Can't Hurry Love

by Christie Ridgway

  “Kohlrabi.”

  He groaned, and didn’t immediately turn in the direction of the pleased voice. Only two people called him by his full first name. “Hey, Mom, Dad,” he said. Though it was his mother’s voice, his parents were permanently joined at the hip.

  Taking in a breath, he spun to face them. All his life he figured he’d been a disappointment to them, so when in their company, he felt soaked in guilt. Leaning down, he kissed his mother on her thin cheek and shook his father’s lean hand. Dedicated vegans, Bobby and June Friday’s spare physiques made him feel only more guilty—the night before he’d had rare steak for dinner.

  His mother looked up at him then looked him over, her maternal gaze cataloging his every feature and every limb—though she kept her judgments on them to herself. Once he’d grown up, he’d realized they probably hoped he’d use his great size to a certain kind of advantage. Like chaining himself to the gates of a pesticide plant. Or battling whale hunters from the decks of a Greenpeace ship.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, a catchall apology for his multitude of sins and disappointments.

  “For what, son?” his dad asked, smoothing his hand over the face of Jerry Garcia on his Grateful Dead T-shirt. His dad considered the band a talisman of sorts. Bobby and June had met at Woodstock under the benevolent gaze of Jerry et al—from the stage overlooking the four hundred thousand or so concertgoers, anyway—and they’d fallen in love grooving to the tunes during three days of music, mud, and bliss.

  They were card-carrying members of the Make Love Not War generation . . . and then he remembered Grace telling him about those anonymous yellow ribbons they’d delivered around town. His chest tightened, mimicking the squeeze of the collar around his throat. They were such good people. Weird as all get out, but they delivered yellow ribbons and nurtured stray dogs and raised three kids who’d survived their hippie-given names just fine—in large part to these two kind souls who still danced to the beat of drummers they’d first heard in the 1960s.

  “Kohl?” his mother prompted. “Why are you apologizing?”

  He smiled at her, filling with a love for them that seemed to open up new spaces in his heart. He put an arm around each parent. “I’m sorry because I don’t have more time to talk. I have a date.” Then he wiggled his brows because he knew it was the kind of light touch that would delight them both.

  They laughed, as he knew they would. “Who is she? When can we meet her?”

  He hadn’t told them about other women before, those he’d boffed with the same intent and the same care with which he took ibuprofen, and he felt only more guilt about that.

  “When, Kohlrabi?” his mother insisted.

  He gave her a squeeze and didn’t dare look in the direction of the Tanti Baci booth. “In good time.” But not this evening. Introducing Bobby and June to Grace would give himself an unfair advantage. Tonight he was determined to rely on himself to follow through with the three Cs.

  As he waved his parents on their way, though, he thought he could be something more than charming, considerate, and civilized. Thanks to this chance meeting with his folks, he felt downright cheery.

  He ventured closer to where Grace was pouring tastes for the tourists. They were on for five P.M., and he’d planned to be early enough to allow himself a few minutes of watching her without talking. He still had to work himself up to the social niceties, so while gazing on her, he practiced them in his head.

  You look beautiful. And she did. So far he’d only seen her in casual clothes, jeans and shorts, but she had on a dress. The woman had worn a dress because she was going out with him! He swallowed, his gaze taking in the eggshell blue color, the halter top that revealed a slice of freckle-dusted cleavage, the kicky skirt that ruffled around her knees in the breeze. And her hair . . . she’d left it down and he found himself rubbing his fingers together, remembering the feel of his hands sliding through a liquid sunset.

  You smell nice. From this distance, he had to imagine that part, but there would be a cinnamon sweetness to whatever scent she wore. God, he loved her freckles.

  I’ve been looking forward to this evening. So much so that he’d been holding an ice pack to his jaw when he’d called his sister’s house and she’d answered. Once galvanized by Giuliana’s advice, even a sucker punch couldn’t keep him from taking this step.

  He took more of them now, pacing toward the booth. When he was still eight feet off, she glanced up. Their gazes met and then she quickly ducked her head, giving her attention to the tasting glass in front of her. He didn’t miss the blush spreading across her face or the little smile that curved her mouth.

  The three people in front of him took their time, but he didn’t mind waiting the few moments it took for him to belly up to the counter. He nodded at the other cellar rats doing their time in the booth—the Baci sisters would arrive soon to take over—and then his focus shifted to Grace. Remember, he told himself, charming, considerate, civilized.

  A last-minute onset of nerves thickened his vocal chords. He had to clear his throat to get a word out. “Hi.”

  Her head ducked again, then her chin lifted. “Hi.”

  He curled his hands around the counter instead of curving them around her face and drawing her forward for a kiss. What was he supposed to do next? Say? Then he remembered, and he tried mimicking Penn Bennett’s charming smile. “You look pretty good.”

  The minute the words left his mouth he wanted to bang his fists on his forehead. Not pretty good! Beautiful! “That didn’t come out quite right,” he said swiftly. “I meant to say . . .”

  Her big blue eyes distracted him. She’d darkened her rose gold lashes somehow—though he had sisters, he’d never understood the tools of the female trade—and now they deepened the blue from summer sky to azure mystery. He swallowed, feeling like a clumsy ox. “I meant to say . . .” he started again, wracking his brain for the phrases he’d practiced. One flitted through his head and he made a desperate grab for it. “I meant to say you smell.”

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. He went from behemoth to the size of a flea in the space of a breath. He should have introduced her to Bobby and June. He could have hidden behind them and let the Flaky Friday parents do all the talking.

  Dad could have waxed on about his beloved dog. Mom could have chatted about the beneficial effects of kohlrabi.

  Something had to convince her to give him a chance tonight and it didn’t appear it was going to be him.

  Then Grace was pouring out some of the cabernet sauvignon she was holding in her hand. She filled up the small glass, rather than the customary two-ounce taste. Smiling, she held it out to him. “I’m nervous, too.”

  He tossed the wine back like it was a harder liquor. It steadied his brain. “Are you ready? I’ve been so looking forward to this evening.” It came out as smoothly as the wine had slid along his throat, and he smiled.

  She smiled back.

  All right. Breathing now. Charming now.

  Air was still moving in and out of Kohl’s lungs as she collected her purse then sketched a good-bye to the others in the booth and slipped through the gap in the back counter. He met her there, and they exchanged another smile. Then he held out his palm and they both looked at it.

  Big. Rough-skinned with calluses from physical work. Men had, on average, fifty percent more upper-body strength than women, and that difference and every other male-female gender distinction seemed embodied in his hand, the one that could stroke her soft skin.

  Or strike it.

  Caress her delicate body.

  Or crush her delicate bones.

  He felt himself closing down and moving away—without moving a muscle. My symptoms mostly fall into the emotional numbness and withdrawal category, with some outbursts of anger to spice things up. He’d told her that himself. Maybe she’d understand if he made his excuses and left.

  Then her fingers touched down on his open palm, like a butterfly landing on a flower. His heart rocked in his chest
and he came whooshing back into his body and into the present. He was going out on a date with Grace Hatch and she was holding his hand.

  He closed his fingers over hers, and clasping them, felt even steadier. A breath of air silently slid from his easing lungs. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” she answered.

  They took the long way out of the town square. Grace sniffed the handmade soaps on the table outside the bath shop. He took the chance of spoiling his appetite by buying plastic-wrapped Rice Krispies treats being sold by the Brownies. Though he wasn’t a huge fan of the sugary things—Bobby and June had a way of influencing a guy—he’d remembered Grace’s wish to be one of the little girls in their brown shorts and sashes and with their fancy badges and pins. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned and smiled at her. “Getting in your good graces.”

  Grace grinned at the little bit of word play and he slung an arm around her shoulders. This stuff was coming back to him. He hadn’t been a caveman his entire life. Once upon a time he’d been a favorite of women. Now he just wanted to be the favorite of one.

  Could that be true? Steering her away from the crowd and down an empty street, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He inhaled with appreciation her cinnamon-laced scent. Yeah, it could be true.

  A man suddenly stepped out from between two buildings. Even in a ball cap pulled low, he recognized Daniel, her muscled ex. Kohl froze. Grace hadn’t seen him yet, and kept walking. Using their joined hands, he reeled her close, then pushed her behind him.

  She clutched his waist, squeaking a little.

  “Shh,” he said, turning his head to whisper to her, while keeping his eyes on the threat ahead. “Just back away from me, honey. Go back to the square.”

  “No.” Her fingers tightened on his sides.

  “Honey. Please.”

  “No.”

  Frustration surged inside him. It pitched his stomach and swelled his muscles until he was hard on the outside and a mass of churning aggravation on the inside. The other man took a step and Kohl couldn’t help himself. He softened his knees in a fighter’s stance and lifted his arms. His curled fingers twitched in a little “come and try it” gesture.

  To hell with civilized.

  Grace squeaked again and he felt the pinch of her fingers on his skin. “Don’t, Kohl. Please don’t.”

  Oh, God. Just like that, the distress in her voice tempered the fight in him. His hands dropped from their challenging posture to cover her icy fingers. “All right. Okay.” He didn’t take his eyes off the ex, but he gentled his voice and shuffled back a step. “We’ll go.”

  “Together?”

  “Together.” The belligerence drained out of him at the word. More backward steps and they were close enough to the public square that he could breathe again. He pushed her around the corner.

  “Grace!” The ex had advanced a few steps. “Grace!”

  Kohl gave her another push. “Don’t—”

  “What?” She peeked around the edge of the building. “Just say it, Daniel.”

  The man had his hands up. “I just want to tell you somethin’, sugar.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault you left me.” And then, as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

  Kohl didn’t hesitate to hustle Grace farther into the center of the square. With his arm around her shoulders, she curled into his chest, snuggling against his warmth. She was trembling a little, but he couldn’t describe how much satisfaction he felt in the way she turned to him for strength and comfort.

  God, he’d done it. After a shaky beginning, he’d dredged up some charm. More important, when faced with her freakin’ ex, he’d gone all Incredible Hulk, but then, with her touch on him, managed to bring himself back to the more civilized Dr. Bruce Banner. Her Beauty had controlled his Beast.

  Reaching the flagpole at the center of the square, he stopped. He put his hand on the solid metal to steady himself, then looked down at the incredible, gentle yet strong woman beside him. “You okay?”

  Her gaze jumped to his. “Maybe . . .” She bit her bottom lip, then let it go. “Maybe we should try this some other time.”

  Kohl stared into her heartbreakingly blue eyes. He’d started out the evening promising to be charming, civilized, and considerate. With a long breath, he made a decision.

  Two out of three ain’t bad.

  “No,” he said, and swung her up into his arms.

  “Is Liam meeting you here later?” Allie asked Giuliana as they tied matching aprons around their waists. Their shift in the tasting booth began at five P.M. and ended at eight P.M.

  “Mm,” Giuliana answered. She stepped into place beside Stevie, who was already pouring.

  “Well?” Her youngest sister cocked her head. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Why do you care?” she snapped.

  Allie’s eyes widened. “Because Penn and Jack are meeting me and Steve later. I was going to ask if you two want to catch some dinner with us.”

  “Why does Liam’s presence matter? Can’t I come with you by myself? Do I automatically have to be part of a couple?”

  Stevie gave her a soft kick. “Scaring the tourists,” she murmured. Then she smiled at the next woman in line. “What would you like to sample? We have an unoaked chardonnay. Our cabernet sauvignon is known for its smoky flavor.”

  Embarrassed by her outburst, Giuliana pasted on a smile and applied herself to the short line of visitors in front of her. A few minutes of chitchat and pourings passed before they hit a lull. Then she busied herself with the glassware on the countertop so she wouldn’t have to meet the gazes of her sisters.

  A few tense moments of silence passed. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she finally said. It was true. You’d think she’d be exhausted by the sex. She’d return to Liam’s house after a long day at Tanti Baci and they’d start out like mature, polite adults—a glass of wine, some appetizers left by the housekeeper. And then, like kids whose parents went away for the evening, they abandoned the platter of crudités and go straight for the Twinkies and Ding Dongs—in a metaphoric sense, that is. Oh, they’d make it back to the kitchen eventually, so you’d think she’d fall asleep sated in every way.

  Instead, she lay awake in Liam’s arms, putting off dreamland because being with him like that had for so long been one of her fantasies.

  Even with that time limit on their togetherness, she was becoming afraid of enjoying it—him—too much.

  “Jules—” Stevie started, a frown on her face, but she was forced to stop when a young woman came running up.

  “A baby bump!” the young blonde crowed. “Am I seeing things, or is that a bona fide baby bump?”

  “Gertie! Your vision’s twenty-twenty. Jack and I are expecting.” Stevie’s smile bloomed, so brightly it almost hurt to look at her.

  Giuliana couldn’t look away, though. At first blush, Tomboy Stevie and her Ardenian prince might seem a surprising pair to rush into parenthood. They’d only been married six months, after all. But she’d never seen two people happier about their impending future and family.

  Allie nudged her with an elbow. “Imagine that. Our Steve, running carpool and baking birthday cakes.”

  Tearing her gaze from her pregnant sister, Giuliana opened another bottle of wine. “Imagine that.”

  “I think we should schedule a huge baby shower for right after the Vow-Over. And you and I should find a free day to explore every baby store in a fifty-mile radius. It will be so much fun to buy little clothes. I already ran out and found a yellow onesie and some tiny slippers with ducks on them.” Her little sister sighed. “We’re going to be aunts.”

  “Yep.”

  Allie sent her a sharp look. “You’re good with that, right?”

  “Of course—”

  “Because I remember you saying last year, right when Clare was getting married, that you never wanted to be a mother.”

  Giuliana couldn’t meet
her sister’s eyes. “An aunt is different. And I said I liked kids. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with kids.”

  “Okay. So let’s talk names. I heard your husband joking around with Jack that he thought ‘Liam’ has a fine ring to it. Do you think—”

  “I’ve got to go do something,” Giuliana said. She had to get away because her heart suddenly seemed to be splintering. “I’ll be back later. Right now I need some . . . air.”

  “But we’re outside,” Allie pointed out.

  Giuliana ignored her and fought the knot on her apron as she exited the booth. She flung the fabric down on the counter and then turned back to her sister. “If my husband does happen by . . .” She couldn’t see him right now. “Tell him . . . tell him I have something to do tonight.”

  A movie, she decided, as she strode off, intent on putting space between herself and talk of motherhood, onesies, and baby names.

  Liam. God.

  After her shift, she’d sit in a dark theater and pretend to be somewhere else and be someone else until she could go to Liam’s house and face being Liam’s temporary wife without thinking of motherhood, onesies, and baby names. Without breaking down.

  Passing the sidewalk eating area of a small café, she heard her name. Glancing over, she felt her stomach flip. But she couldn’t avoid the pair of diners at the bistro table by the railing, so she approached them, smile in place.

  One of the men stood and waved her over. “Join us!”

  She shook her head but stepped closer to give her excuses. “I’m sorry. I have to get back to the tasting booth.”

  Vern Bristol and his brother Rand were good-looking men of late middle age. They’d made a fortune in something telecomm related—it was never quite clear to her what—and used their time and money to become passionate about unusual hobbies. It had been ballooning and flying fixed-wing aircraft until their wives had put their Pradas down. The men needed to find a new obsession. An old family friend had introduced them to Giuliana.

  Vern rubbed his meaty palms together. “Can we come over tomorrow? I just have to see the Tanti Baci caves again.”