Till I Kissed You

by Laura Trentham

  “That’s not what I remember. You used to come out on my boat every chance you got.”

  She harrumphed, but there was no heat behind it. “I wasn’t on your boat because I enjoyed getting eaten alive by bugs and splashed with mucky river water. I was there because you were there, dummy.”

  “I love it when you’re all sweet with a bite of tart with me, Regan.” He covered the hand she had braced on the center console with his own. The steering wheel jerked to the right, sending them toward a bank of trees before he corrected.

  Light flickered through the trees. Her stomach’s flip-flopping grew more pronounced even as the rough track smoothed into a field. It would be mostly Louisiana people gathered. She couldn’t imagine her ladies’ Sunday School group or the Junior League of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, drinking beer from red plastic cups out in the boonies. Would she know anyone?

  He parked next to a jacked-up four-by-four and opened his door. She grabbed his arm. “What’s our story going to be?”

  He turned toward her with one foot on the running board. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, if someone asks what we’re doing here together.”

  His smile faltered and his brows drew in. “What do you want to tell people?”

  “We certainly can’t say we’re looking for the man who vandalized my shop and tried to kill my mother’s tomatoes and possibly cut up your parish’s crayfish baskets. I guess we can go with the ubiquitous ‘we’re hanging out.’”

  “Sure. Hanging out. Sounds fine.” He was there to offer a hand as she slid onto the running board. A very polite hand.

  Maybe that’s all they really were doing. Hanging out. “Because we are old friends, right? Not so crazy that we would hang out.” She checked his expression, but it was bland. Her nerves took control of her mouth. “My best friend and your brother are practically living together. Not so far-fetched our lives would intersect. Plus, the festivals.”

  He stopped with them still hidden between two truck beds. “Are you nervous or something?”

  “Maybe.” At least, the hard-packed ground made her heels manageable. “I look ridiculous.”

  “Please. You’ll be the prettiest thing out here.” The compliment rolled off his tongue with unsettling ease. They stood close enough for her to feel his body’s heat. He was in jeans and a plain black T-shirt. With his longer hair and stubble, he looked rough and tough. No one would mess with her with him at her side.

  “You won’t go off and leave me to fend for myself, right?”

  “No one is going to bite. Cade’s bringing Monroe and Uncle Delmar will be around. I’m sure you’ll know plenty of people.” He stepped into the wavery light of the bonfire, took her hand, and didn’t let go. “Do you think you’d recognize the man you saw outside your mama’s garden if you ran into him again?”

  The mission. She needed to focus on the mission and not on how good his big hand felt or the way his arm brushed hers as they stepped in tandem. “I didn’t see his face. Maybe if I saw him moving, it would trigger something. Nothing that would hold up in a court of law though.”

  “No. But enough I could put some feelers out. Keep a lookout, all right?”

  She nodded. The line of people standing at the edge of the field parted to let them through to the keg. Sawyer received good-natured pats on the shoulder and dropped her hand to dole out handshakes. She plastered a smile on her face. Most people either gave her a polite nod or ignored her altogether.

  In their wake, she could hear the whispers. Maybe they were discussing the dry spell, maybe they were discussing the constellations, but Regan was pretty sure she and Sawyer were the subject of the buzzing.

  Sawyer’s uncle Delmar sat on a wooden stool a dozen feet away, strumming on a guitar. Sawyer stuffed a twenty into a mason jar filled with money, pumped the keg, and filled two cups with beer. He handed one over, and she drank half in one go. The cold beer offered a small amount of liquid courage.

  He guided her away from the bonfire with a big hand on her lower back. Delmar and Sawyer exchanged a half-hug as Regan rocked on her feet. She’d not exchanged more than two words with his uncle since she’d hired him to finish the pavilion, primarily to poke Sawyer into a snit. It had worked rather spectacularly, but her guilt about leveraging Delmar had grown.

  “Hi there, Miss Mayor.” He accompanied his greeting with a strumming chord. “You’re looking mighty pretty this evening.”

  Nothing in his eyes or demeanor fed her guilt, yet she took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Delmar, I’m sorry about the thing with the pavilion back in June. I shouldn’t have hired you just to gig Sawyer.”

  He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with the same good humor that had passed to his nephew. “Well now, you’re going to force me to apologize for dropping those rabbits in your mama’s backyard, aren’t you?”

  She burst into laughter. “I guess we’re even then.”

  “You couldn’t convince Ms. Leora to come out with you?” Sawyer’s voice was teasing.

  “Nah. Leora’s too refined for these shenanigans. This is her bridge night anyway.” He strummed a chord. “I miss her though.” The random chords took on a rhythm and turned into a haunting melody in a minor key.

  She took a step back and bumped into Sawyer’s chest. He circled his arms around her, anchoring her. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his neck. Linear time ceased to exist. The music unraveled her insides and left her yearning for something she couldn’t name, but she wondered if it wasn’t wrapped up in the man whose arms were wrapped around her.

  “There you two are.” Monroe’s voice startled Regan’s eyes open. She squirmed and Sawyer released her to talk to Cade while Monroe pulled her a little away from Delmar and the men.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Regan said. “I was afraid you and Cade were going to get all distracted and leave me hanging.”

  “Wouldn’t miss the biggest social upheaval in the history of either side of the river.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “People are agog.”

  “Agog?”

  “Cade and I already knew about you and Sawyer, but seeing you getting all cozy in his arms is still a shock.” Monroe waggled her eyebrows.

  Regan wiped a prickling sweat from her forehead and killed the rest of her beer. “I don’t know that anything is going on. He made it sound like tonight was more about finding the man I saw in Mother’s garden, not a date.”

  “Puh-lease. You two are meant for each other. Like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “They both died at the end. It was not a love story.”

  “Okay, bad example. How about Pretty Woman … except she was a hooker. The Notebook? Wait, she lost her mind in the end, didn’t she? Never mind, you’ll write your own story. Like me and Cade.”

  “You and Cade were never star-crossed lovers; you were fated lovers. You two are pathetically adorable.”

  Monroe looked toward the Fournette brothers. “I won’t argue.”

  Regan stared into the bonfire, the licking flames hypnotic. Part of her wanted to spill everything Sawyer had confessed on the river to Monroe. But a bigger part of her wanted to keep their afternoon for herself to pick over and analyze in the dark of night. “Let’s say something is going on between me and Sawyer. What if I’m setting myself up for more disappointment?”

  “Why do you assume it will end badly? Or end at all for that matter?”

  “Just a feeling I suppose. One of inevitability.”

  “Give him a chance. Instead of searching for excuses to not trust him, look for reasons to trust him.” Monroe shifted around until they were both staring into the fire. “Are you worried about what your mother might say?”

  “Not really.” A weak denial. She had spent a good portion of her youth toeing her mother’s line. Meeting Sawyer had weakened her mother’s hold, but not broken it.

  Monroe narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as if Regan’s insecurities were playin
g out like a drive-in movie. “You should follow your heart. Don’t look to your mother or to me or the town for approval.” She squeezed Regan’s hand. “But I have your back no matter what happens. Chicks before you-know-whats.”

  Regan hip-bumped her, and they both laughed. They walked over to Sawyer and Cade. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Sawyer slipped his arm around her waist while Cade laid his over Monroe’s shoulders, not pausing in their conversation about bolt suppliers.

  “Don’t you two get enough shop talk in at the garage?” Monroe elbowed Cade in the side.

  “Sorry about that. Actually, I need to talk to Uncle Del real quick about his engine.” Cade graced Monroe with a sheepish smile before walking away. Monroe trailed behind him, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

  Sawyer moved behind Regan, put an arm over her chest and put his mouth close to her ear. Shivers tingled through her and she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “It’s time to scope out the crowd.” His whisper jolted her. She kept her head tilted back, but turned her face toward his and gazed up. Conversations and laughter rose and ebbed, drowning out Delmar’s quiet strumming. “I want you to look over all the men. I know you didn’t see his face, but you knew Jeremy wasn’t him based on the way he moved.”

  “An informal lineup?”

  “Exactly.” He weaved their fingers and led her to the outskirts, where the orange light of the fire bled into inky darkness. They made their way around the perimeter. Clumps of men and women conversed. Long, movable shadows from the bonfire made it difficult. “See anyone familiar?”

  “I can’t point a finger. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It was a long shot.” Even though his words absolved, disappointment colored his voice, and the disappointment cut deeper than it should have.

  “It’s too dark and no one’s moving. And, like you said, I never saw his face.”

  “Regan, it’s fine. I didn’t really expect to find him. Do you want another beer?”

  “Not really.”

  His eyebrows were drawn down, leaving his eyes a mystery as he studied her for a moment. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, but walked off, lost in the crowd of people by the keg. She chafed her arms, not cold but uncomfortable. A man sauntered toward her from the parked trucks and SUVs on her left.

  Heath Parsons. She’d wavered between dislike and fear of him in school. He’d made fun of her hair and freckles and sticklike legs until she’d popped him on the nose on the school bus in fourth grade. Tears had shined in his eyes as they’d stared at each other, both in shock, in the aftermath.

  He’d shoved her hard against the window, his eyes promising retribution. Not long after, Nash had moved from Louisiana to Mississippi to live with his aunt and started in their school. He had been the poster child for the bullied nerd, and easy prey for kids like Heath. Selfishly, she’d been happy someone else had become the focus of his ire.

  She shuffled toward the group of people and craned her neck. No sign of Cade or Monroe or Sawyer. Only six feet away now, Heath flinched slightly when he saw her and veered in her direction.

  Her lips curled in a smile in spite of the swirling negative memories of him. Their paths had rarely crossed since high school graduation in spite of living in the same town.

  “Regan Lovell? What in tarnation are you doing here?”

  “I’m here with a friend.”

  “Monroe and Cade Fournette have been thick lately. They around?”

  “Somewhere. How have you been?” An ingrained habit of making small talk came to her rescue.

  “Had a streak of bad luck. Got laid off back in the spring.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” No evidence remained from the beating he’d gotten from Nash a couple of weeks earlier. Although, she’d guess his ego was still bruised.

  “Yeah, I bet you are.” He spit a stream of tobacco to their right.

  An awkward silence stretched, yet he didn’t move on.

  “Nice to see you after so long. Maybe we’ll run across each other again soon.” She all but shooed him away with her hands.

  “Heard your shop got messed up. Police have any idea who broke in?”

  Her polite smile froze, the nerves on her neck tingling a warning. “I’m not sure. They’ve dusted for fingerprints.”

  “Bet they won’t find any.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Doubt he was dumb enough not to wear gloves.” He pushed at the tobacco pooching his bottom lip with his tongue.

  The idea that flashed would qualify her for the FBI. She watched him from beneath her lashes, the fib rolling off with the ease of a seasoned investigator. “I don’t know, he misspelled a message he left for me, so my guess is he’s pretty stupid.”

  “What?” More defensiveness than was warranted cut the word short. She didn’t recognize the tense set to his shoulders until they relaxed with his chuff and he stepped off, walking backward a few steps. “Whatever. Hope they find him.”

  “Yeah, I bet you do.” She mimicked his earlier ironic tone, but softly and to his back.

  While she couldn’t definitively say he had been the man outside her mother’s garden, his size and walk put him on the short list.

  Sawyer jogged out of the crowd, a smile on his face. This time she didn’t have to work for the smile on hers. The worry and tension Heath had instilled melted under the heat of Sawyer’s gaze as it trailed down her body.

  “You ready to head out?”

  “Sounds good.” And it did. Maybe someday she would be comfortable hanging out at a bonfire with him, but a tentativeness to their interactions still existed. Even though she knew many things about him, they had both changed and a new dynamic pushed and pulled between them looking for balance.

  He kept hold of her hand and led her past the line of trucks and SUVs and into the woods. The farther they went, the softer the ground became, and her pointy heels sank.

  “My shoes…” She braced herself against a nearby pine and slipped them off. “If I step on another pinecone, you’ll have to carry me back.”

  “How about I carry you right now?” He swung her into a cradle hold. She yelped and grabbed around his neck as he laughed. “Anyway, we’re not going back.”

  She pushed away from his shoulders, but the darkness was too deep to see his expression. “Hold up. I’m not skinny-dipping with that crowd just through the trees.”

  He stopped short. “Would you skinny-dip if we were alone?”

  She huffed out a few “huhs” and “I means” before settling on “Maybe.”

  He started walking again, shifting her to avoid trees, and murmured, “Well, now, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “You weigh next to nothing.”

  Although she wasn’t petite, she appreciated the compliment. “I meant carrying me through the woods in the dark. You’re liable to walk us into a tree or straight in the river.”

  “I can see, remember. Anyway, I could close my eyes and find the river.”

  “Based on what? The sound of the water?” She strained, but all she could hear was laughter and noise drifting from the bonfire and the softer sounds of the wind through the trees.

  “That and a feeling I get.” The reluctance in his voice intrigued her.

  “A feeling?”

  “Don’t laugh, but the river’s always been my constant. It’s … alive.” The streak of sentimentalism in his voice didn’t surprise her. After all, this was the man who’d planted a row of flowers for his dead mother.

  Everything in her chest seemed to be playing musical chairs. With her heart in her throat, she kissed his cheek and tightened her arms around his neck.

  “Here we are.”

  The sound of water lapping softened the calls of cicadas and muted the crowd. She could barely see, but surefooted, he descended into a washed-out
gully. She grabbed him tighter.

  “Don’t look so worried. You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.

  The advantage he had over her in the dark meant she had no idea beyond the testing tone of his voice what he was thinking. The question loomed larger than the context of letting him carry her into the dark woods. Did she trust him?

  The truth was … she wasn’t sure. But everything he’d said to her that afternoon rang true. She wanted to believe him. Anyway, she no longer was a naïve love-blinded teenager. This time she would keep her eyes wide open and her defensives at the ready.

  She nodded, and he continued up a hill. The sound of the river gurgled louder and moonlight sliced through the break in the trees, reflecting off the water. The scene was magical.

  He put her down but when she turned to him, he shushed her and whispered, “An owl roosts on the far bank. If we’re quiet enough, we might see him.”

  She leaned into the nearest tree trunk. A pine by the feel of the bark and the smell. He was focused outward, toward the water, while she stared at him. In the meager light, his face appeared solemn and thoughtful. The part he played around town was the friendly jokester with the ready smile.

  She knew differently. While she was sure now that he hadn’t told her everything, he’d told her more than anyone else knew about his life after his parents’ death. The struggles, the sadness, the pressure to succeed. And the responsibility of holding his two darker siblings together when everything threatened to fracture.

  She’d had a part of him that no one else had been privileged to see. And she’d thrown it away because she hadn’t been brave enough. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

  “Look.” He pointed toward the water, and she tore her gaze off him in time to see a huge white bird coast a few feet over the water, its wings silent. It rose with a beauty and grace that brought a different sort of tears to her eyes and settled on a tree branch. Its hoot startled her after the silence of its flight.