“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your reading level?” she asked gently but firmly, on librarian ground again.
“Around fourth grade.”
“Oh. Okay.” She wasn’t quite pale. But she was close.
“I had an excellent after-school tutor starting in the sixth grade—Mrs. Kerrison. She stayed with me—and agreed to my parents’ demand to keep it all a secret, even from the other teachers—until she died early our senior year.”
“Wow.” Cissie swallowed more champagne.
“I’m sure some teachers figured something was going on with me, but Mrs. Kerrison made it possible for me to participate at school without a lot of red flags. I don’t know how I got through senior year without her, but I did. Apart from you, very few people know. There’s my parents and Ella. She’s been helping me out with reading lately.”
“That’s why you were at Ella’s?”
“Yes. At that point, I was ready to let you go rather than tell you the truth. I’m sorry. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I was afraid you might be, the way my parents were when I was a kid—and still are. I couldn’t bear that.” He paused. “Ella was only trying to protect me.”
Cissie went to him. “I wish I could be mad at you. It’s been horrible not talking.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s why I came today. I had to see you.”
“I’m glad you did.” Her eyes were curious. Sympathetic.
“I hope you don’t feel sorry for me.”
“No, I don’t.” She searched his face. “Your parents meant well, I’m sure, but they handled this all wrong.”
He gave a short laugh. “There’s a stigma attached.”
She took his hands in hers. Her eyes shimmered with intense feeling. “Well, there shouldn’t be. And I certainly don’t care.”
“Oh, yeah?” He squeezed back.
“Yeah. You don’t have to feel on the outside anymore. I’m with you. I can help you with reading, too, if you want.”
“I’d love that.” He felt free. Wide open. There was nothing for it but to kiss her—a glorious kiss that filled the empty place that had been knocking around in him so long.
Finally, they pulled apart.
She smiled up at him. “I’m happy.”
His heart expanded even further. “I am, too.”
She burrowed into him. They kissed again, lush kisses—the cake of their celebration.
“It’s cold, but there’s a great make-out spot here,” he said. “Come and see.”
Who doesn’t want more cake?
He put on his coat and picked up a folded blanket from the couch. She wrapped up again and took his hand readily. He led her to a small, hidden copse that opened out onto miles and miles of mountains. The whole town of Kettle Knob lay spread below them. In the distance, they could see the smudge of brown, gray, and black that was Asheville.
He put the blanket out. They settled onto it together, his arm around her, their knees up.
“I want to come here every day,” Cissie said, “to see this view in winter, spring, summer, and fall.” She leaned on his shoulder. “I feel like one of the heroines in my favorite books. I’m Jane Eyre on the Yorkshire moors. Laura Ingalls on the prairie. Elizabeth Bennet in a garden at Pemberley.”
“Pemberley?”
She laughed. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but you’re in for a treat. We’ll take it slowly, but we can read those books together.”
“They sound like chick books.”
She laughed. “I don’t care what anyone says—those are classics, and you’ll love them, too. I haven’t even mentioned the heroes. They’re wonderful. And I promise we’ll get to more modern authors like Dick Frances. Murder, mayhem, mystery, et cetera.”
“I can see you’re going to throw me headfirst into this reading business.”
“Why not?” She lay back on the blanket, and he followed suit. An hour before sunset, the blue sky was deepening to an almost violet color above their heads. “You practically pushed me into that hot tub, remember?”
“Yeah, I do.”
They both laughed.
He settled himself over her. Smoothed her hair back with his free hand.
“I can’t believe I’m with a librarian,” he murmured, “and the sexiest librarian of all time at that.”
She smiled. “You’re a lucky guy.”
“I know. And not just because you’ll give me my own custom reading list, either.”
“Which is actually a great perk. But you’re lucky because I care about you. A lot.” She looked up at him, her eyes pools of acceptance, desire. He also saw peace, and in their deepest depths, war. This girl was a fighter when she needed to be.
He could tell she was ready to fight for him.
To help him.
To make love with him.
Boone decided then and there that he never wanted to be with anyone else. But he wasn’t sure how to tell her that. He should be able to. He really should. He’d revealed a big-ass secret, and she hadn’t kicked him to the curb.
If only he’d practiced telling girls about his dyslexia a long time ago.
He wished he could see—really see—what was happening with Cissie, so he could untangle all the emotions coursing through him. He was crazy about her, of course, but what if that feeling was tied into being extremely grateful to her for accepting him for who he was?
Yes, Ella had known, but she’d been almost required to like him because she was her mother’s daughter.
Love was a big concept. A huge concept. And an honest romance like this—which he’d never experienced before—was complicated, especially when you were with a girl who daydreamed about the heroes in her favorite books and you were just an average guy.
He’d think about it later. Meanwhile, there were Cissie’s breasts, which needed attention. “It’s nippy,” he said, and unbuttoned her shirt.
She chuckled. “We need to have a name for this kind of fooling around. The outdoor kind with clothes on when it’s cold.”
She gasped. Maybe because he was teasing her puckered nipple, smoothing it out with the heat of his mouth and tongue.
“How about we call it polar-bear sex?” He caressed her other breast with the flat of his hand. “But you have to take everything off.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,” he said. “One, two, three, go!”
They sat up. Ripped their own clothes off.
Hollered.
Laughed.
Lay back down and got each other warm real fast, except the parts of them that weren’t. The contrast made the hot spots that much sweeter.
They made out like kids, his erection pressed hard against her belly one minute, then her inner thighs. The kissing, the caressing suddenly wasn’t enough.
“I want all of you,” Cissie breathed.
He lifted his mouth from the sweet indentation above her collarbone and kissed her deeply.
She clasped her legs around his hips, her shins attempting to cover his freezing cold rear end.
“Cissie,” he said against her mouth, then dove into her, deep, filling her, feeling like he was at the center of the earth, its very core, where heat ruled and energy expanded—
And knew he’d arrived home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Attending high school football games was the social thing to do in western North Carolina—the place to see and be seen, and this year’s final game of the season was extra special.
For four decades the rivalry had stood between Kettle Knob Academy and Black Mountain Prep. They were celebrating the cherished tradition with the usual trophy presentation after the game for the winner and speeches from the coaches, but they also had a dais covered in bunting representing both schools and chairs for both mayors and various VIPs from Buncombe County.
Boone’s parents were there, along with a lot of their wealthy business contacts and coun
try club friends, including Janelle. At 5:30, the winter sun had already set, but in the stands the shiny new tubas and trombones the elder Braddocks had bought for the school gleamed in the lights from the field, making Kettle Knob Academy look good.
Boone wanted to be proud of his parents’ financial contributions to bettering the town. But he was too embarrassed by the lopsided nature of their donations. They’d never given a dime to the library, for example, which he hadn’t noticed until Cissie brought up that point. They’d also never donated to the theater. Sure, they had a right to pick and choose what organizations they wanted to support—and they supported many. But it was painfully obvious that anything involving a Rogers got overlooked.
He was on the sidelines talking to an assistant coach when he saw Cissie out of the corner of his eye, sitting with her family, Laurie, the Hattleburys, and that British guy she’d told him about.
Boone’s heart rate kicked up just seeing Cissie’s face.
But he had a game to help these boys win, and he needed to focus. Black Mountain had had a very good season. Kettle Knob couldn’t afford to slack off in any way. Boone’s boys had worked their butts off, and the cheerleaders had gone the extra mile with banners and fun activities to get the school ready to support their football team.
At half-time they were down ten points when the Kettle Knob football players came off the field, looking dazed and distraught while the two school bands showed off, the cheerleaders did complicated routines, and the kids in the stands went crazy with spirit.
“No blame, guys.” Boone’s tone was firm. “We need to focus on turning this game around. Now huddle up.”
He wasn’t the popular guy he used to be. Not by a long shot. But all of them did as he asked. A few players wore guilty expressions. Others looked away, anywhere but at him. And then there were the defiant ones who stared right at him, their brows lowered.
“I’ve got a story to tell you,” he said. “And if this story doesn’t make you want to go out and kick some major Black Mountain butt in the second half, then nothing will.”
A few minutes later, the whistle blew on his last word. Perfect timing. Almost celestial. Maybe the brother he never knew was looking out for him. Or Grandpa Faber. Or maybe the universe was giving an honest man a lucky break.
But the boys didn’t move. No doubt they were in a little bit of shock. But there were grins, too, grins Boone hadn’t seen in a long time.
The team captain clapped hard, three times. “Come on, guys. Let’s get ’em!”
And then it was like a nuclear bomb went off. The team sprang into action.
Boone paced the sidelines, his throat tight with emotion. These were good boys on the verge of manhood dealing with certain harsh realities of life, like other teams that might be better no matter how well they played, and coaches who’d made mistakes. Yet right before his eyes they were proving that they weren’t succumbing to fear or disappointment.
The remaining two quarters were intense. Brutal, in fact. But those boys fought like they never had before. And they won. They came back with a touchdown and two field goals and made sure Black Mountain didn’t score, hard as they tried to.
Boone had never been so proud to be a coach. He crossed the field, shook the hand of the other coach, and reveled in Kettle Knob Academy’s victory as his players gathered around him on the field.
“We did it for you, Coach!” the team captain said, his words echoed from player to player. There were no defiant glares. No drawn expressions.
Only exhilaration.
Back at the sidelines, a defensive lineman threw a big cooler of Gatorade over Boone’s head—just what he needed on that super cold day. But he didn’t care.
He was one wet, happy coach when he arrived at the portable stage, which had been pushed out onto the field at the fifty-yard line.
Cissie was already in her chair. “Congratulations, Coach Braddock,” she said warmly but with all her professional boundaries in place.
“Why, thank you, Mayor Rogers.” He held her gaze maybe a second too long than was warranted between a coach and a mayor at a town event. But he couldn’t resist.
The mayors started out by commending both teams. Cissie was engaging and funny as she spoke of the old rivalry, and Boone was totally impressed by her polished yet warm delivery. Then the Black Mountain coach said a few words, after which Boone found himself accepting the winning team’s trophy on behalf of the Kettle Knob Knights from Cissie. When their fingers touched, he wanted to stay there—in that moment—their eyes meeting over the trophy, her expression filled with something that made him hope that she was proud of him. He wanted to please her more than anything he’d ever done.
But he still had something to do on the field, another part of his Big Plan.
“I promised my athletes,” he said into the mike, “boys who have inspired me with their courage to face the hard things, to share a story with you.”
He felt Cissie’s supportive presence behind him, but he faced the crowd in the stands, determined to set things right with the rest of Kettle Knob. “The truth is,” he said, “I can’t read very well. I have dyslexia. Last time I was tested, back in high school, I read at a fourth grade level.”
A half beat of silence went by. But teens loved drama, so he wasn’t surprised when some benign hoots and hollers erupted from the stands. Maybe even some adults joined in—he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He was standing firm in his truth, no matter what.
He told them about Ella being his tutor, and her mother before her. “I thought that if people knew,” he said, “I wouldn’t belong anymore. But I see now how wrong that thinking was. I put limits on myself. And by hiding my dyslexia, I turned my back on a community that I believe would have supported me if I’d asked for more help.”
Hell, he’d nearly turned his back on love.…
While the crowd clapped wildly for a good ten seconds, everything finally clicked into place. That was what he had with Cissie.
True love.
He wasn’t merely grateful to her because she accepted him. Look at all these people … accepting him, too!
No. Love was what had given him the courage to confide in her. Love was why he was standing out here in front of hundreds of people baring his soul.
Love had made him a better, braver man.
He needed to get his adorable, exasperating, wonderful librarian out of circulation once and for all.
Impatiently, he waited for the clapping to stop. He told everyone that he wanted to go to college so he could come back to Kettle Knob Academy as a political science teacher. He praised Wendy, the school principal, and the faculty at Appalachian State for all their encouragement and practical support.
“I’ll drop in as a volunteer assistant football coach starting this spring,” he said, “but with hard work”—he paused, gripped by how huge his commitment would have to be—“hard work that my students have shown me by example that I can handle if I commit myself heart and soul to it, I’ll be back full-time someday. Meanwhile, I hope Kettle Knob Academy and Black Mountain students, staff, and faculty will help me pass the word that dyslexia doesn’t have to be a barrier between you and your dreams. Thanks for listening. And to the boys on both teams, thanks for giving us a great game tonight.”
It was done.
There was a second or two of silence, but like a growing storm, the enthusiastic clapping was joined by foot stomping, beating snare drums, and people shouting, “Go, Coach! We’re proud of you!” and “We love you, Coach Braddock!”
“Thanks,” he said over and over, hoarsely. “I love y’all, too!”
Both bands were playing the same song now, a recent pop radio hit that got your blood moving.
He’d not linger on regrets. He had a great future to think about. As a matter of fact—
He had to get to Cissie.
And then he saw her out of the corner of his eye, her expression tense as she raced away without trying to speak to him. Not t
hat she could. He was being mobbed by well-wishers, but still—
She hadn’t looked happy.
For a second, he had the old, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach: he didn’t belong. Cissie had had a chance to think things over and changed her mind about him.
And if she had, it would be his fault—not because of his dyslexia but because he’d held back from her at the cabin. He should have told her he loved her.
Some five minutes later, he broke away from his friends and colleagues. They’d been hammering him with questions, hugging him, advising him, and one even cried on his shoulder (a former Kettle Knob Academy classmate who’d hidden her dyslexia all these years, too).
As he headed to the parking lot, he realized that his parents hadn’t come anywhere near him. But that was their problem.
Cissie hadn’t left him a text, but he decided not to text her—not when she’d looked so distraught. His plan was to drive straight to her house instead and speak to her in person.
But a siren sounded in the distance. Then two.
He went on instant alert. Something in his gut told him that whatever the emergency was, Cissie knew about it, too.
Janelle was waiting for him by his truck, dressed to kill in a maroon catsuit with a black necklace—Kettle Knob Academy’s school colors.
“Congratulations,” she said around a wad of bright pink gum in her mouth. “Great speech.”
“Thanks. I gotta go. I want to follow those sirens.” He jumped in his truck and turned on the ignition.
She tapped on the window.
Reluctantly, he rolled it down.
“I have to admit,” she said, “I’m shocked you can’t read.”
“You and everyone else.” His impatience was building. “And I can read. Just not that well. Yet.”
“You haven’t been at the country club lately.”
“I don’t need to anymore,” he said. “I’m not the face of Kettle Knob. Cissie Rogers is. Have you asked her to join?”
“No.” She tossed her hair artfully over her shoulder. “Out of respect to the Braddocks.”
He was mad at himself for getting sucked in, but he couldn’t leave that comment unchallenged. “That’s an old story that’s run out of steam, that Braddocks and Rogerses don’t get along. And you trying to stigmatize the Rogers clan is immature, Janelle. I remember the days when you were better than that.”
Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 29