head. “You have the world’s highest metabolism. If you weren’t my best friend, I really wouldn’t like you.”
Paige poked her in the side. “Quit complaining. You’re still in shape.”
“I’m not sure about that. I’ve put on a few pounds since the spring.”
“Which you always lose in the summer.”
“It’s July.”
“But you have the rest of this month, August, and September, and I know how you are. Your art?”
“It’s going okay. Nothing earth-shattering. I think I have a few pieces I can sell in Nashville.” Nashville was a small artsy community outside of Bloomington that attracted tourists from nearby cities.
They polished off their lunch with a couple of apples. Then they slathered each other in lotion and sun block and lay back on their towels. They chatted a little longer until Cloe felt lassitude sinking in from her full stomach and the sun beating on her skin.
She didn’t know how long she’d drifted off when she heard the sound of a boat motor drawing closer. She popped one eye open. A sleek-looking deck boat settled into their cove. An attractive brunette in a conservative bikini that did nothing to hide her gorgeous body lowered an anchor overboard from the bow. She gave the line a tug and tied it to a cleat.
Wait, was that. . . Cloe sat up on her elbows and pulled her sunglasses down against the glare of the sun on the water. Dear Jesus and all His disciples, it was Lindsey Marist. And she looked better than Cloe’s active imagination pictured her.
Paige sat up next to her. “Damn it. I hate when people invade our cove.” Paige drew in a breath. “Sweet Sally Yates, she’s hot.”
“Shh. She’ll hear you.” Cloe wondered again where Paige came up with her expressions. She spotted Fred in an adorable red life jacket. She knew they made them for dogs, but she never saw a dog wearing one until now.
Paige glanced at her then Lindsey then back at Cloe. In a lowered voice, she said, “I’ve seen that look before. Is this the infamous Lindsey Marist?”
Cloe nodded, watching Lindsey lay out a beach towel on the recessed, padded seating area in the bow. She blinked to take in the sight as Lindsey spread suntan lotion on her arms and legs. When she rubbed the lotion onto her abdomen—how in the name of Jillian Michaels did the woman get abs like that?—Cloe’s mouth went dry.
Paige handed Cloe a napkin. “Here. You might want to wipe the drool off your chin, sport.”
“Shut up.”
Fred jumped onto the other end of the bow seat and peered over the side. Lindsey said something to him, which was probably, “Don’t even think about it.” She settled herself onto the towel, picked up a book beside her, and started to read.
Fred sniffed the air and popped his head up. He spotted Cloe and let out a sharp, excited bark. Before Cloe knew what was happening, he leaped overboard.
Lindsey scrambled to her feet. “Fred!”
Fred was paddling determinedly to the shore and Cloe. Cloe jumped up and ran to the edge of the water.
Lindsey cupped her hand over her eyes. “Cloe? Is that you? Please! Can you grab him?”
Cloe waded into the water. Even with Fred’s stubby legs, it didn’t take him long to reach her. She held out her arms and picked him up. Okay, holding a wet dog while in a swimsuit was not high on her agenda of fun things to do, but she had to help. She carried him to the shore and set him down. He shook his body as only wet dogs do. The life jacket helped keep him from shaking out too much water, but he still caused her to sputter when he splashed her face.
Lindsey gripped her hair in an obvious panic. “He’s never done that before. Thank you for rescuing him.”
“I think he rescued himself!” Cloe yelled back.
“Listen, it wouldn’t do for me to jump in and swim over there. I need to get my boat docked. Can you meet me at the cabin and bring him? He’ll follow you back to your car without a lead.” She motioned at Fred and gave Cloe a lopsided grin.
How could Cloe say no to that smile?
“I’d be happy to do that. We were about to head home anyway.”
Paige stared at her. “We were?”
“Yes, we were,” Cloe said under her breath. She turned back to Lindsey. “We’ll gather up our stuff here. I should be at your cabin in a half hour or so. I need to take Paige home first.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Cloe.”
“No problem.”
Cloe quickly stuffed the chicken bones, apple cores, and discarded napkins and plates into the cooler. As they went back to the truck with Fred trotting alongside, Paige snickered.
Cloe pointed at her. “Not one word, Holland.”
* * *
Fred happily sat in the back of the cab of Cloe’s truck, his head out the window, tongue lolling to the side.
Paige turned in her seat to glance at him. “I wish I enjoyed car rides as much as dogs. Look at him. He’s in bliss.”
Cloe peeked in the rearview mirror and smiled at the sight.
“Of course, if my mommy was Lindsey Marist, I’d be blissful all the time,” Paige said.
Cloe sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Hell, no, now that I’ve seen the woman. If you don’t make a play for her, I will.”
Cloe bristled at the implication.
“There,” Paige said as she pointed at Cloe’s face.
“What?”
“That look tells me how much you’re into her. Damn it, Cloe, get to know the woman at least.”
Thankfully, Cloe had reached the drive to Paige’s small cottage. “Here we are,” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Paige playfully bopped her on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah.” She got out of the truck and leaned in to tell Fred goodbye. “Fred, talk some sense into her on the way to your mommy’s house.”
* * *
Cloe steered the truck into Lindsey’s drive. She noticed a Jeep parked in front of the garage and figured it must be Lindsey’s.
Fred let out some excited whines and barks when he saw Lindsey step out of the screened-in porch. Much to Cloe’s disappointment, Lindsey had changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Lindsey walked up to the truck and opened the back door.
“You,” she said as Fred bounded into her arms. “What am I going to do with you?” She planted a flurry of kisses on his head. “You scared me, Fred. You can’t jump out of the boat like that.”
Cloe stepped out of the truck and leaned into the back to get Fred’s doggy life jacket that she’d removed on their way to her truck. Lindsey set Fred onto the ground as Cloe handed her the life jacket.
“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of him.” Lindsey squeezed the jacket between her hands. She seemed a little nervous.
“It was nothing. Really. He swam right up to me.”
“It was everything.” Lindsey held her gaze for a long moment.
Cloe cleared her throat and motioned at her truck. “I should go.”
“Stay.” Lindsey closed her eyes briefly. “I mean, please stay. Have some Oreos and milk with me.” When Cloe didn’t respond right away, Lindsey hurriedly added, “Or at least a glass of iced tea.”
Cloe grinned. “You had me at Oreos.”
Fred trotted ahead of them and stood at the screen door. He looked up at Lindsey expectantly. As soon as she opened it, he rushed into the porch and pranced in front of the inside door.
“He looks a little excited about going in the cabin,” Cloe said.
“That’s because he thinks with his stomach.” Lindsey unlocked the door, and Fred darted inside st
raight to the back of the house.
Cloe noticed the island that separated the kitchen from the living room in the open-plan cabin. “I take it that’s where the kitchen is. And his food?”
“What gave it away?” Lindsey asked with a quirk of her lips.
Lindsey set the life jacket by the door and headed to the kitchen. The living room’s gleaming wooden rafters caught Cloe’s attention. Her gaze landed on the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace to her left. It was a gorgeous home. Out of curiosity, she paused at the mantel above the fireplace and perused the photos, noticing one of a man who had enough resemblance to be Lindsey’s brother. A young boy stood between him and a woman Cloe presumed was his wife. The boy was grinning widely with a gap-toothed smile as he proudly held up a baseball.
“He hit a game-winning home run with that ball.”
Something in Lindsey’s voice behind her made Cloe turn around. What she saw in Lindsey’s eyes caused Cloe’s heart to clench.
Lindsey blinked away tears. “Three years ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. He died of it about a year and a half ago.” Her voice cracked. “He would’ve been eleven this summer.”
Cloe couldn’t help it. She had to touch Lindsey. She reached out and gently gripped Lindsey’s forearm. “Oh, Lindsey. I’m so sorry.”
Lindsey turned away from the photo and met Cloe’s gaze. “Yeah, me, too. He was a great kid.” She abruptly pulled away and walked toward the kitchen. “Come on. I promised you Oreos and milk.”
Cloe bit her lip and hesitated before following her.
* * *
I can’t believe I shared that with her, Lindsey thought as she walked to the kitchen. She barely knew Cloe. She could have kept silent about her nephew’s death. But there was something about Cloe’s gentle voice and caring hazel eyes that made Lindsey drop her guard. Was that such a bad thing? She contemplated this question as she pulled down two glasses from the cabinet.
“Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring over the glasses, milk, and cookies.”
“I can help carry the glasses at least,” Cloe said close behind her.
Lindsey took a breath, turned toward Cloe, and handed her the glasses. Their fingers brushed together, and like a scene from a romance, Lindsey swore she felt a spark from the touch. She wondered if it was only her imagination, but one look at Cloe’s reddened cheeks told her she wasn’t alone in the feeling.
They settled onto the bar stools at the kitchen island. Lindsey liked that Cloe showed no hesitation in grabbing four cookies from the package. She watched to see how Cloe ate her Oreos, amused when Cloe unscrewed the cookie and started scraping the filling off with her teeth.
“What?” Cloe asked after she swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Cloe motioned at her with the remainder of her cookie. “I think I’m sensing judgment over there.”
Lindsey cracked a smile. “Not at all.”
“Good ’cuz no one should be judged on how they eat their Oreos. It’s a personal preference.” Cloe unscrewed her next cookie. “I’m glad I can make you smile, though. You have a nice smile.”
“Are you saying I’m not happy?” Lindsey fought to keep the edge from her voice, failing miserably. What Cloe had said was innocent enough.
Cloe reached over the counter to grab Lindsey’s hand. “No, no. It’s just that. . .”
Lindsey waited for her to finish.
Cloe said the words hurriedly, like she was afraid Lindsey would cut her off. “It’s just that I can tell you’ve struggled with your sadness. That’s all.”
Lindsey’s shoulders slumped, and she stared down at the Oreo she was about to dunk in her milk. She felt a little queasy. Should she forgo the cookie altogether?
Cloe squeezed Lindsey’s hand then quickly pulled away. “I’m sorry if I’m too forward. My best friend Paige said my mouth should be permanently fitted for my size eights.”
Lindsey couldn’t let her go on apologizing for something that was so true. “It’s okay, Cloe. You’re right. I’ve not been smiling a lot lately.” She met Cloe’s gaze. “But it’s nice to be relaxed enough to not even think about it. To just be, you know?” Lindsey concentrated on dunking her Oreo to avoid getting into a serious discussion.
“I see you’re a dunker.” Cloe, who thankfully moved on from the serious turn their conversation had taken, unscrewed her next cookie.
“What does that say about me?” Lindsey enjoyed their gentle banter.
“It says you’re a go-getter, someone who doesn’t back down from life’s challenges.”
Lindsey laughed as she wiped away cookie crumbs from her mouth. “Dunking my Oreo shows that?”
“Yup.” Cloe scraped the icing off her cookie with a rather smug look on her face.
“What does that make you?” Lindsey motioned at the now scraped-clean cookie.
Cloe popped the cookie into her mouth and brushed the crumbs off her hands. She took a sip of milk. “It makes me someone who might be a little slow to trust others. But I’m also someone who, once I trust you, can be the most loyal friend you could ever ask for.”
“Wow. You get all that from how we eat our Oreos?”
Cloe gave her a crooked grin. “I’m joking, Lindsey. I think it means you like your Oreos a little soggy, and I enjoy the filling before eating the cookie.”
Lindsey thought Cloe had revealed a little more about herself than she meant to and was now trying to make light of it, but Lindsey let it go.
“Other than Fred’s valiant leap off your boat, did you enjoy your day out on the water?”
Lindsey laughed. “I wouldn’t call what he did valiant. More like a goofy hound dog stunt.”
“All right. I’ll give you that.”
As if on cue, Fred plopped down between them and stared up with his big, brown eyes.
“How can you resist him?” Cloe asked.
Lindsey reached down to rub Fred’s ears. “Most of the time, I can’t. You know that, don’t you, boy?” In answer, his tail thumped against the legs of her stool. “Back to your question. Yes, we were enjoying ourselves until his impromptu leap into the water. How about you and your friend?”
“Paige and I always have fun in our little cove.”
“Your cove?”
“That’s what we like to call it.”
“And here we come and spoil your quiet. I’m sure you didn’t appreciate us interrupting your time together.”
“It’s fine. We were only catching some rays.”
“So, she’s not your. . .” Lindsey left the sentence dangling. She wasn’t about to flat out say “girlfriend.”
“No, no. We’re best friends from way back. She’s not my girlfriend.”
Relief must have shown on Lindsey’s face, because Cloe’s mouth tugged into a little smile. Lindsey changed the subject. “My editor decided I needed a break from writing. I don’t know if you’re aware that I write children’s books.”
“Yes, I know.” At Lindsey’s upraised eyebrows, Cloe said, “I saw your poster once at the bookstore in Bloomington. I googled you and read where you’re on the New York Times Best Seller list.”
“You googled me?” It was Lindsey’s turn to smile. Her smile grew wider at Cloe’s blush.
“I’m not a cyber stalker or anything. I was curious.”
“I’m flattered.” Lindsey dunked her last cookie, took a bite, and swallowed. She wiped her mouth. “Sad to say, I’ve not been writing much lately.” She tipped her head back and forth. “Well, I have been, but it’s been shit.”
“Oh?”
Cloe scraped the filling off her last Oreo. It distracted Lindsey for a moment when Cloe’s tongue flicked out to pick off the icing from her upper lip.
“The boy in my series. I patterned him after Eric, my nephew.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Lindsey nodded out of fear if she spoke, she’d start crying again.
“I can only imagine how painful that is,” Cloe said.
; At the sympathetic tone in Cloe’s voice, Lindsey lost the battle with her tears, and a few slid down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. I didn’t mean to bring up anything that causes you more sadness.” Cloe reached as if she was going to wipe Lindsey’s cheeks, but she let her hand drop.
Lindsey felt a pang of disappointment over the phantom touch. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Please don’t apologize. It’s something I still need to work through.” She took a deep breath. “My editor decided the best thing for me to do for the next two weeks is to set the writing aside and do things that I find enjoyable.”
“Like boating.”
“Right. Sylvia, my editor, suggested this after the last draft I sent in.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“I killed off the dog.”
Cloe winced, and her lips formed a perfect, silent “oh.”
“Yeah.” Lindsey snorted. “Exactly the reaction Sylvia had but with colorful language.”
“I guess it’s not the best look for a children’s story, huh?”
“Not exactly.”
“What are you going to do?”
Lindsey held up the Oreos in a silent question if Cloe wanted more.
“Four is my limit,” Cloe said. “At least in one sitting.”
Lindsey thought of a response to Cloe’s question as she put the cookies away. She turned around and found Cloe’s interested expression.
“I don’t know. I honestly wonder if I can write anything more in the series.” Lindsey scrubbed her hand over her face. “I see Eric every time I try to come up with more mischief for the Bobby character to get into. It doesn’t help that Shirley, the artist who illustrates my books, captured Eric perfectly in her renditions.”
Cloe stared down at her hands and played with her napkin. “Maybe you can go in a completely different direction.”
“What do you mean?”
Cloe raised her head. “Maybe, while you’re taking time off from writing these two weeks, you could think of starting something else.”
“I don’t know. . .”
“Hear me out. It doesn’t mean you end the series completely. It means you take a break.”
Lindsey thought about Dunham and their expectations. “I don’t think my publisher would go for it.”
Just a Touch Away Page 3