“You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
Willow smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that.”
“Shame on me.”
“No.” Willow shook her head. “No more shame. Not on either one of us.” She grabbed Ona’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I gotta go. I have something I have to do.” She started to step away, but then she stopped suddenly. And quite unexpectedly, she leaned forward and kissed Ona’s cheek. “Thanks. It shouldn’t sound weird to say this, but I’m afraid it does. But I’m going to say it anyway. I think I should. I want to.”
“Say what?” Please, please. Say it.
“I love you, Mom.”
And with that, Willow took off across the beach, running full speed with her bare feet kicking up a wake of flying sand. Ona stayed firmly planted, her hand pressed to her burning cheek, her daughter’s words echoing in her heart.
She’d never ever heard anything so beautiful in this world or the next.
“I love you, too, baby girl,” she whispered.
As Willow disappeared around the resort, Ona lifted her hands to the sky and wept with gratitude.
* * *
As Willow ran the length of the beach, her mother’s heartfelt apology bounced around her heart and head, welcome in both places. But now, she had to see if there was any possibility Nick hadn’t left yet.
She had to tell him—
Hope soared when she saw the front door of Artemisia wide open. He was still there! He hadn’t left yet. She slipped through the gate, a dozen different opening lines bouncing around her head. Should she go for funny? Serious? Loving? Sarcastic?
But nothing really formed as she stepped into the sun-dappled living room and heard the sound of…a vacuum…sucking up any bits of Nick’s stay that he might have left.
“Hello?” she called.
The vacuum stopped immediately, and a woman Willow recognized as a housekeeping staff member stepped into the hall.
“Oh, hello,” the woman said. “I’m almost done. Do you have something to leave for the next guest?”
The next guest.
“Is he gone?” Willow made no attempt to hide the disappointment.
“Oh, yes, long gone.”
She felt like she’d been shoved off a cliff. “Are you sure?” She sounded desperate, but, then, she was. “He didn’t…” Change his mind?
“Oh, you want that little thingy he left behind?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s unbelievable how people leave a villa or room and forget something every time. I must find a charger a week.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something electronic. Right there, on the counter.”
Willow walked to the stretch of gleaming granite that separated the kitchen from the living area. There was the tiny jump drive she’d handled dozens of times in the past month, his favorite way to deliver pages for her to read. Under it, the picture of Willow in Paris.
Of course, he left that behind.
“Is that what the guy’s looking for?” the maid asked.
“I…yeah.” Willow slipped the drive in her pocket and picked up the photo. “Did he leave anything else?”
“There was a little box next to the bed,” she said. “It had a few candles in it and what looked like a bag of rose petals, of all bizarre things. I put the candles on the dresser, but I have no idea what to do with the rose petals. Did he want those, too?”
For a second, Willow couldn’t breathe.
Rose petals and candles. He really had them. She blinked against an unwanted burn in her eyes. “No, you can just toss them.”
“Seems a shame. Don’t we have a wedding this weekend? Would make a nice surprise for some newlyweds.”
A very nice surprise. She just lifted a shoulder, not trusting her voice right then. Wordlessly, she turned and left, reaching into her pocket to hold on to the only thing she had left of Nick.
As she walked out of the villa, she glanced down at the picture, her stomach clutching at how ugly she’d been. She certainly didn’t see fire or light or anything attractive. She flipped the photo to save herself from having to look at it and noticed some writing on the back. Nick’s writing. She knew his scribble from seeing it on manuscript pages.
Rewriting History by Nicholas S. Hershey.
With her other hand, she squeezed the jump drive so hard, she could have cracked the plastic case.
Where could she go? Where was the closest computer?
Her parents would be in the Barefoot Brides offices, but she had to read this. Right now.
Back in the resort lobby, she bypassed the management offices and slipped into the darkened business center that very few resort guests used while on vacation. Today was no different. The room was dim and empty, the lone computer set up for guests dark.
She fired it to life, stuck the jump drive in, and opened the folder. There was only one file—all of the drafts of his untitled manuscript had been deleted. But she opened the one called RH.
Rewriting History.
Immediately, the familiar double-spaced manuscript page appeared, in his favorite font.
Bracing herself for whatever she might find, she read the opening lines.
Rick Hanson put down his copy of The Grapes of Wrath and watched the co-ed walk through the dormitory lounge for the third time in an hour. This pass, she smiled at him, and he couldn’t help smiling back. She had a fire in her eyes that reminded him of a flickering gas flame. The wordless exchange made her stop and take a few steps closer, and something deep in his gut told him his life was about to change for the better…and forever.
She stared at the words, choking back a sob. She dropped her chin into her hands and leaned closer to the screen, enthralled by this piece of fiction as much as the man who rewrote history.
For the next hour, she read a short story that made her laugh, brought her to tears, turned her on, and, in the end, made her sigh with happiness. It wasn’t the truth, but it was the best piece of fiction she’d ever read.
She didn’t know where he was or if he would ever be back. But she did know that if she ever saw Nick Hershey again, her first words would be, I love you.
Chapter Twenty-nine
From the parking lot of the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, Nick could hear the distinctive chords of Piece of Me, one of Z-Train’s best blaring from the beach. But that wasn’t a DJ spinning the tune, he thought as he reached the double glass doors and nodded to a valet.
That was the real deal.
Of course, the Donny and Ona “event” was in full swing. But that didn’t change a thing. He’d come to find Willow and tell her what he’d decided in the last few days while he was away. He could have waited until tomorrow morning, knowing that on a quiet Sunday morning, he’d find her in the office, listening to her classical music and getting caught up on work. But he couldn’t wait. His flight had landed an hour ago in Fort Myers, and without giving it much thought, he’d rented a car and come to Mimosa Key.
He’d found her apartment empty and decided she must have cracked her shell and come to the party. A swell of pride rolled through him. She’d made the right choice, after all. Would she make one more?
Time to find out.
He veered through the dimly lit lobby and made his way to the back doors that led to the sands of Barefoot Bay. Halfway there, he heard the final killer note of Piece of Me followed by a garbled speaker on a microphone. Then it grew quiet.
As he reached the door, one of the Casa Blanca employees suddenly appeared next to him.
“I’m so sorry, sir, but there’s a private party on the beach tonight, and you can’t go out there without an invitation.”
Like that would stop him. “I’m going—”
The door whipped open, and suddenly, he was face-to-face with Donny Zatarain.
For a split second, neither of them spoke. Then Donny’s face brightened. “Holy shit, am I glad to see you. I need a…a…what do you call the guy who’s on t
he lookout?”
“Guard duty.”
“Right. And you just pulled it.” Donny snagged Nick’s arm and yanked him outside, then ushered him away from a hundred flickering torches around a dance floor and bar and the happy chatter of a small, well-oiled party. Only when they were out of sight did the cigarette pack come out.
“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Donny asked on his first long exhale.
Nick gave an awkward laugh. “Because I’m predictable?”
“Predictable is good,” Donny said. “Women love it. Makes them feel secure and in control.”
“Is that the secret to your happy marriage, Mr. Z?” Nick asked.
“Depends.” He narrowed one blue eye at Nick. “Are you here looking for marriage advice?”
Possibly. If everything went his way. “What I’m here for is a very specific mission, sir.”
He got a toothy grin around the cigarette. “I love when you go all macho military on me.”
“Then you might not like what I’m about to tell you.” Nick slid his hands in his pockets, still trying to get used to saying these words. “I’m leaving the military.”
“Really? I thought you were a lifer Navy SEAL type.”
“I am, I was,” he corrected. “My hearing has improved, but it’s still not up to the standards of the military, and I can’t get excited about pushing papers after what I trained to do. I think I’m taking a medical discharge and…” He looked out to the black horizon, formulating his thoughts. “I might like to try my hand at writing as a profession.” He waited for the expected scoffing.
“Damn straight. I like it.”
“You do?”
Donny choked on a puff of smoke. “I’m the last guy who’s going to say don’t follow your dreams no matter how off-the-wall they might seem to other people. I was pre-med until I dropped out and went after music for my livelihood.”
Pre-med? Donny Zatarain? He couldn’t even start to wrap his head around that. “Obviously, you’ve never regretted that decision,” Nick said.
“Only when I want to golf without becoming the laughingstock of the Rolling Stone editorial department.” He grinned. “Nothing wrong with pursuing your creative muse, I say.”
And speaking of muses… “Which brings me back to my earlier question, Donny. What’s the secret to your happy marriage?”
He nodded, glancing at the cigarette as it neared its last few puffs. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”
Nick slid his hands deeper into his pockets, his fingers closing around his keys and…other things he’d stuffed in there. “But don’t you want your daughter to experience that, too?”
Amusement glinted in Donny’s blue eyes, along with something else. Satisfaction, maybe. Hope. And a father’s love.
“Here’s the best advice I can give you, son.”
“I’ll take anything.” Anything that would help him seal this deal and make it last.
“Once a year, take her somewhere she’s never been. Once a month, do something new that melts her in the sack. Once a week, stop everything and just listen to her. Once a day, catch her doing one thing you love. Once an hour, kiss her on the mouth. And every minute of every day, be grateful that you got her.”
No surprise, it sounded like song lyrics. But it made a lot of damn sense. He tried to imagine his own father doing any of those things, and failed. But not Nick. He wouldn’t fail.
“Donny? Are you back here?” A woman’s voice floated over the night air.
“Oh, and…” Donny held the cigarette butt out. “Don’t think for one minute you’re getting anything by her.”
“Here. I have a mint.” Nick wrapped his fingers around everything in his pocket and retrieved everything in there.
When Donny looked down, even in the dim light, he saw it all. And started to chuckle. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Hell, yeah. Like right now, right here serious.”
The older man grinned. “Reminds me of a song I wrote.” He popped a mint.
“Donny? Are you smoking?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Damn it.”
“The band’s ready to play again,” Ona called from around the corner of the building.
He looked to the sky. “Sometimes, I’m so sick of singing the same effing songs. It’s my own damn do-over wedding, but all anyone wants me to do is sing.”
“Well, sir, if you don’t mind.” Nick put his hand on Donny’s shoulder and guided him toward Ona’s voice. “I have an idea. But you’d have to agree to help me, because we’re going to have to pull a few strings.”
Ona popped into sight, smiling. “Oh, I like the sound of this already.”
“Woman, you are incorrigible, and I love the holy hell out of you.” Donny reached for her and pulled her closer. “C’mere.” He kissed her square on the mouth for a good ten seconds. When he pulled away, he turned to Nick and winked. “Got that, kid?”
“Got it.”
* * *
“This has to have been the easiest wedding we’ve ever done.” Gussie looked out over the beach party with no small amount of pride.
“It’s not technically a wedding,” Willow said, smoothing the ivory silk of her gown, her very first Ona Z original. “But the ceremony was really nice.”
“You cried,” Gussie said, giving Willow a playful hip bump. “Don’t think I didn’t see you.”
“How could I not? My dad is a goof, and my mom…” She sighed, looking around for the lithe figure that floated like a ghost in gray gauze around the party. “There’s hope for her yet.”
“She sure seems genuine,” Ari agreed. “And crazy about you.”
“Well, she apparently talked to The Big Man Himself,” Gussie said. “Even Ona can’t argue with Him.”
“Do you believe her, Willow?” Ari asked. “She really has a compelling story about her near-death experience.”
“It’s hard not to buy anything that woman is selling,” Willow said with a laugh, still scouring the group for her parents. Where had they gone? “The change is amazing, and I’m willing to try anything. Once. I think I’ve proven that.”
Ari and Gussie shared a look, and Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, you two. Forget it, okay? He’s not coming back.” As they opened their mouths to answer, she flattened her palms in front of both of their faces. “I don’t care if you bet the whole damn Necco Wafer factory. It’s over. He is not coming back. And I’m fine with that. I learned a lot from him. I don’t think I could have forgiven my mother if he hadn’t taught me how to…you know.”
“Love,” Ari said. “I believe the word is love.”
Willow stared straight ahead, not really seeing the crowd mill about and vaguely aware that Uncle Graham and Uncle Mike had climbed back up on the stage to play one more set.
“I believe that is the word,” she said wistfully, the statement drowned out as the first screech of a guitar note vibrated the speakers and Gussie gasped.
“I know, they’re loud.” Willow put her hand to her ears. “It’s amazing I can hear a thing.” Which only made her think of Nick—something she’d been doing non-stop for days. When would that end?
“No, look.” Gussie lifted her arm to gesture, and as Willow followed, her gaze locked on the middle of the dance floor where a small circle had formed around her mother and father.
“What are they doing?” Willow asked.
Another noisy chord, and then the low bass beat started thrumming.
“Garter throw,” Ari said. “I thought she didn’t want to do that.”
The next few notes echoed from the amps, and someone sat Ona on a chair. All three women moved closer to the circle where everyone started clapping with the familiar drum line of Will Ya, Will Ya.
“Of course he’d want this song played,” Willow said under her breath. A song that would always and forever make her think of—
“Gotta know if it’s real, gotta know if it’s forever.”
“No foolin’ around, for worse or for bettah.”
Badly. Someone was singing very badly.
The next line faded into the crowd noise as she finally turned, almost unable to process what she was looking at.
Nick Hershey, center stage, a mic in hand, a smile on his face, his gaze riveted to her.
Ari and Gussie each squeezed one of her hands.
“Told you,” Gussie whispered.
The band hit the chorus, and the crowd screamed louder than Nick.
“Will ya, will ya be my girl?”
Dad pushed Mom’s dress up to her thighs and, oh, God, really? He used his teeth to pull the garter down, making Willow put her hands to her face and shake her head. The crowd exploded and so did the band when Donny stood and circled the garter like a silver satin lasso, singing the chorus at the top of his lungs.
Nick stayed center stage, singing his heart out to her. Blood pumped through her wildly, her knees weak, her heart fluttering, her brain incapable of even imagining why he was there.
Except…she knew why.
Donny gathered enough steam to rile the crowd to a frenzy, then he flung the garter over everyone’s heads to the stage, where Nick snagged it left-handed.
Another cheer exploded, and Nick gave a slow, sexy, killer smile. And launched into the next verse.
“I’m gonna kiss you every morning, and take you for a ride. We’re gonna try new things together, with you by my side.”
What? “Those aren’t the words,” she whispered, her pulse louder than Uncle Mike’s drums.
On the dance floor, Dad howled, “Oh, yeah! A new verse!” He raised his fist in a victory punch toward Nick. And then the whole place slid into the chorus.
Will ya will ya…be my girl?
Screaming, clapping, hands in the air, it was exactly like a Z-Train concert, only the Z-man was on the dance floor with his arms around his wife, the two of them beaming at Willow like they knew something…
Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) Page 26