Later, as they waited for their desserts to be brought out, Breck relaxed against the back of her chair and sighed—content. Smiling, she quickly surveyed the scene before her.
There was Barb, laughing with merriment—Barb, who was married to the sweetest man—Barb, who had two sweet little toddler daughters only a year apart—Barb, who had spent two years before college leading troubled teens through the wilderness on survival treks. Breck shook her head, finding it hard to believe that this was the same woman who used to hunt and kill rattlesnakes for food. Now she was the vision of the perfect wife and mother and completely content about it.
Breck smiled again as she looked to Trixie, busily sculpting a rabbit out of the remains of her meat ravioli. Trixie was engaged now—to the man of her dreams, Bobby Jepson. She was quite the successful floral designer, and Breck was surprised she didn’t sculpt more flora and fauna when they were out to eat. Trixie was the most patient person Breck had ever known, and she loved her for it.
Kay was a sweetheart! She’d been a forensic chemist in the days before she married. In fact, whenever Kay hosted a get-together at her house, she used large test tubes for punch glasses. And her home was completely covered in fabulous, handmade quilts! Kay could sew like the wind and anything she set her mind to. She was the crafty one of the bunch, and Breck admired her for it.
Now, Sherryl—Sherryl was the group clown. As Breck studied her for a moment—trying not to burst out into belly laughs as Kay snapped a picture of Sherryl with two straws hanging out of her nose—she wondered at how the woman kept up with herself! Sherryl seemed to have endless amounts of energy. And it was a good thing, for she was one of the best-known and most requested photographers in the city! Owning her own photography studio downtown, Sherryl kept a crazy schedule of portrait and product shoots. Still, with all the things that pulled her in every direction, she was careful to make time for her friends. Sherryl was dating a nice man—a landscaper—and Breck secretly hoped that wedded bliss would soon be the outcome.
As she sat studying and appreciating her good friends, Breck was too preoccupied to perceive the hush that fell over the patrons at Marcelli’s in that moment. In fact, it wasn’t until she noticed her friends all looking at her—smiles stretching from ear to ear—that she realized something was afoot.
“What?” she asked, glancing down at her beautiful pumpkin sweater. Had she spilled sauce on it?
She gasped as a black-gloved hand suddenly covered her mouth from behind. Next a man’s voice—his breath hot on her neck—whispered in her ear, “Be still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns you now.”
Breck recognized the phrase as one of her favorites from the book she so adored, The Highwayman of Tanglewood. However, she did not recognize the voice. The man’s hand still covered her mouth tightly, but Breck could see the delight blazing across her friends’ faces.
So this was what they were up to all week, she thought. They had hired someone to be her Highwayman of Tanglewood.
Breck tried to push the man’s hand from her mouth so she could turn and see him. But he tightened his grip, coaxing her to rise from her seat as he whispered, “Do not struggle. I’ll not harm you. I simply intend to have you.” Whoever was playing the Highwayman was delivering his lines straight from the book and with perfection! As she stood, Breck began to giggle, for the expressions on her friends’ faces were worth a lifetime of other expressions from other people. They were nothing short of entirely delighted with themselves!
Once she was standing, Breck felt the Highwayman’s free arm encircle her waist from behind, pulling her back against his body. He bent, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment before playfully nuzzling he neck.
“Come away with me, sweet Breck,” the Highwayman whispered. By this time, every patron in Marcelli’s large group dining area was staring at the scene. “What say you?” he added, removing his hand from her mouth and letting it rest at her throat.
Breck tried not to giggle, but it was all entirely too wonderful! A little more public than she would’ve perhaps preferred, but wonderful all the same.
“I say, who are you Highwayman?” she asked, quoting the book.
“Ah! But that you should know, sweet Breck,” the man whispered.
At that point, the thought flittered through Breck’s mind, How perfect if you were Reese Thatcher! Knowing that to be impossible, however, Breck began to wrack her brain for other possibilities.
Slowly, Breck began to turn in the man’s arms in order to better view the secreted Highwayman of Tanglewood. But suddenly, the lighting in the room burned even more dimly—someone having turned them down. Still, enraptured by the entire event, Breck smiled as she saw she was standing in the arms of a man dressed head to toe in black. A large, draping cowl hung down over his already masked eyes and nose; a flowing cape drooped from his shoulders reaching nearly to the floor. Breck looked down to see that he was indeed wearing black breeches and black boots that cuffed just below his knee. Reaching out, she took the silky fabric of his shirt in her hand, unable to believe the perfect detail of his costume. She could hear the repeat of Sherryl’s digital camera shutter clicking away at a mad pace as she tried to imagine who would be willing to involve himself in such an outlandish scheme. The light was too dim and Breck was held too closely in the Highwayman’s arms to get a good look at him. Still, his mouth was easily seen. She tried to recognize the grin he wore, but his mustache and goatee hid even the shape of his lips well.
Sherryl was on her feet now, her camera shutter wearing itself out with her maniacal snapping. Breck reached out, running her hands caressively the breadth of the Highwayman’s shoulders. Two could play at this game, and her friends deserved a good show for all their trouble.
“I know you not, sir,” Breck said in a whisper. “Surely I would remember such a shape of a man.” The Highwayman’s grin broadened at her quoted banter.
“Indeed, would you?” he asked. Breck was certain he was doing more to disguise his voice than the simple method of speaking in a whisper, for she didn’t recognize it at all.
“I would, sir,” she answered.
“And the taste of his kiss, my sweet?” the Highwayman whispered. “Would you surely remember such a taste of a kiss?”
Breck giggled. She couldn’t take it any longer. “Who are you?” she begged.
The Highwayman paused in answering—probably to allow her friends to stop laughing for a moment.
“It matters to you?” he asked, using another line direct from the book.
“You’re good, whoever you are,” Breck said, smiling. She wondered if the girls had pooled their money and hired a professional stage actor to portray her dreamy Highwayman.
“I will reveal myself to you,” he whispered, pulling her body tightly against his own, “on one condition.” He’d strayed from the book’s text now, and Breck giggled with delight.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The promise of a kiss,” he whispered even more quietly. Breck’s eyebrows rose in astonishment, and she looked back to her friends as they joined the other restaurant patrons in an encouraging applause.
“I don’t kiss strangers,” Breck countered. She was enjoying the playful event, but kissing someone she didn’t know would be a bit over the edge.
“I am no stranger. It is well you know me,” he whispered, again quoting the book.
She looked over to Sherryl, who paused in her mad photo taking long enough to say, “You do know him.”
“We promised him you’d kiss him too, Breck,” Barb called from her seat at the table.
“What?” Breck exclaimed, spinning around to face her traitorous friends.
“You know him, Breck. I promise,” Kay assured her. Kay wouldn’t deceive her about something like this—Breck knew that.
Turning back to face the Highwayman, Breck studied him again. Was he as tall as Reese Thatcher? She measured every man’s height against Reese Thatcher’s. She fancied that he was
perhaps even taller—and then it hit her!
“Marty Sprague!” she exclaimed. “You little devil!” Then turning to her friends, “How did you ever talk him into this?”
“You’re sure you know who it is?” Trixie asked, giggling.
“Who else could it be?” Breck said. “Look how tall he is. It’s Marty.”
“Then…I’ll get my kiss if I undress…uh…reveal my identity?” the Highwayman asked, still using his disguised voice.
Breck sighed, trying not to appear too disappointed. Marty was a sweet man, and how kind of him to be willing to go to such lengths to embarrass and delight her on her birthday. Would one kiss really be so bad? The only thing that worried her was the question of whether Marty would understand that a kiss between them would be a one-time “thank you” sort of kiss—not something to raise his hopes of anything more being possible. Still, how sweet he was to do this for her. Therefore, Breck relented.
“Okay,” she said, causing her friends and the other restaurant patrons, waiters, and waitresses to cheer. Putting her arms around his neck to finally return his embrace, she said, “Reveal your identity, Highwayman of Tanglewood…and I agree to a kiss between us.”
The Highwayman’s smile broadened, and Breck felt her brows pucker in a frown. For as his grin grew into a smile revealing a nice set of pearly whites, Breck did not recognize it as Marty’s. In fact, as he then began to tug on the well-made—however, false—mustache and goatee, Breck drew in her breath.
“It can’t be!” she heard herself whisper.
But when the man then reached up, pulling back the cowl that draped his head and the mask that hid his eyes, Breck’s knees gave way beneath her.
“Mr. Thatcher?” she breathed, and his arms banded around her tightly to keep her from slipping to the floor on rubbery knees.
“Now, Breck…surely you can be more familiar than that,” Reese Thatcher chuckled. “Especially considering that we’re about to become far more familiar than we’ve ever been before.”
Breck felt dizzy for a moment—afraid she might pass out. Reese Thatcher? It couldn’t be! Quickly she glanced to Sherryl—still wildly recording the event with her camera.
“We told you that you knew him,” Sherryl giggled.
“B-but…” Breck stammered as she looked back to Reese. His smile was that of triumph. He knew she was rattled.
“Hey,” he began, “I kept my end of the bargain and revealed myself. Now you need to keep yours.”
Breck felt her eyes widen. Her side of the bargain? A kiss? She couldn’t possibly!
Shaking her head—still in awed disbelief that it was Reese Thatcher who stood before her, Reese Thatcher holding her tightly in his arms, Reese Thatcher who had quoted lines to her from her favorite book—she whispered, “You’re kidding, right?”
Reese chuckled. “No,” came his monosyllabic answer.
“But…but….” Breck stammered.
“Kiss him, for Pete’s sake, Breck,” Barb demanded. “The man deserves at least that.”
Standing there wrapped in Reese Thatcher’s powerful arms—the restaurant patrons softly chanting, “Kiss him! Kiss him!” in unison—Breck felt her hands press against Reese’s solid chest as his face moved closer to hers.
“I can’t possibly,” she told him.
He chuckled. “You have to,” he told her. “They promised me.”
“We did,” Sherryl confirmed between shutter releases.
“Here,” Reese said, turning Breck around so that her back pressed against the nearby wall. Then taking her face in his hands for a moment, he added, “Relax, Breck. It’s just me.”
Breck release a short, nervous giggle. Was he kidding? But in the next moment, she knew he wasn’t.
His hands moved to encircle her neck—then one of his gloved thumbs moved slowly across her lips.
“Hold up,” he mumbled, releasing her, stripping off his gloves, and letting them fall to the floor. Then his hands encircled her neck once more. His palms were warm—hot on her skin. And when his thumb caressed her lips again, slowly traveling from one side of her mouth to the other—as if preparing a canvas for the first stroke of a painter’s masterpiece—Breck again thought she might literally pass out. His touch was incredible! It sent goose bumps erupting over her body—butterflies bursting forth from cocoons in her stomach! Just from his touch! If his simple touch had such an effect on her, Breck wondered if she could manage to live through a kiss from him. Could a woman drop dead of euphoria?
Instinctively, her hands gripped his strong forearms as his head descended toward hers.
“Mr. Thatcher, wait. I-I…” she whispered in an attempt to stall him. She truly wasn’t certain she could remain conscious if he kissed her.
“It’s Reese, Breck,” he whispered a moment before his lips began to toy with her own.
Reese kissed her lightly at first—kissing first her upper lip and then her lower lip twice in succession.
“Oh my heck,” Breck heard herself whisper. She heard Reese’s low chuckle.
“Can I have my kiss now?” he asked.
“Well, yeah. But wasn’t that—” Breck began. But before Breck could finish her sentence, Reese’s lips took her own in a warm, powerful, driven kiss. And it wasn’t a short peck of a kiss either! It endured on and on—deepened—warm, moist, and euphoric. Breck was instantly lost in it, returning the kiss as bravely as her shy twenty-one-year-old self could involve herself in a public kiss—with her boss!
Showers of wild, bright color exploded in her mind. Her heart seemed to skip several beats—her hands and feet going numb. And all from one kiss! She wasn’t even aware of the cheering by restaurant patrons—for the roaring in her ears drowned out any noise. She didn’t notice the super-fast snapping of Sherryl’s camera shutter or the waitress that dropped a tray nearby—stunned at what was happening in her place of employment.
Reese paused for a moment in administering the driven kiss—again kissing Breck’s upper lip once and then her lower lip twice. He smiled down at her for a moment—an expression of understanding evident in his bluest of blue eyes. Then he kissed her again, and she nearly melted in a puddle at his feet as the heated moisture of his mouth mingled with her own.
Their kiss ended far too soon, and Reese helped Breck to stand as the restaurant patrons cheered and whistled with delight.
“And now,” he said, bending to retrieve his gloves from the floor. “I must go…before your father catches me and has me sent to the gallows for threatening his daughter’s virtue.” Gently he took her chin in his hand once more. “Happy birthday, Breck.” He left then among the applause of the restaurant patrons and staff.
Breck’s knees wouldn’t support her any longer, and she slid down the wall into a sitting position on the restaurant floor.
“Oh my heck, you guys!” she breathed as her dearest friends gathered around her—delighted eyes aflame with mischief!
“Are we the greatest or what?” Kay giggled.
Barb and Trixie each offered a hand to Breck, and she accepted their help—grateful for the needed support to stand.
“I don’t know whether to hug you guys or kill you!” Breck giggled as she began to regain her composure.
“Oh my heck! You’ve even got five-o’clock-shadow rash on your cheek!” Trixie squealed, having noticed the slight pink rash left on Breck’s cheek as a result of Reese Thatcher’s attention.
Breck buried her face in her hands, uncertain whether to take flight in the blissful memory of Reese’s kiss or drop in a dead faint at the thought of having to face him at work come Monday morning.
“I say we blow this joint and head for my darkroom!” Sherryl said, waving her camera over her head.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Barb agreed. “Don’t you want to relive the moment through the magic of photography, Breck?”
Everyone hugged and giggled, and Breck could not ignore the delicious thrill running through her veins. Reese Thatcher had kissed her! It was
her wildest dream come true! And it had been nothing but pure ambrosia. How could she ever be the same? She wouldn’t—and she knew it. She knew that at some point, her heart would come tumbling down from the emotional flight it was on in those moments—but she would worry about that later. For now, all she wanted to do was live Reese’s kisses over and over and over again in her mind. She hoped Sherryl’s camera had captured a moment or two of their kissing on the memory card. How perfect to be able to look at their kiss—to verify to her mind that it actually had happened—that it hadn’t been just a perfect dream.
Reese Thatcher chuckled as he wadded the cape, cowl, and mask into a ball, tossing them on the seat beside him. The look on Breck’s face when he’d unmasked had been priceless! Utterly priceless! For a moment she’d looked like she would faint dead in her tracks. He’d never forget the way her eyes widened, how the blush rose to her cheeks when she realized it was her boss dressed up like an idiot. Her friends may have been silly, absolutely crazy, but she was lucky to have them. You had to love someone a lot to go to such lengths on their behalf. He envied Breck for having such good people in her life.
Reese had good people in his life too. But at that moment he realized how distant they had become—how distant he had caused them to become—and he felt deep regret. Still, he wouldn’t think about it. Instead, he chuckled again at the memory of the look on Breck’s face when she’d realized who he was. And he thought about her sweet kiss—how good she tasted—how soft her skin was—the vanilla fragrance of it. He thought how beautiful she looked in his mother’s pumpkin sweater and was flattered that she’d been wearing it.
He hadn’t been surprised he’d enjoyed kissing her so much—for he’d known he would beforehand. It was the fact that he’d almost not been able to find the self-control to stop kissing her when he did. He could’ve kissed her all night. Maybe it had been far too passionate a kiss for their first one, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She was just as delicious as he’d thought she’d be. More so! He shook his head, realizing that facing her at work—keeping his hands off her at work—would be all the more difficult now.
An Old-Fashioned Romance Page 4