Kiss or Kill Under the Northern Lights

by Susan Johnson

  “What are best friends for?” His lips pouted, but there was warmth and humor in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry about this week.” She needed to come clean, confess, and let the cards fall as they may, but she also needed her friend. “Want a cookie?” She picked up the plateful and moved it to the counter near him.

  “You made more?”

  She nodded, admiring the way his face softened, his easy, forgiving nature, a constant source of kindness. “For you. I hadn’t intended to give away all your cookies.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” She tilted her face to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. He moved. She miscalculated. She caught him on the lips. Her tummy fluttered in a kaleidoscope of nervous excitement, of fear and joy and hope.

  He didn’t move. Not one inch. Not one breath. Their lips were touching, soft skin and sweet warmth. Neither stirred, as if caught in a still photo, stunned by the flash. Then, feeling dizzy with emotion, steadying herself, she laid her hand over his heart, and his mouth brushed tenderly against hers. Sweet as brown sugar, he kissed her. Touched her. Light testing caresses, letting the pressure build, taking it slow. His hand cradled her cheek, cherishing her, while the other pressed hot against her back. He drew her in, taking more, asking more, touching more. Melting into his embrace, she silently confessed. Her lips parted, breathing him in. He owned the kiss, the heat, the pace. Wrapped in his arms, she couldn’t help the soft mewing, the sound of her pleasure. The whimper broke the spell.

  He pulled away, backpedaling toward the door. “I’m so sorry, Doll.”

  She steadied herself against the counter, trying to make sense of what was happening. The chemistry had her on fire, and he had stopped. Sorry?

  “I need to go.” TJ wrenched open the back door.

  “But—”

  “Please forgive me.”

  “But—”

  On his way out, he muttered, “Lobotomy.”

  It was the best and worst kiss ever.

  9

  Day 7—Matters

  He said he was too busy to talk. The same lie she’d told her mother.

  An evening breeze drifted off Lake Superior, cooling the crowded patio and music-filled streets of Canal Park, fluttering the skirt of Megan’s white halter dress. She pulled her lilac sweater over her shoulders, giving up on kitten tricks. TJ would either accept or reject her.

  Squeezed in around the table, surrounded by friends, she clutched TJ’s birthday gift, hugging it to her body. Any minute he’d stroll in, teasing a dance out of her, and by the look in his eyes, she’d know they were okay. She worried her lip, over the kiss, the avoidance, day seven, and why he was so late. She should have told him already. She’d tell him right now if he’d show up. But his chair sat empty, a symbol of fading hope. She’d never felt so alone surrounded by friends, pretending to smile over gossip and jokes. Brody looked her way and shrugged. Every so often a girlfriend would give her a tight, pitying smile, trying not to look at the gift. They all knew. She could see that now. Everyone knew she loved TJ.

  Tilting her chin up, resisting the stinging need to blink, she held the tears at bay. The first evening stars pierced through the darkening purple sky, and her heart ached, bruised. If anything bad had happened to TJ, she’d crumble from the pain. If he was avoiding her, if this was his answer to the possibility of love, then…She pressed her fingers to her chest as if the pressure would keep her heart from breaking, and continued to wait, too miserable to move.

  When the final band took the stage, her tears spilled, burning her cheeks. Napkins were tucked in her hand; soft words filled the space around her. She focused on her friends through watery eyes.

  “What if something happened to him?”

  “I’ll find him,” Brody said.

  “I was going to tell him…you know…”

  “I know. It’s time he does too.”

  TJ knew it was flat-out wrong, but his heart couldn’t take more. In the bar around the corner from his Meg-doll, he studied his beer, thinking about the kiss. A blonde with curvy lips and a figure to match sat next to him, drawing circles with her fingertip on his knee. Numb, he didn’t care. His only care was his Doll, but he couldn’t hang out with her and some other guy. After yesterday, and that accidental kiss he’d taken advantage of, he couldn’t bring himself to face her. The thought of her loving this tomcat made his heart feel like it was crumpling in on itself. She didn’t need his sad face hanging around on her big night.

  The blonde gave him a solid whack to his back, jarring him out of his self-pity. Only the lady had transformed into a burly man.

  TJ blinked and said, “Brody, come to join the party?” and started to flag over the bartender.

  “No need. Throw some cash on the counter. You’re out of here.”

  “Thanks, but I’m rather fond of this stool.” He wasn’t drunk, but he’d like to be.

  “I didn’t ask.” Brody motioned toward the door.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Megan.”

  “Can’t.” TJ scrubbed his palm over his face.

  “She’s falling apart.”

  That changed everything. “What’s wrong?” TJ rose, tossing money on the bar. “The guy?”

  “He is a colossal idiot,” Brody said, scowling at him. “Go fix it.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Exactly where she’s been for hours. Waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.” He nodded, his mind racing.

  “TJ?”

  “What?”

  “Run!”

  Too late. TJ rubbed his side, while a group of Meg’s best female friends frowned him down. With reluctance, they pointed him toward a quiet area of Canal Park. The hostility gave him a prickling sense of unease. By the time he found her, he was in a full-out panic. With her head bowed, she sat on a bench, a gift on her lap, looking incredibly beautiful and broken.

  “Doll,” he said in a hushed tone, his feet coming to a stop. She lifted her face to him. In the moonlight, he saw the wet trails of tears on her cheeks, hurt and anger as she met his eyes.

  “Hey.” He sat down next to her, uncertain what to say. He wanted to cradle her to him, but something was off. His aching panic twisted to fear.

  “Hey, yourself.” She looked away.

  “Tonight didn’t go well?” He eased into the subject.

  “Go well? No. It didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I should have listened. You told me it was a bad idea. I was warned.” She stabbed a finger at him. “The Tomcat said so. Don’t, he said.”

  “Slow down. Tell me what happened.”

  “What happened? You should know. You stood me up! Even if you don’t feel the same, you didn’t have to humiliate me in front of our friends. Leave me sitting clutching this stupid gift all night.” She shoved the red, book-sized package with rumpled ribbon to the far side of the bench.

  “You’re mad that I didn’t show? I thought this was about the guy—”

  “You are the guy, TJ! I’ve been trying to tell you all week. I’m in love with you. You. Are. The. One.”

  “I…” Shocked, he struggled to absorb what she’d said. “I didn’t know.” He was too scared to believe. It sounded too good to be true. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I tried! Every day this week! I kissed you! Everyone knows, TJ. Everyone!”

  “Doll, please calm down.” He put his arms around her, pulling her to him. “I—”

  “No.” Her hand went to his chest. “You ditched me. For who? Someone better than your best friend? Some good-time girl?”

  “It’s not like that—”

  “There’s lipstick on your collar!”

  “I didn’t.” He looked down and saw red-hot evidence of the flirtatious blonde. “I didn’t! Please believe me.” He peeled the tainted shirt off over his shoulders, ridding himself of the blonde, watching his Meg-doll rise.

  “I need space.” She stepped away, dodg
ing his hands as he followed, reaching for her.

  Desperate, he blurted, “I love you!” Then he waited for her to fall into his open arms. “Doll, I love you too,” he repeated.

  Her hopeful eyes searched his, pooling with hurt. Then they narrowed, and she said, “I appreciate the effort, but I’m done.” She dodged his touch. “I’m going home.”

  “Don’t,” he begged, but by the set of her chin, he knew she was gone. Knowing her that way, so well, it burned deep.

  When he could no longer see her white dress against the night, he lowered himself to the bench. Wadding up the soiled shirt, tossing it to the dirt where the grass wore thin, he cursed, feeling lost and empty. He broke her faith in him. He broke her heart after she tried so hard, telling him she wanted a family, baking him cookies, that slinky dress, her kiss—he’d refused to see the truth. His pride—no, his heart—couldn’t afford the vulnerability to hope for more and be wrong. Her rejection would be too painful. Lifting the gift, turning it in his hands, he took in the worn edges, evidence of her worry. His grip tightened. If only he could start the night over, it should have been the greatest night of his life. He would have danced with her, laced their fingers together, grinning while friends teased them about taking so long. He could have sipped a beer with her tucked against him, watched her smile while he opened his gift.

  He tore off the paper and rested his hand on the unmarked box. Whatever lay inside, he knew it was Doll’s way of saying he mattered. Day seven, he snorted in self-deprecation. Lifting the lid, he felt his throat tighten as he peered at the photo. Her smiling face was turned toward the camera as they stood side-by-side. A young him was looking down at her, grinning. They were in the high school drawing class where they met. The top photo in a stack. Each photo showed the same happy couple, different settings, different years. The last image was framed, from dinner at her parents’ house on Saturday. He’d been sitting on the patio when Megs wrapped her arms around him from behind. They were smiling at each other, looking in love. A small envelope was tucked between the glass and the frame. He opened the card. It read:

  For your birthday, I give you my heart.

  He hung his head, eyes burning, while the night fell cold and quiet around him.

  “Meg-doll, you love an idiot. But I’m smart enough to know I’d better win you back.”

  10

  Let Me Know That You’re Mine

  Megan woke up needing space and a big-ass suitcase. Squinting through the teary blur, she struggled to pull herself together. A hot shower, clean clothes, and waterproof mascara were as far as she got before the banging started. She’d anticipated that TJ would show, but clearly, he didn’t respect the sticky note on the door, which read:

  GO AWAY!

  After fixing her ponytail and chucking her hairbrush in the suitcase, she stomped down the hall, flung open the door, and stopped short.

  “Doll,” he said in a soft voice, looking exhausted and hopeful. “These are for you.” He held out a stunning bouquet of garden roses in a mix of gorgeous Valentine shades, from the most tender pink to flaming red. His hand trembled.

  “I need space, TJ.” Keeping her chin up, keeping the pooling tears in place, she turned her back.

  “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

  Hazarding another glance, she was struck by his wrecked appearance. Her voice strained as she whispered, “Please go.”

  Walking toward her, shaking his head, taking up all the space and air in the room, he said, “No. We’re going to do what we do best.”

  Knowing it was a mistake to ask, she said, “What’s that?”

  “We’re going to be here for each other. We can work this out.”

  “I can’t.” She choked on a cry, wiping at her cheek.

  Then he did something so shocking he disarmed her. He sang. Peter Gabriel. Poorly. Stunned, she let him close the distance. There was never anything so crazy awful good.

  “TJ, please don’t do this,” she said, pressing her fingers to his lips.

  Taking her hand in his, pulling her close, he never skipped a beat. His voice softened next to her ear, singing about feeling lost and needing her to feel complete.

  “It’s that boombox movie scene, isn’t it? Say Anything.” The sweet tone-deaf man was making her nuts. Couldn’t he see she was trying to protect them both? Slipping through his fingers, she ran down the hall, hitting the bedroom just as he belted out the chorus.

  “TJ!” she shouted his name, not sure what else to do.

  “Right here, Doll.” He followed her, every muscle in his body looking strained.

  Dropping the flowers on the bed, he said, “What happened to, ‘You had me at hello’?”

  “Now you’re doing Jerry Maguire?” She panicked.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I thought you loved this mushy stuff? I thought you loved me? That’s what you said.”

  “TJ, you need to stop being my friend right now. You can’t be doing this to make me happy. To be nice. To fix us. It’s too much to ask.”

  “I’m not doing this to be nice!” he rasped, arms outstretched. “This sucks! I’m doing this because I never had the guts to tell you how I feel.”

  “So you’re not just being nice?”

  “Nice! This is way beyond nice, Doll.” He took a step closer. “And what is this?” He pointed to the suitcase. “You’re running away to Grand Marais?”

  “I need space to figure things out.” It had sounded like a good idea, but she wasn’t sure anymore. “The lipstick on your—”

  “Nothing. Some girl got too close while I was out drowning my misery. Because I thought you loved someone else.”

  She felt her face heat hearing his words.

  “But as long as we’re on the topic, do you know why I date so many girls? Do you? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I want this one special girl I thought I could never have.” He pointed at her.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh! Is that all you have to say? You need more proof of my love?”

  Her eyes cut a glance to the bed.

  His smoldered. “Doll, laying you down is going to be fireworks. Better than fireworks. Northern Lights awe-worthy. Epic. But first, you need your proof.” He took her hand, pulling her with him outside.

  “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I couldn’t tell you, so I did that.” He waved an arm towards her stunning landscape. Mature magnolia trees, old-fashioned sweet-scented roses, the new bench placed in the perfect spot catching the morning sun and afternoon shade, nestled into a bounty of flowering foliage.

  “TJ, I didn’t know.” She squeezed his hand, awe tugging at her heart.

  “By design,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers, leading her toward his truck.

  “Where are we going?” She wanted to stay in the heaven he created, soaking it in with his arms around her. Nowhere could be better than here.

  “The parade. Proving my love, setting the record straight. I’m going to kiss you in front of your mother and let the whole town know you’re mine.”

  “My mother would love that—she’d cheer like a maniac—but I don’t need more proof.” She reached for him, touching his face. His lips were so darn sexy, the love in his eyes so tender.

  “So you believe me?” He drew her in, flashing an irresistible grin.

  “Kiss me, TJ. And I don’t mean the chocolate kind.”

  “What?” His eyes shined with amusement.

  She ran her hand over the stubble on his chin, and she forgot the question. “Kiss me already.”

  “Doll, I’m going to rock your world.” His lips claimed hers, making her smolder. When her knees were about to give out, he pulled away.

  “You know what?” His voice was low and husky against her ear.

  “Hmm?” He was driving her mad.

  “I’ve been thinking up my own seven-day plan.”

  “And that is?”

  “Wooing my beautiful best friend into saying yes to something sparkly that
comes in a tiny box.”

  Her gaze jumped from his lips to his eyes. “You mean—”

  “You mean the world to me, Doll.”

  “But you mean—”

  “Patience, love.” He touched a fingertip to her lips. “Today is day one.”

  “What happens on day one?”

  “I kiss you senseless, turn you into putty, and help you unpack.”

  “And day two?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  About the Author

  Angie Speed has a passion for writing flirtatiously fun stories, bouncing with romance and lip-curving adventure. She lives a quick walk from the Minnesota side of the Saint Croix River with her husband (star of her real-life romance), two teenage sons and two goofy little dogs. She graduated with a studio arts degree, because the university didn’t offer one in how to channel your inner crafty goddess and loves anything and everything creative. After years of daydreaming meet-cutes and proposals, she jumped wholeheartedly into a writing career. Hobbies include pottery, relaxing by the water, anything funny, sampling new recipes, procrastination in the form of chocolate, and of course, reading a good book!

  www.angiespeed.com

  Courting the Nanny

  By Nancy Pirri

  Helen Jameson turned away from the man she loved when rumors were spread that he had betrayed her with another woman. Years have passed, and Helen finds herself having to serve the man she once and still loves as a nanny to his twin boys, as a way to pay off her brother’s gambling debts to him.

  Elliott Falconer has wanted to marry Helen for as long as he can remember. He forgave her for not trusting him and believing a lie. Now that he has her in his home he hopes to rekindle the romance and make his long-time dream come true.