“Wish me luck, guys!” Mattie jumps in her seat with the sheer exuberance of being seconds away from burning a trail right down her esophagus. “Here it goes! One, two—”
Nolan and I finish in unison, “Three!”
Mattie tips her head back and pours the amber liquor down her throat in haste. She sits up straight with her eyes jutted out, her face turning a dangerous shade of pomegranate. For a moment, her hands do a strange bird-like flail as she reaches over and downs the entire pint Nolan set before her.
Holy crap, we are going to have one knock-down-drag-out drunk Mattie May on our hands in five seconds flat. And as bad as that sounds, I’m totally okay with it as long as it’s not a knock-down-drag-out drunk, vomiting-her-guts-up Mattie May on our hands.
The door bursts open and in fly both Alora and Trinity bundled in matching navy coats. Alora is the taller and far more brooding of the two. Trinity is the redhead with tired eyes and overly bright orange lipstick. It’s as if time has stopped. They look exactly like they did the last time we met. It’s as if the last four years have never existed. A part of me wishes that were true. If I could, I’d rewind time right to the second before Nolan Knight bothered to say hello to me. And yet a far less responsible part of me would never let that happen. I know just the night that irresponsible part of me would rewind my life back to, and I’m sure she’d hit replay about a half dozen times just for the horny hell of it. Damn hormones.
“Mattie May Ridgeway!” Alora shouts, clearly floored to find her sweet aunt slamming an empty pint glass to the table. “Whatever has gotten into you?”
“Don’t say a word.” Mattie threatens Nolan and me with a single crooked finger. “I was just spinning the wheel with these two—or is it spinning the yarn?” Her pale blue eyes dart all over the room with a feigned look of confusion as she gets up, and both Alora and Trinity latch onto her like bookends. “I’d best be getting to bed now. Why don’t I meet you two in the foyer of the B&B about noon? And be sure to bundle up!” She gives a jovial hoot as she’s shuttled to the door. “It’s going to be the time of our lives! Don’t you forget it!”
I’m staying at the B&B, and I’ll take a wild guess—Nolan is, too. My heart gives an unsteady thump at the prospect of seeing him roaming around the carpeted halls in his skivvies. That strong as steel chest. Those well-chiseled abs that drive the point home that yes, you really can have an eight-pack! Those mouthwatering biceps. Don’t get me started on the things I used to do to that hard pornographic V that led straight down to his—
I shake myself out of the spell he’s cast on me.
“Hopefully, she’ll forget all about this.” I’m quick to smart as the three of them disappear into the night.
“She doesn’t forget a thing.” Nolan scoots his seat in close and locks those deep emerald eyes over mine, making my stomach pinch tight. My entire body spikes with heat being so close to someone who has haunted my dreams, my waking hours for the last four years straight. The pathetic truth is, I thought of Nolan Knight the day I married Ryan Goldman, and I thought of Nolan Knight the day I divorced Ryan Goldman. Try as I might, I can’t get this lowlife scoundrel out of my mind. I can’t seem to excise him from my beating heart, and here he is looking right at me, making my pulse race, my bones ache, my entire being beg to have him. I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for what he’s done to me. It’s not like he’s ever bothered to apologize.
Nolan leans in closer still, and his gaze sears my cheeks with the precision of a nuclear wind.
“I only have two words to say to you.” That grin he’s nearly worn out glides right off his face as the moment grows serious. Nolan never takes those evergreen eyes off mine. “I’m sorry.”
Nolan
That beautiful mouth of hers goes slack, those cherry-red lips that I’m dying to take a bite of part in disbelief at two little words I wish to God I would have told her, whispered, shouted, screamed over four long years ago. A part of me wonders, had I done that, if Misty Baker would have never become Misty Goldman—then much to my relief the former Mrs. Goldman, and would have become my wife instead. Misty Knight has a ring to it that sounds like an ethereal song played on the harp of angels. Misty should have been my wife, still should be, and God willing will be. That is, if I don’t manage to screw up this one tiny morsel of mercy that fate has thrown my way. I can thank God the rest of my life for the seeming bout of mild senility that led us together on Mattie May’s part.
“I am sorry.” I pull my empty glass forward, and the waitress gives me a wink and a nod from the bar, bringing me a fresh refill before I can protest. As much as I’d like to down that little pint of heaven, God knows that Misty is the only one that can quench the thirst that’s been building in me for the last four years.
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Those ironically whiskey-colored eyes of hers enlarge for a moment as she downs the amber liquid in her shot glass. I’m getting the feeling Misty would rather down an entire bottle of whiskey—hell, every bottle in the bar—than relive our tainted past.
“Whoa. Steady, girl,” I tease. “You might want to pace yourself. The party isn’t for a while yet.”
She bubbles with a laugh, and every last part of me sighs with relief. In all honesty, I thought once Mattie took off that Misty wouldn’t be that far behind. Just having her seated next to me feels like a feat.
The waitress comes by and sets another shot of whiskey on the table, and Misty downs it with the same ferocity as she did the first. It’s clear that Levi and Shelby have their waitresses well trained. Levi and Shelby own this place along with the B&B. Both Misty and I have made our fair share of memories at both places.
“I guess that makes me the designated driver.” I offer up a cocky grin as her tired eyes scour over my features. The Mountain Meadow Bed and Breakfast sits directly behind JT’s Roadhouse. I’d be honored to walk Misty back to her room. I’ll gladly tuck her in if that’s what she wants. Not that she would ever want that from me in or out of her sober mind.
Misty is a natural beauty with ruby lips, contoured cheeks, and bright amber eyes, lashes that you could furnish a forest with. You can see straight into her soul when she smiles. She’s that pure. We would have been good together had my ego not gotten in the way. Four years without the woman you love will straighten out your ego real quick. I didn’t leave my ego at the door. I left it here in Hope Falls the day I tucked my tail between my legs and hightailed it back to North Carolina, back to Hollow Brook where I never stopped thinking about her.
“I walked, you moron,” she snips as she glides the empty shot glass across the table and I catch it before it slides right off.
“Good thing.” I’m quick to ignore the slight. After all, I’ll be the first to admit I’m a moron. “Because I didn’t drive.” My knuckles dance over the table. Technically, I did drive. I drove three days straight just to be here with her, but that’s just another detail I’m sure Misty doesn’t want to hear.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Her head sways just enough to let me know she’s caught a decent buzz. She’s a lightweight, and I’ll gladly help her stagger her way back to bed.
“What am I thinking?” I’m thinking that you’re beautiful, Misty. That I wish we can go back in time and I could do it all over again. I would never let it go down that way. I swear on all that is holy that it would never happen.
“That you need to get back to your room so you can bury your nose in your phone or your laptop while you wheel and deal. Isn’t that what hotshots like you do?” She toasts me with my beer, and a dull laugh spikes through me at the thought she might just down that, too.
“No. I’m all yours for the night, for the next two weeks. I’m not a wheeler or a dealer, Misty. I never was. I’m sorry if I ever led you to believe it.” I run the family business, cut and dry, nothing more, nothing less. The fortune my great-grandfather amassed in prime New York real estate has slowly become a generational curse. My father blamed my mother
’s death on it. My brother, Rush, believes it’s the sole reason anyone offers him an ounce of attention, and he is not letting that little nugget slide when it comes to the ladies. Unlike myself, Rush is capitalizing to land as many girls as he can horizontal. It sickens me. And the first thing I’m going to do after I repair what I’ve destroyed with Misty is repair what’s broken in my little brother. Our sister, Sunday, seems to have come away unscathed, but if my father’s defeatist attitude counts for anything, he’d tag that statement with for now. But, to my father’s point, it was my good financial fortune that led to my worst personal loss, and that was this beautiful girl sitting right here.
Misty giggles to herself, and there’s something about the way her body trembles when she does it that endears me to her even more than I thought possible. “I think you should stop apologizing. First and foremost, because I have a strong inkling this night will be nothing more than a blur, and secondly, because I doubt you really mean it.”
My heart bottoms out straight down to my feet. I should have known everything was going a little too good for me this evening. I’ve never been lucky in love. And after meeting Misty, I had no interest in trying.
The waitress comes by and I pay the bill, leave plenty for a tip, and probably a new car. Misty and I rise from our seats at the same time, and I hold the door open for her. She’s petite, face of an angel, and her hair is still as long and luscious as I remember. I’d give anything to hold her one more time.
Outside, the moon hangs low, casting a glacial blue glow over the snow all around. Car tops, roofs, and every single evergreen are dusted with fresh powder. Both Misty and I worked here in the summer, but we had heard rumors that it was in the winter where Hope Falls really shines, and it’s true.
We take a step out onto the icy walkway, and Misty’s left foot glides out beneath her, sending her arms flailing in the air.
“Whoa!” we both sing at the same time as I take hold of her shoulders in an effort to stabilize her.
Misty freezes, her body tenses beneath my palms as she looks up at me with those feathery lashes. “Maybe you can hold my hand?” She waves my way, and I don’t have to be told twice. I thread our fingers together, and something in me settles for the first time in four long years. “I probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway.” Her gaze averts toward the woods across the street, but the moon kisses her cheeks and Misty glows like a siren on a long, lonely night. My heart pumps rabid just being this close to such a perfect woman, her hand in my mine right where it belongs. I lean forward and drink down her scent, vanilla and wildflowers, sweet wholesome honey, and my lids hang heavy from the high she’s just sponsored.
“If you won’t remember it, then maybe you won’t mind if I take you the long way?” I’d walk her around the globe just to spend another second with her.
“Go right ahead.” She clears her throat, her features hardening just a bit. “Just know if you try anything funny, I’m packing a fully loaded, semi-automatic three-ounce spray bottle of Yves Saint Laurent’s latest and greatest offering.”
“Is that a designer pistol I haven’t heard of?”
“It’s a designer perfume you haven’t heard of. But I’m betting it could blind you for a good half hour.”
I belt out a laugh and hold my free hand up. “No funny stuff here. I promise.”
Misty takes a deep breath, looking around as if soaking in the iridescent sparkle that only a snowy moonlit night in Hope Falls can offer.
Her deep crimson lips part, and it takes all I have not to dive on in. “Isn’t this magical?” She waves at the glittering splendor set before us.
“Yes.” Only I’m not looking at the snow or any magic the world around us might have to offer. I’m looking at this beautiful woman beside me, her hand warm in mine, my heart already owned by her.
Misty’s eyes lock over mine a moment, the slight glint of moisture in them. “We’d better get back to the inn.”
It’s dark out, save for a few luminous bursts of yellow streetlamps struggling to shine their light through the papery fog and snow.
We come upon the sidewalk with an entire obstacle course of frozen pools of water and do our best to zig and zag while laughter strums through us both as we finally manage to get to the other side.
“You’ve got the agility of an Olympian.” I butt my shoulder into hers playfully and linger in the warmth a moment.
“And you’ve got the agility of an eighty-year-old man. I thought I was going to have to pick you up and carry you over that last puddle.”
I bark out a laugh. “That was no puddle. It was a lake. And the only reason I hesitated was because I didn’t want you swimming in the deep end.” We come upon a snow bank about three feet tall creating a barrier that leads to the B&B. It’s the shortest, quickest path from JT’s Roadhouse to the bed and breakfast, and the one Misty and I would take effortlessly that golden summer all those years ago.
“I can’t do it,” she pants, nearly out of breath from the excitement of traversing the elements, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s true, though—traversing the elements with Misty is enough to leave me breathless and, apparently, her as well. “The ground is swaying, and my head won’t stop spinning. I’ll fall flat on my face if I have to climb over that thing.”
Misty had two shots of whiskey, and that’s two shots more than I recall her ever drinking in my presence outside of that one night—and, well, that one night was a pretty good time. Every moment with Misty is a good time. But for now, it’s clear she’s more than caught a light buzz. She’s just about wasted, or at least as close as she ever wants to get.
“I’ll carry you.” I offer a tight smile, and a part of me is bracing for a slap to the face. Misty is pretty much a wild card at this point, but I’m so desperate for an ounce of her physical affection, a slap might be just as welcome as a kiss.
“Carry me?” She inches back as if I just offered to lay her on the railroad tracks. “Fine then! I’ll let you,” she belts it out like a threat, and I blink back an inch, waiting for her to finish the verbal assault. “Go on. Get me home. I’m dying to get to bed.”
My lips twitch into a smile, and as much as I’d like to hold back, I can’t. That might have been the only time I will ever hear those magical words come from her lips, and I want to soak in the moment.
“You’re such a pervert!” She smacks me over the chest and bursts out laughing. I swoop down and pick her up, cradling her in my arms before her mood shifts like the wind again and I have both my eyes scratched out for touching her. And I am touching her. I can’t help but dig my fingers into her thighs just enough to reassure myself it’s real.
In three hearty steps, I manage to crest that snow bank and land us back on the path to the bed and breakfast, but I don’t dare put Misty down. I’m holding her. The last time I held her this close was about five minutes before it all went wrong on that horrible summer night. Thank God Mattie May is a winter baby. Thank God her invite crashed both our inboxes and landed us back in Hope Falls on a night covered in God’s frozen breath. If it would have happened in the summer with all that damn heat, with those memories crashing back like a firebrand, it would have felt like it was yesterday, as if it had just happened and our pain would have been reset to square one. No, we needed this icebox that the world transforms itself into during this precious time of year. But mostly, I just need Misty to give me another chance. I was pretty messed up once we parted ways that summer. She wouldn’t have given me the time of day, let alone asked me to pick her up and get her to bed.
“Oh my God! Take me there!” She points a glowing finger toward the old gazebo covered in a helmet of snow. It’s where the bed and breakfast hosts special events, the centerpiece of every wedding that has ever been held out in the gardens. It’s more than just a place, a beautiful object to be seen. It’s the exact spot where Misty and I shared our very first kiss. My stomach clenches at the sight of it. Misty must really be wasted to want me to head anywhere ne
ar that direction, but being the obedient retriever I wish that I could forever be to this woman, I trot us straight over.
The moon hangs low with a halo aurora seeping out around it. The tiny crescent looks low enough to touch with your finger.
“Oh, I love this,” Misty moans, kicking her feet with delight. She takes in the illuminated structure bathed in moonlight as she settles her head against my chest for a moment. “Look at that beauty,” she marvels at the moon, but Misty is the only beauty I see.
I grunt in lieu of a proper response, seeing that my gaze is set in an entirely different direction. My eyes can’t seem to peel away from her, not sure I want to try.
“And look at the stars!” Her eyes sparkle like heavenly lights all their own. “I’ve always loved the way they nestle in this tiny hollow as if it were their favorite spot on Earth—most likely is.” Her shoulder nuzzles against mine. Misty looks up, and those doe eyes of hers latch onto mine. My stomach heats just having her in my arms, looking at me as if the last four years never transpired, and for a moment I can trick myself into believing it were true. Someway, somehow we’ve rewound time, and we’re right back where we belong, in Hope Falls as the old Misty and Nolan.
She clears her throat. “The glowing disc in the sky? It’s what Mattie May used to call a wishing moon.” Her tongue does a quick revolution over her lips, and my boxers spring to life. “You know, um—I’m pretty far gone. I’m probably not going to remember any of this in the morning.” She gives a little shrug. “Rumor has it that when the moon is just over the gazebo and the stars hang low, if you share a quick kiss with someone, your wish will come true.”
I do remember Mattie saying something of that nature way back when I used to think it was a ploy to get Harold to kiss her. Her husband, Harold, has long since passed away, but I found it endearing back then that Mattie still tried to wrangle those kisses from him. But this isn’t Mattie May trying to wrangle a kiss from Harold. It’s Misty trying to wrangle a kiss from me.
Hope Falls: Tender Kisses (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3:AM Kisses Book 13) Page 2