Courtney’s face flushed. “I’m not that superstitious,” she said quickly, although the words sounded like a lie to her.
Mitch leaned closer, resting his elbow on the table. “You’re either superstitious or you’re not. Take your pick.”
Courtney forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “Not.”
He laughed—a deep, almost melodic sound that seemed to echo off the lake and surrounding mountains. She loved hearing him laugh, even if it was at her expense.
She pushed the bag of doughnuts away and changed the subject. “Now that you’ve gotten me up at an obscene hour, what’s on the schedule for the rest of the day? Hopefully a nap?”
“Together?”
“No.”
Mitch grinned. “First I’m going to take you home to change, and”—He leaned over and sniffed the air around her—“shower.”
She slugged his arm. “Not funny.”
“Then it’s a day jam-packed full of stuff to remind you why Alaska is the best place on earth to live.”
“I already know that.”
His eyebrow rose. “All evidence to the contrary, Miss Commitment-Phobic Drifter who’s planning to move away by the end of the summer.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise everyone and decide to stay this time.” Thanks to the sun, maybe she really would.
“That’s my goal.”
Courtney shot him a look, trying to read his expressions. Was this just fun banter to him, or something more? She couldn’t tell. “So in only one day, you think you can convince me to stay in Alaska for good?”
He shrugged. “I’ll start today, and we’ll see how long it takes.”
“What if it takes all summer?”
“Then it takes all summer.” Mitch pointed at the sun still peeking above the horizon. “According to that large round ball of fire, we’re meant to be together. How’s that going to work if you up and leave?”
Yet another comment Courtney had no idea how to take. Was he making fun of the legend or did he, like her, want to believe that it really could be? While part of her hoped that he did, another part—the doubting part—worried that by agreeing to this date, she’d set herself up for a whole lot of heartache.
Mitch bit back a smile at Courtney’s look of concentration as they floated in his small fishing boat in the middle of the lake. Fishing was supposed to be relaxing, but she appeared rigid and tense, as though everything hinged on whether she could get a fish to take the bait.
“This isn’t a competition,” Mitch reminded her.
Courtney offered a fake smile and went right back to furrowing her brows as she slowly reeled in her line. “Sorry, this just brings back memories of fishing with my dad. He used to get so frustrated with me because I was always tangling the line or catching the hook on something. It made me never want to—”
She gasped and lurched forward, nearly toppling out of the boat. If Mitch hadn’t been quick to grab her arm and pull her back, she probably would have.
“I caught one!” She turned the reel quicker, almost frantic. “I can’t believe I actually caught one! This has never happened to me before.” Her lips widened into a huge smile. “I totally get it now—why you like this. It’s actually fun when you catch something.”
Mitch couldn’t help his answering smile. If anything could be counted on in life, it was that Courtney would do or say something to surprise him. She was the most unpredictable person he’d ever met, which was probably what made her such a great writer.
When the fish finally broke the surface—a big, ugly catfish—she dropped her fishing and skittered backwards, rocking the boat. Mitch couldn’t hold back his laughter. The reel spun like crazy while the fish tried to make its getaway. He grabbed the pole and started bringing the fish back in.
“What was that thing?” Courtney said.
“Congratulations, you just caught one of the vermin of this lake. That was a catfish.”
“It had whiskers.”
“That’s probably why they call it a cat-fish.”
Courtney shot him a glare before shifting positions. She eyed the line with a nervous expression, squirming a little when the fish resurfaced. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I thought we’d fry it up for dinner instead of the salmon.”
“Very funny.”
He worked to loosen the hook then tossed the slimy, wriggling fish back in the water before holding out the fishing pole for Courtney to take.
She shook her head, refusing to accept it. “I don’t understand what you see in this sport. You could spend all day here and not catch anything—or worse, catch something like that.”
“What happened to all the talk about this being fun?”
“Call it temporary insanity.”
Mitch laughed again, something he didn’t usually do while fishing. Typically, this was his time to get away from life, to think and let nature rejuvenate him. But being here with Courtney made him feel lighter and happier than he’d felt in a long time. He liked having her along.
With a thunk, he set her pole on the floor of the boat and rested his elbows on his knees. “Okay, so I obviously didn’t sell you on fishing, but don’t give up on it just yet. Maybe you could even think of today as fodder for your next book and write a story about a fisherman who talks to fish or something.”
Courtney drew her lower lip into her mouth, as if seriously considering his suggestion. “A fisherman with a sixth sense who happens to know right where to fish every time. That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Really? A guy who can talk to fish?” It sounded pretty lame to him.
“Not talk,” Courtney said. “Feel.”
He shrugged, still not seeing it. “Let me guess, he’ll fall in love with a mermaid.”
Courtney shook her head. “I write magical realism, not fantasy. So no. She’ll be a journalist or a photographer—someone who’s heard stories about a guy that has never had a bad day of fishing. She’ll want to investigate.”
Mitch still wasn’t sure about the idea. “Just promise me you’ll throw in some pirates or something.”
Her lips twitched. “Like Swiss Family Robinson?”
“No, like Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“I told you. I don’t write fantasy.”
“What about a shark attack then?” Mitch said. “Or maybe the guy could get swallowed by a whale and have to talk his way out of it. That would be cool.”
Courtney laughed. “Remind me to never come to you for plot ideas. They’re terrible.”
“Hey, who suggested the fisherman idea?”
“As a joke.” She smiled then leaned over the edge of the boat and ran her fingers through the water, probably working through plot ideas. Mitch took the opportunity to watch her and the way her nose turned up a tiny bit at the end. A breeze whipped her hair behind her, and with the lake and mountains in the background, the picture she made could easily work on a cover of Outdoor Life. Only Courtney didn’t need heavy makeup. She was a natural beauty.
Mitch wanted to see that smile every day, make her laugh, and listen to whatever it was she had to say. He wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair, hold her close, and taste her lips. He wanted her in his life for longer than a few months out of the year.
But ever since high school, her MO had always been come and go, come and go—something that had a bipolar effect on him. Whenever she showed up, Heimel became vibrant and exciting, like three-dimensional renderings of a construction design. When she left, it flattened back to a dull, lifeless two-dimensional line drawing.
If only he could convince her to stick around.
Courtney looked his way and caught him staring, and Mitch quickly moved to secure the hooks on both fishing poles. Then he started the small engine and steered the boat toward the small dock. It was time to do something else—something he knew she’d like.
Courtney accepted the helmet with a grin and put it on. She climbed on th
e back of the 4-wheeler, scooted close to Mitch, and wrapped her arms around his muscular waist, resisting the impulse to bury her face in his back and breath in the intoxicating outdoor scent that was all him. Hopefully this would be a long ride.
“You good?” Mitch called as he started the engine.
“Perfect.” She held on a little tighter just because she could.
They spent the next several hours climbing trails, racing through meadows and pointing out moose, elk, eagles, and even a bear. Courtney hadn’t felt this content in a long time.
When Mitch drove them to a peak that overlooked Heimel and killed the engine, Courtney reluctantly let go of her hold on him and climbed off to admire the spectacular view. The valley stretched out below them in a lush blanket of greens and browns. Birds chirped, and that raw, earthy scent she loved filled her senses.
“Coming?” Mitch said.
Courtney turned around to find him sitting on a blanket, patting the ground next to him. She smiled and sank down beside him, wishing she could snuggle up and rest her head against his shoulder. Instead, she accepted the sandwich he held out.
“Thank you,” she said, turning her face toward the sun. “This place really is beautiful.”
“You’re only now noticing that?”
She smiled. “No, I’ve always noticed. But there’s something different about leaving and coming home. It sort of feels like a dormant part of me suddenly comes alive. I love that feeling.”
He shifted positions to look at her. “I don’t get it. If you love it so much here, why not move back for good? You can write anywhere.”
Courtney took a small bite of her sandwich and munched it slowly. “I need to do research, and I like seeing new places.”
When she said nothing more, he shook his head. “Sorry, not buying it. You can always put down roots and still travel to your heart’s content.”
She let out a breath and bit her lip. Did she dare tell him the real reason? Would he laugh? File it away as something else he could tease her about? Probably.
And yet she wanted him to know, to understand. “Remember how I told you I’m superstitious?”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t joking.” She paused, plucking the leaves off a nearby bush. “From the time I was little, I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. In high school, I started submitting my work to agents, but they all shot me down. So I stayed here and went to college for a year in Anchorage, took every creative writing class I could, and went to every writing conference anyone offered. Then I applied what I learned and wrote my first magical realism novel. I thought it was great, but still, no bites. Out of desperation, I took the plunge and transferred to NYU the following year, where I wrote another novel, again with no luck.”
The bush was beginning to look sparse. Courtney seemed to realize it too because she stopped plucking and began tearing the leaves instead. “Then something amazing happened. I came back here for the summer and felt that feeling I just told you about. It was like my mind woke up. I wrote a rough draft quicker than I’d ever written one, but when I went back to revise, it was like my mind decided to go dormant again. So I transferred my records to Texas—the place where the book was set—and immersed myself in the culture. The fine-tuning came easier there, and I was able to finish my revisions. Then I sent it out and about died when ten agents requested it—five of whom offered to represent me. Two months later, I signed my first publishing contract.”
Courtney paused, wondering what was going through Mitch’s mind. Did he think she was crazy, or did he understand?
He picked up a rock and chucked it over the ledge the way you’d throw a rock to skip it across a lake. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You come here to be inspired, but when that so-called well of inspiration runs dry, you feel the need to move away so it can be full and running over by the time you come back.” Surprisingly enough, his words didn’t sound mocking.
She nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, but writing is now my career, and I can’t afford for Heimel to stop inspiring me.”
Mitch shifted positions, turning around so he could face her head on. He raised his knee and rested one elbow on it as he studied her. “Have you ever considered that maybe your earlier books weren’t accepted because you weren’t ready? That it wasn’t the right story, or you didn’t have enough experience yet?”
“Of course,” Courtney said. “And I know that has a lot to do with it. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I really do feel inspired when I come home—and it’s a feeling that doesn’t last. Sometimes I sort of feel cursed—like how Davy Jones can only step foot on land once every ten years. Only at least I get a few months out of every year. ”
Almost absentmindedly, Mitch began tracing the perimeter of her fingers, up and over each one. Tingles ran up her arm, making Courtney feel like she’d be catapulted back to her beautiful dream from that morning. She clamped her mouth shut and held still, too afraid that if she moved or said the wrong thing, he’d stop.
His fingers finally closed around her hand, and his gaze met hers. “You could always try to stay this time, just to see. You never know, maybe the change of seasons would give you the same renewed feeling.” His eyes had taken on an uncharacteristic vulnerability, as if he really did want her to stay, that part of his happiness might even depend on it.
Her heart beat faster as she stared back. What was happening? Was she experiencing the magic of the sun right now? Mitch had never done more than flirt with her, tease her, invite her on group outings or give her giant bear hugs when she returned.
But here—now—with the rays of that beautiful sun streaming down on them, Mitch leaned closer. His hand moved from her fingers to her face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her hair and sending chills down her spine. Courtney’s heart pounded. She willed him to lean closer still, to brush his lips against hers. Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt herself tilting forward as if compelled to do so.
Kiss me.
His hand moved to the back of her neck, but his warm lips didn’t cover hers. Instead, they landed on her forehead, giving her a lingering kiss before drawing away. Cool air rushed between them, reminding her of that morning, when her wonderful dream had been rudely interrupted.
Her eyes flickered open to see uncertainty in his expression, possibly even regret. Her face flushed as heavy disappointment settled in her stomach. A forehead kiss was something you’d give a sister, a child in need of comfort, or the girl who’d never be more than a friend.
Courtney knew all about forehead kisses—she’d written plenty of them into her books.
Salmon juices sizzled on the grill as Mitch watched Courtney from the corner of his eye. Ever since the stupid forehead kiss, things had been awkward between them. He didn’t like it. Why hadn’t he just given her a real kiss instead of chickening out? At least then he would have known from her response whether she’d wanted it or not. Now he was stuck wondering if she had been disappointed or grateful.
He’d tried to dispel the awkwardness by taking her to the fairgrounds for some flea market browsing, but it had only made things worse. As the couple who’d won The Meltdown Match, one too many knowing smiles came their way, so he’d finally brought her back to his place for dinner. Now she sat on the railing surrounding his back patio, dangling her feet while taking in the views and saying nothing.
Mitch bit his lip, mentally kicking himself yet again for being such a wuss.
Courtney twisted around, swung her legs up and over the railing, and hopped down from her perch. She approached him with slow, hesitant steps, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her skinny jeans. “Are you sure you don’t need any help? I feel lame sitting here while you do all the work.”
Mitch’s arms itched to pull her to him and kiss her long and hard. Maybe then this nervous tension would go away and leave them alone. Maybe then he’d know if she was as crazy about him as he was about her.
He scooped the salmon from the gr
ill, turned the heat off, and lifted the plate. “Everything’s ready,” he said, setting the plate on the table. He went inside and retrieved a salad from the fridge and twice-baked potatoes from the oven.
When he emerged from the house, Courtney eyed the table. “Wow, this looks amazing. When did you learn to cook so well?”
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, it’s going to be fantastic.”
Mitch pulled out a chair for her then sat down, racking his mind for something to say— preferably something funny that would make her laugh. When he came up empty, he focused on his food and rebuked himself yet again for botching things so badly earlier. Of all the dates to go wrong, this was the worst. It was too important—she was too important.
“I’ve been thinking more about the fisherman with a sixth sense idea, and I’m liking it more and more,” she said.
Mitch wondered if she’d said that to be nice—something that might put an end to the awkward silence—because the fisherman idea had been a joke. It stunk.
He played along anyway. “Yeah?”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have my laptop or notebook with me. I’d probably start jotting down some notes.”
He had no idea what to say to that. “I have a notebook inside if you’d like.”
“No.” She waved his suggestion aside. “I was only joking.”
But was she? Mitch changed the subject, and after some painful small talk to get them through dinner, Courtney insisted on doing the dishes. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done today,” she said, picking up his plate. “Besides, I’ve wanted to take a peek inside ever since you brought me here, and this is my chance.”
Mitch followed with the glasses. “Want a tour?”
“Of course.”
Together, they made quick work of cleaning up, and once the last dish had been loaded, Mitch held out his hand, hoping she’d take it. “Ready?”
She hesitated a second, then placed her hand in his. It felt soft and small and perfect, especially when her fingers tightened around his and she returned the pressure of his grip.
The Meltdown Match (A Romance Novella) Page 3