Boardwalk Summer

by Kimberly Fisk

  Dana scoffed. “You forget I saw the way he looked at you this morning. That man wants to eat you up. So I say hand him a spoon and have fun! You deserve—and need—it.” Dana hung up before Hope could utter a word.

  Minutes ticked past but Hope didn’t move. Instead, she stared at the end of her bed, at her still-unopened suitcase.

  * * *

  “THERE’S somethin’ wrong with my hearing ‘cause I know you just didn’t say what I think you said.”

  Nick leaned back in the chair and stared out the window. The sun, still hot and bright even this late in the afternoon, glimmered off a small lake, one of the surrounding ten from which the hotel took its name. “There’s nothing wrong with your hearing. I won’t be there.”

  “I’m in the damn Twilight Zone if you’re really telling me you’re not racing on Sunday.” Dale’s exasperated exhalation came across the phone. “What the hell is going on?” Dale asked, clearly confused. “Everything we’ve worked our asses off for is about to materialize and you’re gonna throw it away. This isn’t just another race. This is—ah, hell—if I have to tell you what this is, you aren’t the Nick Fortune I know. That man has never missed a race. Not when he had pneumonia, not when his leg was broken, and sure as hell not when he just ‘won’t be there.’ That man raced. Because racin’ is your life.”

  Your life.

  Those words hung in the air, weighed it down. A week ago, Nick would have instantly agreed, but now? Now . . . it seemed impossible that in one week so much could have changed. “Something came up.”

  “Something came up. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

  “Pissing away what we worked so hard for doesn’t become you.”

  “It’s one race, Dale, not the whole damn season.” But even as Nick said it, he couldn’t believe his decision either. He felt the words almost like a blow to his midsection. “Tell the crew I’ll see them next week.”

  “One race, huh?” Dale didn’t say anything else for the longest time and then let out a long sigh. “This is me, Nick. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Nick’s gaze flashed to the door connecting his room with Hope’s. For the last half hour, ever since he’d left Hope at her room, he’d found himself looking at it more and more. He knew it was crazy. Knew he shouldn’t be here with her. But as hard as he’d tried to work out the details, figure out how he could be in two places at once, he knew it was an impossibility. And then the image of his son in that hospital bed would flash in his mind and Nick knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Right now, there was nowhere else he wanted to be. And while confronting Claire was of the utmost importance for his son, Nick knew that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to leave.

  “Nick?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the door. He wasn’t leaving, but he also wasn’t ready to explain to Dale why not. “Something important, that’s all.”

  “More important than racin’? There’s nothin’ more important than racin’. Hell, you were the one who taught me that.”

  “Tell the crew I’ll see them next week.” He ended the call. And even though it was late and he knew Evelyn wouldn’t be in the office, he called and left a message on the machine. Something had been on his mind since his conversation with Maddy’s mom. “It’s Nick. Let’s look at my schedule, see what tracks are near children’s hospitals. If the hospital thinks a visit from someone like me would help, let’s make it happen.” He was about to hit End, but paused, then added, “Even if the hospitals aren’t nearby. I still want to visit. Also, next time I’m in the office, I want to discuss where to allocate my charitable donations. Thanks.”

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes later Nick was showered and dressed and standing in the hallway in front of Hope’s door. He hesitated before knocking, feeling as nervous as a pimply-faced teenager on his first date. When he’d left Hope earlier, she hadn’t been thrilled about his suggestion to go to dinner. Maybe suggestion wasn’t the right word. But if he hadn’t insisted, he knew her well enough to know there was no way she’d agree. She’d been cold and distant to him ever since he’d shown up at her house, and she didn’t show signs of softening.

  Well, maybe there’d been a few.

  Thoughts of the kiss they’d shared pressed to the forefront of his mind. That, and remembering the feel of her in his arms from earlier today had him thinking things he knew he was better off not thinking. She’d made it clear she didn’t want him in her life—or his children’s lives—but if she thought he was going to walk away, she was mistaken. And this dinner was his opportunity to enlighten her on exactly how serious he was.

  He was surprised when Hope answered on his first knock. As if she’d been waiting.

  He was just about to say hello when he caught sight of her and felt the words dissolve in his throat. She took his breath away, literally.

  Nick had been around a lot of beautiful women. Women who knew how to use their charms, their looks, their bodies, to entice and attract. He’d taken a dip in the pool but on his terms. Always. He’d never found it impossible to walk away. But as he stood facing Hope, the one woman he didn’t know if he could ever forgive, he knew he’d met his match. Because forgiving her was a completely different thing than being able to forget her.

  She wore a black dress that was tame in comparison to so many others he’d seen, though on Hope, it was anything but. The soft material clung in all the right places, emphasizing her waist and hugging her breasts. The dress was short, stopping midthigh and giving way to her long, tanned, bare legs.

  Pink toenails peeked out from narrow straps that seemed too delicate to hold her high heels in place. The shoes made her already dainty feet seem even more delicate, and her legs—

  Hell, he’d better stop thinking about her legs or they weren’t going anywhere tonight.

  Her dress didn’t have a plunging neckline, or an up-to-there hem, and for a moment Nick wondered why he was so entranced. But then he caught a look at her face and he knew. She’d swept her hair up into some type of knot at the back of her head with a few soft curls escaping. With her hair pulled back, her high cheekbones were more prominent and so were her large eyes. Those mesmerizing green eyes that used to keep him tossing and turning on his teenage bed late at night. Her beauty was classical—timeless—and too damn alluring.

  Nick cleared his throat, tore his eyes off her legs, and tried his greeting again. “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  “You ready?”

  She nodded. “I just need to grab my purse.”

  They left the hotel in silence and Nick directed her to the rental car. As he opened her door and waited for her to get in, he wondered at her thoughts. He knew she’d be thinking about Joshua, and Susan, and Claire—just as he was. But as he caught a glimpse of her bare thigh as she slid into the car, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was also thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about her.

  Shutting her door, Nick rounded the car and slid behind the wheel.

  Hope sat as far right in her seat as she could get, her hand gripping the door handle.

  A smile found its way to his mouth as he checked the traffic before easing onto the road. “You know, some people think I’m a pretty good driver.”

  She turned to look at him. “What?”

  “Every time we’re in a vehicle together and I’m driving, you hang on for all you’re worth.”

  She let go of the door handle so quickly it was almost as if it stung her. “I do not.”

  He grinned. “Yes, you do.”

  She wrapped both hands around the purse on her lap as if afraid she’d go for the door handle once more. “If I do, it’s only because I’ve seen you drive.”

  Nick’s grin grew. He’d been a hellion when they were teenagers. Driving as fast and as far as a few bucks’ worth of gas would take the
m. “Give me a little credit. I’m a little smarter behind a wheel than when I was a teenager.”

  She looked out the passenger window for several moments and then turned back to face him. “No, I meant I’ve seen you drive. On TV.”

  “Which race?”

  “Um. The one with the oval track.”

  He laughed.

  “Actually, I’ve watched a few races. Two. Three. Ten. Twenty.” Her smile was soft and tentative and alluring as hell. “Too many to count.”

  An inexplicable emotion filled Nick. She’d watched him race. He didn’t know why that surprised him, but then again, maybe he did. She seemed to want nothing to do with him, so then why would she have watched him race? “What did you think?”

  “That my first instinct to hold on tight was the right one.”

  Nick laughed out loud. Slowing, he flicked on his signal and turned the car onto the freeway on-ramp.

  She settled in her seat and Nick was pleased to see she wasn’t still hugging the door.

  They drove for several moments in silence. As he caught sight of the passing landscape, he realized he’d forgotten how beautiful this part of the country was. Wildflowers bloomed along the side of the road, seeming to frame the green trees with their color. Every once in a while, where the trees thinned, a lake shimmered in the setting sun.

  “Where are we going?” Hope asked.

  “There’s a restaurant in St. Paul that I thought we’d try.”

  “Oh. I thought . . . I mean, I just figured we’d find a restaurant in Banning.”

  “I don’t think many things have changed in Banning since we left. And if I remember right, Bubba’s Burgers was about the highest culinary experience to be had.”

  “You mean you didn’t feel like eating at a greasy spoon?”

  He shook his head. “But if it was ice cream we were after—”

  “Aunt Patsy’s Parlour,” they both said in unison.

  “Now that was some ice cream,” Nick said.

  “Remember her strawberry banana shakes? And how every month she’d feature a new homemade flavor?”

  “I think I tried every one.”

  “No, you bought every one but then would give it to me,” she said. “Definitely not what my figure needed.”

  Nick took his eyes off the road and gave her body a thorough once-over. “Your figure is still perfect.”

  She fiddled with the strap of her purse. “I hope you don’t think I was fishing for a compliment.”

  “Have you ever? Besides, fact is fact.”

  She shifted her position, ran her hands along the handle of her purse once more. “And here I thought racecar drivers had perfect vision. You need to get your eyes checked.”

  “And you, Hopeful”—he shot her a look—“need to look into a mirror a little more often.”

  She cleared her throat, looked down at her lap, out the window, anywhere but at him. “So, tell me again where we’re headed?”

  Nick smiled. She wasn’t immune. “You’re too beautiful for Banning. I want to show you off.”

  * * *

  TOO beautiful.

  Hope felt herself reeling from Nick’s unexpected compliment. She’d never been beautiful, let alone too beautiful. But to hear him say it, to see the look on his face as he said it, as if he believed it wholeheartedly. Truth was, she wondered if she was so stunned because it had been so close to her own thoughts about him.

  She cast another furtive glance his way. While many other things could be said about Nick, there was one undeniable truth: He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Hot, as Dana had so correctly said. It didn’t matter if he was in Levi’s and a T-shirt, in his racing gear, or dressed more formally as he was tonight in a black suit and a crisp white shirt that only seemed to emphasize his tanned skin and black hair.

  Though she wouldn’t have believed it initially, Hope was actually thankful Dana had thought to pack her black dress.

  After hanging up the phone, it had taken Hope less than five minutes to decide to wear the dress. Dana had been right—you could catch more flies with sugar than you could with vinegar—or however that old adage went. And Hope knew she’d need every advantage she could get tonight, because Dana had been right about another point too: She and Nick needed to talk.

  Their lives could never mesh. What type of dad did he think he would be? Certainly not one who would be around. Thanks to the Internet, she’d done a little research of her own this last week, and what she’d learned had only confirmed her suspicions. The NASCAR circuit didn’t allow for personal time. And Hope knew firsthand how devastating it was to be the child of a parent who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—make time for you. To love a parent so much that you started blaming yourself when they never had time for you. She was determined not to let that happen to her children.

  At the thought of Susan and Joshua, guilt settled like a boulder in her stomach. She shouldn’t be here, dressed up and going out to dinner when her son was sick and thousands of miles away. She should tell Nick to turn the car around—to head back to the hotel. They could talk in the lobby or on a park bench. Or—

  “Don’t.”

  She shifted on the smooth leather seat until she faced him. “Don’t what?”

  “Feel guilty. You need to eat.”

  Surprise hit her. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  Nick pulled alongside the curb and parked. “You forget I know you. And besides, we’re here.”

  Hope glanced out the window and drew in a sharp breath. She knew this place, or, more accurately, knew of it.

  La Petite Grenouille was an exclusive, highly renowned French restaurant that catered to the elite. Located in the beautifully maintained historic district, the restaurant had been written and raved about more than Minnesota’s beloved baseball team.

  As teenagers Hope and her friends had joked when it came time to plan where they were going out to dinner before a big high school dance. They’d all laugh and repeat La Petite Grenouille in terrible French accents, but even then they’d known how out of their league this place had been. Dinners at La Petite cost about the same as one of their parents’ paychecks. And even if they could afford the staggering price—which of course they couldn’t—they knew reservations would be impossible. Even calling months in advance didn’t guarantee a table. You also needed the right name to go with that reservation.

  Before Hope could open her door, a uniformed valet was beside the car, assisting her. The first thing she noticed was the soft classical music that seemed to come from the sky; the second thing was the people.

  A large crowd of expensively dressed patrons hovered around the front entrance. A waiter attired in classical black wove through the restless crowd, offering petite hors d’oeuvres and tall, fluted glasses of champagne. As Hope watched she could see the impatience of the parties waiting, saw the women fan themselves and then fan themselves a little harder when their escort returned only to tell them their wait would be a little longer still. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the crystal glasses being passed around were not only to cool heated bodies, but also to cool heated tempers.

  Someone bumped into her and she felt herself pushed to the side. Nick reached her, took her elbow, steadied her. Her sense of nervousness grew. She didn’t belong at a restaurant such as this. And, looking at the man standing next to her, the man everyone was beginning to recognize—she didn’t belong with him either. The more seconds that ticked by, the more she felt like Alice after her fall down into Wonderland.

  Nick gently steered her toward the entrance.

  Large antique urns flanked the wide double doors that looked to have been crafted around the time of the first crusade. A profusion of well-tended flowers and lush greenery cascaded over the ornate containers and trailed down their sides. Striped awnings hung over the leaded-glass
windows.

  The more she saw, the more out of place she felt. Not realizing what she was doing, she took a step backward and then another. She didn’t belong in a place like this. She wasn’t a La Petite Grenouille type of diner, she was hamburgers and fries and floats at places like Aunt Patsy’s Parlour. She was drive-through stands and all-you-can-eat buffets where the kids were free on Tuesday nights. She was . . .

  Nick let go of her elbow and slipped his arm around her waist. Expertly he maneuvered them through the crowd. The buzz of voices grew in volume as more people recognized Nick.

  Hope’s sense of surrealness mushroomed. But never once did Nick’s arm leave her. He continued to guide her forward, through the crowd and the large wooden doors.

  The minute they stepped inside the restaurant, a waft of mouthwatering smells hit her. Her treacherous stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. Instinctively she placed a hand on her stomach, as if that could somehow stop its rumblings, and silently told herself it had better stop; from the look of the crowd it was going to be a long, long wait.

  As Nick made his way to the hostess, Hope couldn’t help but compare herself to the immaculately dressed and coiffed twenty-something standing behind the tall, slim lectern. Even wearing the dress Dana had packed and spending more than her normal two minutes on her hair and makeup, she felt outshined by the beautiful young woman who worked here. If she hadn’t already felt out of place, she certainly now would have.

  “Bonjour,” the hostess said to Nick.

  “Hello. A table for two.”

  She barely glanced up from the seating chart. “Two, monsieur?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’ll be . . .” She consulted her chart. “We will have a table ready in approximately two hours.” Her voice held a note of boredom, as if telling patrons there was an extensive wait was the norm rather than the exception.

  Hope was about to suggest they find another restaurant. While the restaurant and all its ambience were beginning to wrap her in their magic, not to mention the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, the last thing she wanted was to spend two hours waiting for a table. Two more hours with Nick, surrounded by strangers, having to make small talk when what she needed to tell him could only be said with privacy. But not too much privacy, she quickly amended. A blush spread across her cheeks as she remembered this afternoon and the feel of his arms around her. Even when they’d been in the car, she’d felt her attraction to him so strongly, she’d sat as far to her right as possible. “Nick, why don’t we—”