“. . . and you forgot me,” I finished for him. “I was a distant memory.”
“No,” Nicky disagreed. “I didn’t forget you. I never did. But you became a little fuzzier in my mind. You were two years younger than me, and I was only sixteen. It wasn’t like I was going to fly over to see you at school holidays or expect you to come to see me. I figured we’d see how we both felt the next summer.”
“The summer that never came.” I sighed. “Well, as you said, we were kids. Don’t worry, Nicky. I didn’t sit around moping over you. I missed you the next year, but I wasn’t pining with a broken heart. I got on with life.”
“Good to know. I think.” Lifting my hand, he held my fingers in his palm, staring down at them. “I have to leave tomorrow morning. I have those engagements in Toronto—the official part of the trip. I’ll be busy for the next seven days.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t deny the burn of regret, the disappointment of being left again. That was ridiculous; I knew full well that Nicky had his own busy life, and it didn’t mesh at all with mine.
“You’ll have fun. I hear the Canadians are a wild bunch.”
He snorted. “I’ll get through it. But then afterward, I’m coming back here for one more meeting that couldn’t be scheduled during this time. It’s a lunch thing, and then I don’t leave again until the following day. Will you have dinner with me that night?”
Glad anticipation zinged through my heart, but I had to tamp it down. I couldn’t build up hopes and dreams that didn’t have a chance. I might not be able to survive their inevitable knocking-down.
“Do you think that’s a good idea, Nicky?”
“I absolutely do.” He didn’t hesitate at all. “I want to see you again, Ky. I’m not done talking with you. I’m not done getting to know you again. I’m not done with you, period.” He twined our fingers together. “I’m not sure I want to be done with you.”
“You mean, you want us to be friends again?” I had to be clear. If I didn’t clarify what Nicky meant, I might be at risk for making huge leaps that would end with me being hurt.
“Of course. I also think maybe I want to explore the idea of us being more than casual friends.” He smiled, so suddenly and impishly that I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back. “Go on a date with me, Ky.”
“A date?” I sat up straighter, tugging my hand back. “Are you crazy?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why is that so shocking to you? Why does it seem to alarm you?”
“Because I’m me, Nicky, and you—you’re you. You’re not just my old buddy Nicky, who used to be my summer crush. You’re Prince Nicholas. People know you. They recognize you. They expect you to date women who are super models or famous actresses or professional athletes or rich businesswomen. I don’t fit those molds.”
“I know you don’t.” He leaned forward to recapture my hand. “It’s just one of your many charms.”
“You don’t understand.” I tried to take my hand back again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go. “I’m not the kind of girl who boys notice as a rule, Nicky. I’m friends with guys. I’m their pal. I’ve had boyfriends, but nothing’s been serious. Not ever. I’m the fun girl. I’m the casual girl. That’s all great, but it’s not the kind of woman who should be dating a prince.”
“Don’t worry about the kind of woman who should be dating a prince. Think about the type of woman who should be dating me.” He paused, his eyes going narrow. “Wait a moment. Back up a little bit. Did you say I was your—summer crush?”
“Um, yeah.” I shot him a teasing smile. “I kissed you, didn’t I? Would I have done that if I wasn’t having some pretty intense fourteen-year-old feelings?”
“That kiss . . .” Nicky lifted my hand and brushed his lips over the knuckles. “I thought about that kiss for a long time after.”
“Did you?” His admission made me absurdly pleased. “I did, too. I had happily-ever-after scenarios playing in my head for a full month after.”
“Only a month?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’d have thought that kiss might have rated at least a year of fantasy. You wound me, Ky.”
“It was my first kiss.” I met his eyes, holding mine steady. “It was really the most perfect first kiss any girl could wish to have. But still—I was fourteen, but I was a practical girl. When you didn’t write or get in touch, I was smart enough to move on. Or at least to tuck that memory away.”
“Your first kiss.” His thumb drew mindless circles on the back of my hand. “I didn’t remember that.”
“Didn’t you? I told you that night. And it wouldn’t have been hard to tell. I wasn’t exactly a font of experience.” I rested my head on the cushioned back of the loveseat.
“Nor was I,” Nicky retorted. “That wasn’t my first kiss, but it was among the first. I thought you did pretty well. Now that you say it . . . I remember. But I never would’ve guessed.”
“I was fourteen, dude. And raised by protective parents and grandparents. I didn’t just go around kissing any boy.”
Nicky turned over my hand and as I watched, my pulse quickening, he pressed his lips into my palm. “I’m honored that I was your first.”
I swallowed over the lump rising in my throat. “You were a hard act to follow. Pity poor Steve Callway, who had to be my second. He didn’t stand a chance.”
“Steve, huh?” Nicky snorted. “Sounds like a loser.”
“No, he was nice,” I protested. “But I was fifteen and not that interested. He took me by surprise, and I hauled off and hit him. So you definitely got the better response when it came to kissing me.”
Nicky tossed back his head, laughing. “You punched a boy who kissed you? Why?”
“Like I said. I was surprised. He didn’t ask me first.” I lifted a shoulder. “The next time, he knew. He asked, and I didn’t hit. It was a much more satisfying experience for both of us.”
“Ky?” He played with my fingers, his touch on the sensitive skin between them making me shiver. “If I kiss you, will you slug me?”
I was very still, almost afraid to move. “You’d have to take your chances and find out, I guess.”
“The first time . . . I didn’t ask permission, did I? But you didn’t hit me the way you did, uh, Steve.”
“No, you didn’t.” I gave the barest shake of my head. “And I didn’t.”
“When I kiss you again, Ky . . . and I plan to do that . . . I won’t ask. I’ll take you by surprise.” A crooked smile curved his mouth. “And I bet you won’t punch me.”
“You’re willing to take that risk?” I smirked. “I’d watch out. I have a mean right hook. Just think how mortifying it would be to have to explain to the press why you have a black eye.”
His gaze never leaving my face, Nicky moved across the space that separated us until he was looming over me, one arm braced on either side.
“I’ll take my chances.” Lowering himself just slightly, he touched his lips to my forehead. “When the time is right—and it’s not going to be tonight, so you can relax—but at the right time, you won’t even think about swinging at me.” He smiled, but his eyes were filled with intense heat. “You won’t be able to think about anything but me. I promise you that.”
Nicholas: Have you ever been to Canada?
Kyra: Of course. Honey and Handsome have always had their house in Maine. We used to visit and drive up to Montreal all the time.
Nicholas: Really? I’ve never actually been to Quebec.
Kyra: Why not? I thought people from your family were always making appearances in Canada.
Nicholas: I don’t know about always, but yes, we do visit fairly frequently. But not Quebec very often. They don’t like us so much there.
Kyra: Ohhhhh. You mean, the whole French-English thing? I get it. Well, you should go sometime, when you’re not there officially. It’s very cool.
Nicholas: I’ll keep that in mind. What are you doing?
Kyra: Right now? I’m writing a repo
rt.
Nicholas: Are you at home?
Kyra: Yep. Sitting in my jammies, curled up on the sofa. Shelby’s watching old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and I’m trying to focus on what I’m doing. Also, I’m having a beer.
Nicholas: That whole text raises so many questions. First of all, what are jammies?
Kyra: PJ’s. Pajamas. Loungewear. Comfy clothes. What I live in when I’m not out in the world.
Nicholas: Ah. Something sexy?
Kyra: That’s an inappropriate question, Prince Nicholas.
Nicholas: Uh huh. Answer it anyway.
Kyra: Bossy much? But fine. For me, jammies are yoga pants and T-shirt, with a hoodie right now because it’s chilly in here. Not at all sexy.
Nicholas: I bet you make it look good. Second question: what is Grey’s Anatomy?
Kyra: TV show about a hospital. Very intense and emotional.
Nicholas: Oh, a chick show. All right. Third question: why are you watching television while you’re doing schoolwork?
Kyra: I do all my work with TV on. And this isn’t exactly challenging. It’s just a simple planting and growth report. No big deal.
Nicholas: Hmmm. Still sounds distracting.
Kyra: Or maybe the guy texting is distracting me. Ever think of that?
Nicholas: That seems unlikely. Last question: what kind of beer are you drinking?
Kyra: Corona with a lime. Yum.
Nicholas: Sounds good. I’m sitting in my hotel room with a scotch. One luncheon is over, and then I have a dinner tonight.
Kyra: Fun.
Nicholas: Not really. But it’s my life. I’m looking forward to being back in Maine in five days.
Kyra: Why? Because you’re excited about the meeting for your organization?
Nicholas: No, because I’m excited about having dinner with a beautiful, interesting and intelligent woman.
Kyra: And here I thought you were having dinner with me.
Nicholas: I am, doofus. You’re the beautiful, interesting, intelligent woman.
Kyra: Doofus? Where the hell did you hear that word? It doesn’t sound very British.
Nicholas: Oh, some kid taught me to say that when I used to visit in the summers. She called me that once after a competition on the beach.
Kyra: Oh. Huh. She doesn’t sound very nice. But I bet she was right about whatever she was saying.
Nicholas: Are you saying that I really am a doofus?
Kyra: I’m sure you’re not. Only that day, maybe you were. A little bit.
Nicholas: As much as I’d like to argue that point, I have to go over my speech for tonight. And you need to finish your report. Chat later?
Kyra: Yep. Chat later, doofus.
Kyra: I had a totally unreal moment today. You told me about your speech the other night, and then today, I was standing in the student commons and they had some fluff news show on the TV. Like celebrity gossip? And there you were. It was bizarre.
Nicholas: Ah. Bizarre, as in you laughed, or bizarre as in you were completely freaked out and don’t want to see me?
Kyra: Bizarre, as in it was a little surreal. It didn’t freak me out. And of course I want to see you. I was promised a dinner date.
Nicholas: And a dinner date you will have. Three more days. What kind of food do you like to eat? Aside from chocolate and chicken fingers and hot dogs, of course.
Kyra: Well, we established that I like steak, too. Hey, do you trust me? There’s actually a really cool restaurant not too far from where I live. If a miracle happens and it’s warm enough, we could eat outside.
Nicholas: I trust you. I told you that I’m willing to take my chances when it comes to you, Ky.
Kyra: Oh, the pressure of that trust . . . okay. I’ll make a reservation. Does 7 work, or later? Or earlier?
Nicholas: 7 would be perfect. Make the reservation in your name, if you will, and send the name and address of the restaurant. I know it’s a bother, but I have to let my security know where we’re going.
Kyra: It’s not a problem. I’ll send it tomorrow morning, once I have the reservation made.
Nicholas: Thanks. It’s not my normal topic, but I wasn’t there on my own behalf, so I did my best. Did you happen to see the part where I winked at the camera and gave a thumbs-up? That was for you.
Kyra: You did not do that. No way did you do that.
Kyra: . . .did you??
Nicholas: Of course not. But I had you there for a minute, didn’t I?
Kyra: No. I never bought it for a minute. But now I’m rolling my eyes at you.
Nicholas: This is a picture of a guy who’s happy to be boarding a plane and heading back to the states.
Kyra: Hey, he’s kind of cute. Get his number for me, will ya? ;)
Nicholas: He appreciates your compliment. What are you doing?
Kyra: Just got home from working in one of the project fields. Not mine, but one of the group projects for a class. It rained for the last day and a half, and the field was completely mud. I was covered from head to toe.
Nicholas: Was or are? I’d like a picture of that.
Kyra: Was, smartass. I just got out of the shower, and I’m sitting down with a bowl of quinoa. About to watch a movie with Shelby.
Nicholas: Are you in your—what did you call them? Your jammies?
Kyra: You know it, dude. Yoga pants, hoodie and my favorite slippers. Hold on.
Nicholas: What is that? On your slippers?
Kyra: Frogs. Shelby’s sister sent us matching pairs for Christmas last year. Aren’t they cute?
Nicholas: Hmmm. Lovely. They look comfortable.
Kyra: They totally are—and warm.
Nicholas: Shelby’s your roommate, right?
Kyra: Roommate, best friend . . . she’s it. She’s my person. We met when we were freshmen in college down in Florida. Her dad is a professor at the university, and her family adopted me for home-cooked meals and so on.
Nicholas: She sounds like a good friend.
Kyra: She is. I don’t know what I’ll do when we graduate—she wants to work in the southwest, and I plan to stick around here. Or go back to Florida. One or the other.
Nicholas: What do you plan to—damn, they just called for boarding. Have to run. Will text you tomorrow to confirm for dinner.
Kyra: Okay. Safe flight, Nicky. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
I’D FIRST VISITED THE MEADOWS shortly after its grand opening. Honey and I had gone there to eat dinner, because she’d read a review of the new restaurant and wanted to check it out. I was excited because our region of Maine had a dearth of farm-to-table eateries, and this one looked promising.
My initial impression of Gav Barrett, the chef and owner, had not been positive. He was a brash New York City transplant who didn’t mince words or worry about cultivating friends. But the food was so amazing that I kept going back in spite of him. The more I got to know Gav, I realized that what I’d taken for arrogance was actually passion for getting things right, whether that was a certain dish or the experience of his customers. We’d bonded over a shared love for fresh food, and now he welcomed me as a friend whenever I managed to get over there for a meal.
Still, I was a little nervous about dining at The Meadows with Nicky. While the idea had seemed to be a good one at first, as the day of our date rolled on, I began to worry. After all, Nicky could eat anywhere in the world. He’d been in restaurants I’d only dreamed of enjoying. I hoped he wasn’t going to find my choice boring and colloquial. It was one of the many aspects of the upcoming evening that I was agonizing over and second-guessing as I sat on the sofa, waiting for my date to pick me up.
I’d spent an hour trying to figure out what to wear. An hour. That was unheard of in my life. I never cared about my clothes. Whatever was handy and easy was what I put on my body. But tonight was different—special. S
o I’d flipped through the part of my closet that contained what I thought of as Honey clothes—the dresses and outfits that my grandmother would approve of for professional or formal dinners and events. But they all looked too stuffy. I’d been about to concede defeat and pull on my least-scruffy jeans when I’d spotted the tags dangling from something my mother had sent me last month.
I’d been moping about the endless Maine winter and sniveling to Mom about missing Florida. Two days later, I’d received a package that contained a soft cotton dress. It was a black and white floral print and had adorable cap sleeves and a flirty skirt that hit me mid-thigh.
Her note was typical of my mother’s relentless optimism.
Kyra~Spring is coming, sweetie. I saw this and although it’s not your usual style, it would look perfect on you. Wear on the first day it’s warm enough—and keep faith. Winter might be long, but it always ends. Love you, Mom
Today just happened to be that day: the temperature wasn’t exactly indicative of summer, but it was close enough—and much warmer than it had been since last September. With a sweater, I could make this work. I wouldn’t freeze.
And just maybe, I’d look like the kind of girl who should be eating dinner with Nicky Windsor.
“Hey, I’m leaving!” Shelby sailed around the kitchen doorway and through the living room, halting briefly to stare at me. “Kyra, are you wearing a dress again?”
“Yes.” I shifted unhappily on the chair where I’d perched. “I told you that I’m going out tonight.”
“Right,” she said slowly, frowning. “This is the guy you’ve been texting with? The one who met you at the garden last week?”
“Uh huh.” I kept my eyes down. “He’s an old friend. Someone I knew when I was a kid. It’s not a big deal.”
“Kyra, you dressing up twice in the same month is a big deal. Unless someone died. Which would also of course be a big deal, but in a different way.”
“Mmmmm.” I tried to sound noncommittal. Nicky hadn’t exactly come right out and asked me to keep our reconnection a secret, but I had a hunch that he didn’t want me blabbing it around to the world, either.
The Anti-Cinderella Page 6