by Beth Vogt
“To publicly humiliate both of us?”
“No.” In one smooth motion he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her up against him, positioning her arms around his shoulders. “Because if I had to do it over again, I would have said yes when you asked me to the Sadie Hawkins Dance when we were thirteen. I’m catching up on past regrets.”
Sadie stared straight ahead, which meant the only thing she could see was Erik’s gray shirt pocket. Where had that statement come from? They swayed back and forth like two middle schoolers, their feet shuffling on the floor, while other couples stayed up to swing-dance speed. Erik hummed along with the music and Sadie inhaled the faint scent of fabric softener that clung to his clothes.
“We’re dancing too slow.”
“I’m content.” Erik rested his chin on top of her head and continued to hum for a few seconds. “I’m holding you. You’re letting me lead. And you haven’t stepped on my foot in a couple of minutes. It’s turning out to be a good evening, don’t you think?”
When Erik moved his head to look down at her, Sadie made the mistake of looking up, her cheek brushing against the soft cotton fabric of his shirt. In the muted light of the room, Sadie tried to decipher the way Erik’s eyes warmed . . . He was close enough to kiss, if she wanted to do something that crazy.
On a swift intake of breath, Sadie realized she wanted to kiss him. She did. If his arms tightened around her, or if he tipped his head the slightest bit closer—she’d close her eyes and say yes to this longing.
And then the song ended. The dancers slowed. Moved away. And Erik released her.
The moment faded with the last notes of the music.
By the time the class ended, Erik had coaxed her into trying the basic steps again—and they’d managed to master them. Well, almost. But she’d laughed at her missteps, not tensed up. And Erik ended the final dance with a silly flourish, dipping her and dropping the lightest of kisses on her cheek.
Silly man.
On the ride home, Sadie tucked herself into the passenger’s seat, her hands folded in her lap, as she watched the blur of houses along Broadway pass by outside the car window. She and Erik had never danced together before. It was . . . unfamiliar . . . to be that close to him for an hour. To feel the pressure of his hands guiding her, to be so near that his beard brushed against her face, to feel his arm wrapped around her waist, to listen to him hum . . . and to wonder if he could feel her heart beating like she could feel his.
“Tired?”
“Hmm.” She shook her head, dispelling her thoughts. “In a good way.”
“I’m glad. We’ll try it again sometime.”
“Sure.”
They would? When—and why? And would it be a date—or would they be back to “best friends only” status again?
Outside her house, Erik stepped up onto the small front porch while she searched in her purse for her key and slipped it into the lock.
“You want to come in? I could make some coffee.”
“I don’t think so.”
A small pang—something indefinable—tripped her heart. “Oh. I understand. On deadline?”
“No.” Erik stood in the shadows. “That’s not it at all. It’s because of this.”
Before she realized his intent, Erik leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed her.
He didn’t touch her, save for the firm pressure of his lips against hers.
Erik pulled away the barest of inches. “Sadie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to kiss you again.”
He didn’t wait for her to say no or yes or please. He cradled her face with his hands, which were cool from the fall night air, his thumbs caressing her skin and sending shivers down her neck. His kiss coaxed a response from her, his lips soft against hers, the taste of his mouth enticing in its newness. Sadie leaned into Erik, savoring the touch of his hands against her skin, the warmth of his mouth. When he ended the kiss, Sadie’s hand clutched the front of his coat, as if anchoring herself to him.
“And that, my dear Sadie”—Erik rested his forehead against hers, his breath warming her lips in an echo of their kiss—“is why I’m not coming in.”
Enough said.
He pulled her close again and, for one moment, Sadie held her breath, but instead of kissing her again, Erik unlocked the front door, thanks to the key that was waiting in the lock.
“I really enjoyed myself tonight.” Sadie half-closed the door.
Erik’s eyes glinted in the porch light. “I did too. And the dancing was fun too.”
The sound of Erik’s laughter slid into the house as she closed the door. Sadie leaned against the door, embracing the memory of his kiss.
What was Erik doing standing outside Whole Foods Market in the middle of the day, wearing his dark gray coat with the red plaid scarf she’d given him last Christmas, and holding two insulated cups, one of which he raised and tipped oh-so-slightly in her direction?
Sadie forced herself to maintain a slow pace. There would be no running across this parking lot, not with a light dusting of snow slicking the surface. She wasn’t going to do a face plant in front of him, thank you very much.
“For me?”
“Yes—you’re the one who muddies a good cup of coffee with milk and sugar. And I asked the barista to heat your cream before adding it to the coffee.” As he handed her the unexpected treat, he leaned in and brushed a kiss across her lips as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sadie spoke once she caught her breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you mentioned you had to shop for the Coopers when we talked earlier. I thought I’d tag along. Push your cart.”
Sweet—but Erik was going to be a huge distraction. Sadie needed to focus on her list, not the man next to her, who’d snagged a black metal cart from the corral by the front door.
“Where to? Fruits and veggies? Seafood? Desserts? Frozen foods?”
“I don’t know if this is a good idea. I have a system I like to follow . . .”
“Of course you do. Just consider me your shadow. I’ll tag along—all that I’m in charge of is pushing the cart and refilling your coffee. I won’t say another word.”
Erik controlled himself while she scanned her list: tritip roast, chicken Florentine, smoked garlic stuffed prime rib, handmade wild mushroom truffle pesto ravioli, and duck confit. The produce section proved his downfall.
“You know I can juggle, right?” Erik sorted through a pile of oranges, selecting three, and began tossing them in the air, increasing his speed.
“Yes, I know you can juggle.”
“Toss me another one.”
“I’m shopping.” Sadie was on the hunt for fresh herbs: thyme, sage, parsley, rosemary, and tarragon. “If you keep talking to me, I’m going to forget something.”
“Come on—toss me another one.”
A small group of children gathered around him. Sadie tossed him another orange. Let him entertain kiddos. She had work to do.
Erik found her in the market’s expansive cheese area.
“Hey. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” Sadie added Pecorino cheese to her cart. “I’m just on a tight schedule today.”
“Don’t you usually shop and then go home and do prep?”
“Yes. But I’m meeting Justin Boyle at The Tattered Cover later.”
“Oh?”
“He’s one of the single dads in the cooking class I teach at the church. You know him—he makes custom fishing rods. He wants to start cooking regular meals for his son—get away from fast food and chicken nuggets. So he asked me to meet him at five and help him find a good beginner’s cookbook.”
“Why don’t you just give him one of your cookbooks?” Erik stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “You’ve got enough.”
“I have a collection—not a lending library.” Sadie added a brick of Fontina cheese to the supplies. “Oh, no turning my books upside down. No
t nice.”
“Took you long enough to notice. What was that—two weeks?”
“I noticed two days later—I’ve just been busy.”
“So you and Justin are going on a date, huh?”
“I don’t think it’s a date—” Was it? “I’m just giving him some extra help outside of class.”
“Is his son coming too?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“I’m helping him . . .”
Erik didn’t seem convinced.
“Fine. Be that way.”
Erik pushed the cart. No joking. No juggling. After helping her carry her bags to the car, he gave her a swift wave.
“Talk to you soon. Have fun tonight.”
“Thanks. I will.”
No kiss.
Why was Sadie going on a date with that guy?
Didn’t their two dates and one kiss—well, two kisses, which kept replaying in his mind—signify anything to her?
He was a teenager again and back up on that roller coaster, afraid Sadie was going to toss him over the side.
Not this time.
He was thirty, not eighteen. This time, he wasn’t going to wonder what happened. He wasn’t giving Sadie up without a fight. But he only had a few hours to plan his offensive maneuver.
So this was the life of a private investigator—lurking in between store shelves, watching the door, hoping some store clerk wouldn’t show up and accuse you of shoplifting?
Erik held his ground in the greeting card section of the bookstore, his attention on The Tattered Cover’s front doors. He even had a few cards in his hands, which he may or may not get to use, depending on how tonight went.
“Isn’t that her?”
At Lydia’s whispered question, he looked up from the card adorned with a retro black-and-white photo of a man and woman embracing under the words: For My Love: C’mere you!
Sadie at nine o’clock.
Took her long enough to get here. Of course, she was the one who was punctual. He had been early.
“Yep, that’s her.”
What was she doing, looking that cute in a navy blue jacket, white scarf arranged at the collar, and a pair of black skinny jeans tucked in black boots?
And there was Justin, greeting her with a friendly hug. Motioning to the Starbucks coffee bar. Sadie shook her head. Looked as if it was book browsing first, coffee later.
Fine. He could put his plan into action all the sooner.
Erik set the cards back in the rack. “You ready for this? Okay, remember the plan: We interrupt Sadie and Justin. You distract Justin—to the point he takes you to coffee, not Sadie.”
Erik straightened his shoulders. Yeah, as far as Sadie was concerned, he was a goner. He just wasn’t sure Sadie would ever speak to him again after tonight’s lovesick shenanigans.
Lydia offered him a smirk—a sympathetic smirk, but a smirk nonetheless. “You must love her an awful lot to sabotage her date, Erik.”
The word love slammed into his gut. To admit it to himself was one thing. To hear an ex-girlfriend say it—out loud—was something else altogether.
“I do, Lydia.”
“Which is why you and I didn’t work out. Why did you even date me when you were in love with Sadie?”
“I just realized it. It took me seventeen years to figure it out.”
“Talk about slow.”
“Yeah—but I’m catching up fast. Let’s go.”
Sadie’s and Justin’s laughter floated over from one of the aisles in the cookbook section.
“Sadie, what a surprise!” Erik could only hope his voice sounded nonchalant.
“Erik?” The pages of the open book rippled through Sadie’s fingers.
He stepped forward, gripping Justin’s outstretched hand. “I’m Erik Davis.” He’d thought this next sentence out all afternoon. If he went the “I’m Sadie’s boyfriend” route, he put seventeen years on the line—and all his hopes for a future. “I’m Sadie’s best friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Erik. I’ve seen you at church.”
“And this is Lydia, a friend of mine.”
“Sadie—Erik’s told me so much about you.” Lydia enacted her part perfectly, offering Justin a warm smile and managing to position herself between the two men. “Hello, Justin.”
“Lydia.”
Erik ran his hand down the spines of the closest books. “So, how’s the cookbook browsing going?”
“We just started.” Sadie’s posture was rigid, her tone glacial.
“You like to cook, Justin?” Lydia might not be able to thaw out Sadie, but Justin couldn’t take his eyes off the tall brunette.
“I’m taking the father-son cooking class Sadie’s been teaching at our church. Ever since my wife died almost two years ago, my son and I have survived on frozen food and takeout.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Lydia angled her body toward the widower. “I have a wonderful recipe for beef stroganoff. Of course, I’m not in Sadie’s league. I spend more time fly-fishing than cooking.”
“Fly-fishing?”
“Yes. My father taught me. Do you fly-fish?”
“I make custom rods.”
Lydia’s look of surprised admiration was Oscar worthy. “No, really?”
“Yes.”
“That’s amazing. I’d love to see them sometime.”
“Sure.”
Erik knew his cue. “Aren’t some of your rods featured in a book?”
“Yeah, yeah they are.” Justin barely glanced at Erik. “How did you know that?”
“Sadie must have mentioned it to me.”
“There’s no time like the present.” Lydia was a pro. He would make sure he loaded her Starbucks card with an extra twenty-five dollars. “Maybe the book’s here.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . .”
It figured Justin Boyle would play it humble.
“It wouldn’t hurt to look.” Lydia tucked her arm through Justin’s. “Shall we?”
Justin hesitated. “You don’t mind, Sadie?”
“No, no, I don’t mind at all. I’ll keep looking through the shelves.”
“Anyone interested in coffee?” Erik pulled out his wallet. “I can go order for us.”
Everyone declined, and soon he and Sadie were left standing between the shelves.
Sadie slammed the cookbook shut. “Erik Davis, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You knew I was going to be here with Justin.”
“So suspicious, Sadie J.”
“Do you deny that you arranged to be here with Lydia at the same time?”
“Is this when I take the fifth?” Erik held his hands up, hoping Sadie backed down soon.
“This is when you go home.”
“But then you’ll be left here all alone.”
“Only until Justin comes back.”
“But if, um, my suspicions are correct, he’s not going to be coming back anytime soon.”
She advanced on him, one slow step at a time. “Did you sic Lydia on that poor man?”
“Are you kidding me? Did you see Lydia? Did you see Justin looking at Lydia? And they both like fly-fishing—they’re perfect for each other.”
“What? Now you’re a matchmaker?”
“Justin’s happy. Lydia’s happy. I’m happy.” He took the book from her hands. “What about you? Are you happy?”
“Me? I’m discovering that my best friend is a conniving stalker.”
“All’s fair in love, sweetheart. All’s fair.”
It was barely seven in the morning on a Saturday. Sadie wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t up and at ’em, either. She’d go grocery shopping later, after coordinating her planned menu with the sales at the local grocery stores, but for now she needed quiet. And answers. Still in bed, her blankets smoothed over her legs, her pillows arranged behind her back, she balanced her Bible against her knees.
So, Sadie, what do you think about Oregon? Have you made a decision?
Mrs. Hartnett’s question, left via voice mail on Thursday, had haunted her the last few days. Stay or go? Should she or shouldn’t she?
Sadie had flipped through her Bible for the last forty-five minutes, finding her “anchor” verses—passages that had helped her in the past. Comforted her when she was hurt. Guided her when she had other decisions to make. Today she’d stopped at Psalm 143:8, “Let me hear Your lovingkindness in the morning; For I trust in You; Teach me the way in which I should walk; For to You I lift up my soul.”
She pressed her hand against the page, as if she could soak in the truth. She needed a direct message from God. She loved her job, loved the Hartnett kids. What they were offering her was the chance to pursue some new adventures, as well as the chance to be closer to her parents. And what was holding her here except her beloved routine? Of course, no one in Oregon would know her as the girl who freaked out on the local morning news show—not that the incident bothered her anymore. Much.
And then there was Erik . . . but what exactly was going on between them, anyway? Why the sudden romantic turn in their friendship? And what would happen in a few months when his internal warning system blared?
At the sound of an elephant trumpeting through her bedroom, Sadie’s hand slid off the page, ripping it partway from the binding.
An elephant? She silenced her phone before answering it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sadie Jehoshaphat!”
“Now you’re messing with my ringtones and guessing some obscure Bible name? Honestly, Erik, if you’re calling to say you’re sorry for the other night, you now have two reasons to apologize.”
“I’m calling to ask if you’ll go out with me.”
“I’m not even certain I’m talking to you.”
“Well, talk to me long enough to say, ‘Yes, Erik, I’ll go out with you.’ ”
Sadie choked on her giggle.
“You can’t be that mad at me if you’re laughing.”
Sadie ran her fingers through her unwashed hair. “Erik . . .”