by Susan Fox
If Adrienne was anywhere near right, what would he do about it? Jenna wasn’t his kind of woman any more than he was her kind of man.
A scientist theorized, experimented, observed, recorded, and analyzed, he reflected as he walked back to the campsite. Typically, it was best to examine one theory at a time, but he had two, and they interrelated. His, that Jenna was avoiding kissing him, and Adrienne’s, that Jenna was scared of love.
A scientist designed experiments and tested hypotheses, he observed and analyzed.
For example, Jenna had twice avoided morning kisses, had fled the camper quickly after sex, and had avoided sharing space with him when she returned from her shower. Now, as he walked into the campsite, he saw she’d set plates, mugs, and food on the picnic table. When he glanced inside the camper, he noted that she’d stripped the bed and folded it back into couch form, indicating she wasn’t interested in another round of sex.
She was at the sink and, before he could climb in, she gave him a bright smile and thrust the box of strawberries toward him. “Want to put these on the table? I’ve laid out bread and cheese, and made a fresh carafe of coffee.”
“Sure.” He took the berries but didn’t move away as she climbed out, carafe in her hand. “Good morning again,” he said quietly, then leaned toward her with the obvious intention of giving her a quick kiss.
She turned her head so his lips brushed her cheek rather than her mouth, but she did squeeze his butt in passing.
No kiss, and she no longer had the excuse of morning breath, yet she had no problem with the casual, sexy intimacy of a butt-grab. Yes, she was treating this as “just sex.” But why? Because to her that was truly all it was, or because she was avoiding something more meaningful?
“I bet you have a schedule for today,” she said breezily. “Want to tell me about it?”
He followed her to the table. She’d set the plates across from each other as they’d been last night at dinner, and automatically he took the seat opposite her. While she poured coffee, he sliced chunks of crusty bread.
Often, he skipped breakfast, settling for two or three cups of coffee. Now he bit into a strawberry, plump and sweet as the lips Jenna didn’t seem to want him kissing.
“Today’s schedule?” she prompted.
“I figured on driving the Oregon coast then across the border into Washington. There’s a park on the Long Beach Peninsula.”
“Sounds good. Then it’ll be no problem getting back to Vancouver tomorrow.”
“I do need to make a stop somewhere there’s internet.”
“Another person who’s ruled by technology.” She rolled her eyes.
He shrugged. “I’ve got things in the works. Plans for an upcoming project, research I’m supervising.” Responsibilities. A concept she didn’t seem big on.
And that raised the question, why was he testing theories about kissing and love? The two of them were such opposites. Wouldn’t it be smarter to simply enjoy her company and the great sex?
Chapter 7
As Mark drove slowly down the main street of Crescent City, a small California town close to the Oregon border, I peered at storefronts in search of an internet café. “There, on the right.”
He found a parking spot and retrieved a battered black laptop case from the back. Figuring I might as well check in with my family—they’d be totally stunned to have me make contact two days in a row—I went along with him to the café.
Inside, he ordered a coffee and said to me, “Chamomile tea?”
“I’d love one. Thanks.”
“Don’t know how you can drink the stuff. It tastes like lawn clippings.”
I grinned at him. “Gee, I’ve never tasted lawn clippings. Thanks for sharing your personal experience.”
His lips curved. “Okay, you got me. It tastes the way I’m guessing lawn clippings would taste.”
We took our drinks to adjoining work stations. He moved the existing computer aside and plugged his laptop into a network cable. Catching my questioning look, he said, “My portable office. There are files on here I may need to refer to.”
I nodded, then logged on to my own e-mail and found messages from Merilee, my young friend Anna, and a couple of casual friends. I’d deal with the casual stuff first.
I clicked on a message from the Greek sailor, Milos. We’d kept in touch off and on for a couple of years now. This past winter he’d returned to Crete because his father was ill, and Milos had to help run the family’s small inn. He wrote:
To my surprise, I’m more of a businessman than I thought. But now that my mother has me back home here, she says I must think of marriage. You should come visit before she succeeds in finding a bride for me.
Crete. How I’d love to. I typed back:
Can I hitchhike there? LOL. Or stow away on a freighter? If you hear of any cheap—really, really cheap—flights, let me know
If I did manage to go, we’d probably be lovers again. He’d been a good one. The sex had been … a lot like sex with Mark this morning. Very satisfying, but not explosive and consuming the way it was when Mark and I gazed into each other’s eyes and kissed.
I glanced over to see my lover, his gaze intent as he read an e-mail, the cardboard coffee cup poised near his mouth. Why was sex different with him? If I avoided kissing him, maybe I’d never find out. It’d be safer that way. I wouldn’t feel that all-consuming force that swept me up, that made me lose myself.
That rocked my world like a million fireworks bursting all at once.
I’d always liked fireworks …
I grabbed my tea and took a hefty swallow, then opened the next e-mail. Elizabeth, a university student from England who’d worked at the art therapy program when I was there, had now finished her graduate degree and was organizing a similar program in her home town in Yorkshire. As with the sailor, we’d remained e-mail pals. Now she caught me up on her news, saying they were almost ready to get going, and she needed staff. She offered me a job if I wanted to come work for her.
Kids, art, England, not to mention working with—no, for—a friend. Sounded pretty good to me, except for that same pesky problem about airfare.
Milos and Elizabeth had both been fun to hang out with. Now, he had roots and family responsibilities, and she was building a program that would benefit hundreds of children over the years. I’d bet their families were proud.
I shoved down a twinge of envy. Yeah, if I did stuff like that, my family might be proud, too. But the paths that were right for Milos and Elizabeth were too straight and narrow for me. I ran a finger across the cloud of butterflies on my shoulder.
After sending a quick reply to Elizabeth, I opened a message from fourteen-year-old Anna, a very special person in my life. She’d taken therapeutic riding lessons when she was six, after losing both legs in a horrendous car crash that killed her parents. The kid had had more guts than any adult I’d ever met. Over the years, I’d worked with lots of children and adults, but Anna and I had formed a real connection. When her aunt took her away to her new home, a small town in northern Alberta, Anna had cried. I’d told her she could e-mail me and she had.
Her father’s much older sister, an unmarried woman, seemed well-intentioned, but she didn’t really get kids. I sure wasn’t any kind of role model for a child, but at least Anna could share her thoughts and dreams with me and know I’d always be on her side.
For eight years, through e-mails, I’d watched her grow up. She’d turned fourteen in January, a tough age for a girl who walked on prosthetic limbs and feared no boy would ever be interested in her. For the past two months, she’d been crushing on a boy who barely noticed her. She wrote:
You know how you said I should think about when I first started riding? About how I wanted to ride but I was scared, but I’d never get what I wanted if I just kept staring at the horses like a sissy?
So, anyhow, guess what???
Lawrence is, like, SO bad at math. And I get straight A’s. So I said I’d help him study for the fina
l exam, if he wanted.
And he looks at me like he doesn’t even know me. Yeah, right, only been sitting across from him for almost 10 months!!! And he says, “You’re kidding, right?”
I winced. Poor Anna. What an asshole the boy was.
So I say, “Just trying to help. Because I’m so much SMARTER than you!!!!”
I laughed out loud. “That’s my girl,” I murmured.
And he just goes, “Whatever,” and stomps away. But I’m okay, Jenna. Honest ;-) Like you said, if someone’s a jerk to me, that’s their loss. He’ll probably flunk math, and I’ll get an A.
Anyhow, it’s almost summer, and this year I get to assist at riding camp!!! I can’t wait until I’m grown up and can run my own camp! XXXXOOOXXX PS – J + A = grrrrlpower! [that’s math!]
Grrrrlpower. Yeah. I loved seeing Anna becoming more self-confident. I wrote back:
You did great, Anna. Lots of guts, sweetie. As for Lawrence, yeah, he lost the opportunity to get to know a wonderful girl. Not to mention, he’s probably going to be a high school dropout and end up working in McDonald’s all his life!!! Can you say, LOSER? LOL.
When I was Anna’s age, I was pretty and popular. All the boys wanted to date me, and I had lots of girlfriends too. My problem had been schoolwork. Following after genius Theresa and very bright Kat had been tough, because I just wasn’t as smart as them. The more my parents and teachers told me to apply myself, the less I wanted to. I always hated being told what to do.
I’d found, though, that once I was out of school and living my own life, I really liked learning about things that interested me.
Anna, though, was a perfect student, smart and motivated. For years now, she’d known what she wanted to do when she grew up. Having that goal made her happy, helped her self-confidence, and gave her a sense of purpose. Who knew, one day I might be working for her. She’d probably do as well in her field as Mark did in his.
Beside me, he stood up and asked, “Want a refill?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
He strolled across the room to get more coffee and I watched, thinking how great he looked in shorts. When he turned and gazed my way, I gave him a sexy wink then refocused on the screen.
I finished off my e-mail to Anna, then opened the last one, from Merilee. My baby sis, who a week from now would be walking down the grassy aisle in VanDusen Gardens.
Hey, Jenna. Theresa said she talked to you and you’re on the road, so maybe you won’t check e-mail but I hope you do. It’s crazy in the house with almost everyone home now, and Theresa and Kat all wrapped up with their new guys. Well, that’s not fair, they’re definitely working on the wedding but they’re … I think they’re both in love. Seriously!!!
With Theresa, it’s not like how she was with Jeffrey-the-jerk. Not that I really remember him. I was too young when they were married. But I’ve heard ALL the stories, and I know he was a pretentious jerk who totally used her.
Damien seems cool. Confident and successful but not at all pretentious, and he and Theresa are talking about being partners writing some book. He seems really crazy about her, and she’s on the phone with him every night while he’s on this book tour. (Phone sex!!!) And did I mention, he’s really hot? Well, I guess that thing about being one of Australia’s 10 sexiest bachelors kinda tells you that, right?
As for Kat, she hooked a total hottie too, with a Brit accent to die for. Nav totally adores her—it’s so obvious every time he looks at her—and the passion between them sizzles. He’s an awesome photographer, and guess what, as his gift to M & me, he’s going to do the wedding photos!! Very cool, and a big relief because all the photographers Theresa tried were booked for next Saturday.
Next Saturday. I’m getting married next Saturday. Can you believe it?
Now that it’s so close, I’m kind of in shock. Good shock, of course
Anyhow, I can’t wait to see you, sis.
(Tell me you won’t be bringing home some incredibly sexy guy you’ve fallen madly in love with, okay??? Two’s enough!!! LOL. I know, I know. You’re never getting serious about any guy. You’re having too much fun sampling the smorgasbord
Hugs and more hugs,
M
I frowned at the screen, thinking there was something just a little off about M’s e-mail.
Pre-wedding jitters? Merilee? I’d never have expected that. And was it my imagination, or did she sound the tiniest bit envious of Tree and Kitty-Kat? She’d barely mentioned Matt, and usually he showed up in every second sentence; he was that firmly embedded in her life. And she didn’t want me to bring home an incredibly sexy lover.
I shot a glance at the man beside me, absorbed in a technical looking document on screen. No, of course I wouldn’t take Mark home—even though he’d fit better in my family than I did.
I stared back at the screen. What could I say to Merilee? She couldn’t be asking for advice. No one but Anna ever asked me for advice. Yet, I sensed she needed … something. Reassurance? About what? I sure wasn’t the one to be giving relationship advice to a woman who believed in happily ever after. Slowly, I began to type.
Hey, M, thanks for the update. Now I don’t feel quite so out of it, and I’m sure curious to get home and see all this with my very own eyes. I’m still halfway convinced it’s not the real Tree, but some Aussie impostor
Beside me, Mark typed rapidly, peering intently at the screen. Yeah, good guys did exist. Why shouldn’t my annoyingly fabulous sisters have found themselves a couple? As for M, her Matt had been born into the good guy label.
Of course, you got the original good guy. Give Matt an extra-big hug for me. You know I love him to pieces. He’s the nicest person in our family
I did adore her boyfriend, though he was almost too perfect. A guy should have a few flaws, a rough edge here and there, a little unpredictability, to keep life exciting.
Science guy Mark was exciting, a strange mix of conservative traits like having a schedule, and the unconventional, like basing his life out of a laptop computer and little West-falia camper and traveling all over the world. He had passion too, for the ocean and his misson to protect it. He really was kind of Indiana Jonesy with his strong sense of mission, but Mark’s work was far more important than retrieving a few dusty artifacts.
He was a lot sexier than Indy, too.
He nudged me with his leg, the touch of his bare knee against mine sending a quiver of awareness through me. “How’s it going, Jenna? Almost done?”
“Yeah. Just one more sec.” Quickly, I typed,
Relax and enjoy life, M. I know Tree has a meticulously organized wedding plan, and she and Kat’ll make sure everything gets done. As soon as I’m home I’ll help however I can, even if it’s just to take you out for gelato and keep you sane
I logged off e-mail as Mark shut down his computer, then we headed back to the camper, both carrying our drink cups.
“Any ocean-type crises?” I asked as he pulled back onto the road.
“No crises. Just a couple of things to do on my next project.”
“What’s the next one? Is it in Vancouver, and that’s why you’re heading back?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m going to Vancouver to attend an international symposium on global change in marine social-ecological systems.”
Now there was a sentence with a bunch of big words. I sorted them all out in my head. “You mean things like the effect of global warming, pollution, overfishing, introduction of non-native species?”
“Yeah, exactly. I’m presenting a paper on the current status of rehabilitation of the maritime environment after the tsunami in Thailand.”
“A
project you worked on?”
“Uh-huh.”
Oh yes, rebuilding after a tsunami was way more significant than hunting artifacts. I’d just bet his grandparents were very proud of Mark.
“You’re staying with your grandparents? I guess it’ll be good to see them.”
“Yes, though it won’t be for long. I’m off to Indonesia on Thursday. I’ve organized a team to go to several locations to help the locals repair and rebuild coral reefs.”
“Wow. Another great project. And what a cool place to visit.” I sighed. “Today in e-mail I got invitations to go to Crete and to Yorkshire, both of which I’d love to do, but no way can I afford the airfare.”
He shot me a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. An edge to his voice, he said, “Let me guess, the Greek sailor and some English guy you dated at some point.”
Let me guess: he didn’t approve. He really did belong in my family. Evenly, I said, “Mark, I never lead guys on. I’m always honest, and we almost always part friends. What’s the big deal?”
His frown turned from disapproval to puzzlement. “Uh, I’m not sure. Sorry.”
I nodded, glad he’d seen my point. “Yes, the Greek’s the guy I mentioned before. The person in England is a woman I worked with once, who’s setting up an art therapy program for autistic kids.”
“Good for her.”
“Yeah, isn’t it cool?” I gazed out at the view. The road had turned inland, and I missed the ocean vistas. I drank some chamomile tea, tepid now but just as tasty as when it was hot. Lawn clippings. Honestly. He really could be judgmental.
“Any other interesting e-mail?” he asked. “I heard you say, ‘That’s my girl.’ Your youngest sister?”
“No, a friend.” The thought of Anna made me smile. I told Mark a bit about her, and her triumph over Lawrence. “I’m so proud of her.”
“She sounds like a great kid. How long have you known her?”
“Eight years. She was just a little girl, and now she’s a young woman.”