Hope Falls
Page 6
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Misty’s voice comes out small from the back as if those king-sized bears had somehow sound-proofed the entire truck. “Why don’t you decide where Nolan and I should go? I’d like to go to the Cove, and he thinks breakfast for dinner at Sue Ann’s is a responsible adult decision. Not that I could fault him”—and here it comes—“Nolan usually has his daddy make his reasonable adult decisions for him.”
Our eyes connect in the rearview mirror, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to stop. Whether or not Misty is aware of it, she hit below the belt. Her mouth falls open as if in that split second she understood, but I try to play it off by looking out the window at the pines swaying in the wind, the snow that’s spraying from their branches in a flurry.
Mattie May brushes it off as she opens the door and gets out before I can help her. “Why don’t you kids go to one restaurant tonight and another tomorrow? Ladies first.” She winks at Misty. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get inside before my back goes out on me. I haven’t had this level of excitement since my cousin, Ola May, was in town nine years ago, and we canned an entire peach tree.” She hobbles toward the bed and breakfast as quick as she can. “Hang on to those teddy bears for me, would ya? I’ll get them situated some other time.” She’s in the door before I can protest.
Misty moves into the front seat with a gloating look on her face—her lips lusher and hotter than before, if that were possible.
“The Cove it is,” I say as I turn back out onto the main road with our furry button-eyed children gawking at me from the back seat with their vacant stares. “Since dinner is on me, I’m assuming you’ll be ordering the lobster and the steak.”
Misty belts out a laugh. “As if I could ever hurt you when it comes to the wallet. That is, unless, you’re one of those miserly deep pockets who sits at his desk all day counting his shekels. Let me guess. You cringed at how much cash you had to part with this afternoon?” That incessant grin on her face lets me know that in the least she enjoys the thought.
“I’m not miserly, but I’m not exactly in a hurry to throw my money away either. I know the value of a dollar.”
“That’s a feat, considering you have over a billion of them.” She scoffs at me as if it were the greatest crime. Truthfully, it’s the one crime that damned me all those years ago, so in that respect she’s right.
“And after that fair, I’m about seven hundred dollars shy of a billion.”
She pretends to look at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “And there you go. You’ve just earned it back in interest. Another one percenter’s problems solved by complex interest bearing mathematics.”
The turnoff to the Cove lies up ahead and Misty says, “Don’t take the left. Just keep going straight until we hit Main Street. I’m open to finding neutral ground. You did make that woman’s entire day. That blue bear back there is testimony to that.”
“What’s this?” I cock my head as I ready to tease her. “Misty Baker is singing my praises? Is there a blood moon out tonight?”
“Nope. It just got a little nippier in hell.”
A dull laugh pumps through me. That’s exactly when she said we would be back together—when hell froze over, but I’m betting she forgot that little horns and tail detail.
“If that’s the case”—I nod toward Main Street—“maybe we should forgo both dinner and breakfast and head straight for dessert.”
Her mouth falls open, and the jackass in me eyes that tiny pink tongue of hers while I imagine where exactly it is I’d like for her to put it.
“Two Scoops?” she asks, marveling at my genius. “That sounds perfectly perverted on this thirty-one degree night. And I happen to like it.”
“If you like perverted, then honey, you are going to love me.”
Misty belts out another one of her born-in-the-belly laughs that rattles me in a good way—all the way down to my creaky bones. It makes me feel good to see her so happy—to hear her laughing at something other than myself. Wait, she’s laughing with me and not at me, right?
I slip into a parking spot just outside the carnival style eatery, and I can’t help but note a three-ringed theme. My life has always been a circus in one respect or the other, so in a way I find this easy to accept.
I zip out of the truck fast enough to help her out on the other side. The snow in the gutter below is soupy, and I use the wet excuse to take her hand as she steps out and over to the sidewalk. But Misty doesn’t let go of me until we’re halfway down to the ice cream parlor. Back in the day, Misty and I spent our fair share of time at Two Scoops. It’s safe to say that Hope Falls holds all of the good memories that I have ever had.
Misty’s fingers press into mine as if offering a peace treaty—an apology. I would never want her to apologize. Everything that’s happened to us is all my fault, and we’re both well aware of that fact.
We head into Two Scoops and both order the very same thing, mint and chip, just like we did that summer all those years ago.
“You ever think of what could have been?” I ask while licking clean the periphery of my sugar cone. Years ago, Misty would get her ice cream in a cup, but tonight she opted for a cone like me, and I can’t help but wish that she’s trying to send me a signal. My heart thumps wild at the prospect.
“Yup.” Misty gazes out the window at the navy night unfurling before us like a winter scene painted on velvet. It’s almost too beautiful to believe, but it’s not the night that has my tongue paralyzed from taking another lick. It’s what she’s just said that stuns me. “I often think of what it would’ve been like to stay in Hope Falls. Had I chosen to forgo finishing college, I would probably run the inn by now. I’ve always had a special place in my heart for that B&B.” She shakes her head as if fond of the old place. “But I chose to finish out my bachelors, went to grad school, too.”
“I’m glad. You deserve the best that life has to offer. Where are you working these days?” I’ve cyberstalked Misty enough to know that she’s taught English at a community college for the last two years, but it’s been a while since she’s posted anything about her career. And now, admitting that to myself, I feel like a complete and utter ass. Who the hell did I think I was prying into her life like some lowlife peeping Tom? When she told me to stay the hell away from her all those years ago, she probably meant laying off the Google searches that involved her life as well. I couldn’t help it, though. Especially not when she married that nitwit. I drank a fifth of whiskey the day of her wedding, and I drank a fifth of whiskey the day she announced her divorce was done. I felt like an ass both times. And oddly, I felt wholly responsible for both of those traumatic events that took place in her life.
Her cheeks take on a deep amber hue as she struggles with the answer. “Here and there. I’m working part-time at a local college, but soon I’ll be upgraded to full-time if I want. I’m doing a bit more reading these days than working, but I’ve got something else lined up in the near future,” she admits while casting a quick glance to the ground.
“Reading, huh?” Our eyes lock, and that perennial ache that I get when I look at her returns with a vengeance. “How about we finish these bad boys and scoot next door to the bookstore?”
Her eyes widen with delight. “Are you kidding? I’ve been salivating to head over there ever since I landed in Hope Falls.”
“Good. The books are on me—as many as you want. Shop all night. I’m thrilled to do it.”
She frowns, and it dissipates just as quick as it came. “You realize that it’s a secondhand bookstore and the books each cost a dollar, right?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say as we finish our cones. “I’ve never been out to impress you with my money.”
Her mouth falls open, but thankfully rounds out to a smile. “Just what exactly are you trying to impress me with?”
“My bulging muscles as I carry all those books out for you.”
We share a quick laugh as we head down Main Street. The moon sprays over t
Her hand brushes against mine before our pinkies link over one another. It’s not a whole hand, but I’ll happily take it. I’m beginning to wonder if Misty wants me to read between the lines.
Maybe, just maybe, she’s willing to forgive me.
Three
Tender is the Night
Misty
Nolan holds the door open for me like the gentleman he is pretending to be, quite convincingly actually—as we make our way into Read Between the Lines, Hope Falls’ one and only secondhand bookstore. The instant that door swings open, the sweet, thick scent of precious books fills my senses, and I acquire an instant contact high. I’ve been a bookworm from the time I was old enough to hold a tangible piece of literature. There’s nothing I’d rather do on a rainy day than to snuggle up with a good paperback—and as painful as it is to admit, books have been my healing salve all these years without Nolan by my side.
A deep moan of approval hits me, and Nolan leans in close, his hot mouth close to my ear.
“Don’t get too worked up, sweetie. You haven’t hit the romance section yet.”
“Very funny.” And just as my mood hits its fuzzy warm zenith, it dips right back into iceberg territory courtesy of the dark Knight settled by my side. “Is that supposed to be some kind of a swipe at my momentary lack of a bedmate?”
“Momentary what?” He looks genuinely affronted by his own stupidity. Trust me, I want to say, I am, too. “No.” He winces as if the conversation just got out of control, and believe me, if he’s dragging my underused vagina into this, then we’ve just skidded and hit black ice. “Misty.” He steps in with a pleading tone, his eyes all but begging for forgiveness. I’ve already turned him down in that respect, but there’s been something pumping underneath the surface of my scaly heart, wondering if I should allow him the mercy. What harm could it do? So many years have washed by. Aren’t I over it? Over him? “I would never imply anything negative in that sense. I simply thought”—he frowns as he scours his own scant thoughts—“that it might be something you’d like in your life.”
“Romance?” My brows hike in amusement. “Yes, Nolan, as a matter a fact, it is. And in the event you were teasing me for my assumed taste in reading, then I laugh in your face.” I manufacture a quick haw-haw that sounds more like a defunct tractor trying to kick-start rather than anything even close to comical. “In fact, I’m going to make a beeline over to the romance section right now and see what kind of offerings they have for a desperate spinster like me.” I stalk over, and to my dismay Nolan trots along like a lost puppy. But I ignore his panting, his lusty plea for attention and peruse the selections—shirtless, hot men adorn just about every cover, and I snap them all up as if I were rescuing orphans from drowning on the literary Titanic. “Make yourself useful.” I scowl as I shove a stack into his waiting arms. I snap up book after book, not bothering to read the jacket blurb or the first and last page, as I’m prone to do. Thank God for ebooks because my patience for actually getting to the end rather than skipping to the good part has increased markedly with the tiny electronic device. Although my bank account isn’t so keen on it. Who knew one-clicking your way through the weekend could add up to the sum-total of a small nation’s gross national product? But my mother has always prided herself in the fact she’s raised a reader, and I’ve never been one to let my sweet mother down. I snap up a few books off the hot and spicy section and plop them onto my growing to-be-read pile erecting like a skyscraper in Nolan’s arms.
“See this?” I hold up a black paperback with a simple picture of a man’s tie on the cover.
“What? No naked dude?” He winces as if the lack of studly flesh suddenly offended him. “You want to put that back or burn it in retribution?” His dimples dig in with pride at his non-witty remark, and I gasp.
“Would you shush? You’re going to get us kicked out of here! Save the book burning jargon for when you’re a safe distance from learned people. That’s an offense worthy of stoning in a bookstore where paperbacks and hardbacks alike are precious and considered something to be treasured, put out for display, petted, and licked once in a while.” I point to the naked tatted-up guy on the cover of the book I last plopped in his arms. “I very much plan on licking him first. But as I was saying”—I wag the book in my hand over his face—“it’s the seemingly innocent covers like this that you have to watch out for. It’s the bat signal for exceptionally sexy times up ahead. That book”—I glance down at my new tatted book boyfriend—“is for reading at bedtime, but this book and its far from innocent intentions? I’m saving this bad boy for the bathtub.”
“The bathtub?” Nolan looks mesmerized as if I’ve just flashed my boobs and used them as a pendulum to hypnotize him. I’m sure his perverse mind is reeling with the wet and wild possibilities.
“That’s right only the steamiest of reads can share my precious bath time with me.” I pile a few more books on top before a sweet elderly cashier complete with blue curly hair and wire rimmed glasses drops off a shopping cart.
“Do your best to fill it up, you two!” She wags a wrinkled finger at us as she scuttles back to her post.
“I love how cute she is.” I sigh because this is a genuine sentiment. “I can’t wait to grow old.”
Nolan slides the bevy of books in his arms into the cart avalanche style. “And with all these bad boys to keep you company, you will never be alone.” He organizes the paperbacks into a series of high rises and shakes his head at the haul. “That’s a lot of books to lick.”
Just as I’m about to cut him to the bone with another witty remark, my eyes snag on those lips. For a man, Nolan Knight has full, luscious lips. Lips to die for. Kissable lips as evidenced by my behavior the last few days. It’s not that his kisses are repulsive. It’s just that I’m pretty sure I’ve been sending him all the wrong tongue-twisting signals.
“Good thing I’m not opposed to licking the right books.” I swallow hard, still focused on Nolan Knight’s perfectly beautiful mouth. “Or kissing them.” Where the hell did that come from?
Nolan doesn’t miss a beat. He steps in front of me with that broad chest, that buttery soft forest green flannel I’ve been dying to stroke all afternoon that actually sets off his eyes and makes them glow as if he were inhuman. My heartbeat ratchets up with a fury as if I were about to take a flying leap from the world’s tallest building. I know what I would be thinking all the way down. What a waste of time it’s been on this Earth without Nolan by my side. And then my next thought would be, why did he have to turn out to be such a lying bastard?
He comes in close, his lids partially closed, his own breathing picking up pace as if we were in some exhausting silent race for two and the finish line was in the depths of one another’s mouths.
“Misty”—he closes his eyes a moment as if he were drugged—“I don’t want you licking these covers.” A sad smile takes over. “Or kissing them.” His brows knit with sorrow. “And I don’t want to see you growing old with books.”
“I’m probably going to grow old with books anyway.” It comes out breathless as my body inches closer to his, our heads magnetizing toward one another as if an unstoppable force is about to conjoin us at the mouth—not that I would object. It’s just that it’s making it all that much harder to maintain a consistent level of hatred when I keep losing myself in these kissable lapses of judgment.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Nolan says it as a fact. I’ve long suspected that the man has a God complex, what with the billions in the bank, and the women practically begging him to take their vaginas hostage. It’s a tall task to maintain sanity for a mere human.
“You’re not going to kiss me.” I do my best to sound as obviously in control as possible, but in truth, I’m freefalling right off the tallest proverbial building, my heart already fearing what waits at the bottom. I promised myself I would never do this again, never do Nolan again. I had already ridden that crazy train and landed a room at the broken heart express. No thank you. I don’t do crazy. “I’m going to kiss you.” Nope, I don’t do crazy. I am crazy. I am clearly certifiable.
I lean in, and our lips meet with a soft, savory kiss. We linger, moaning with delight as I wrap my arms around his neck, his own arms finding a home around my waist as they warm me. Nolan Knight enters my mouth like a thief, like a liar, like all of the things he so obviously is. He is a thief because he stole my heart, and now there is no human way to get it back. He is a liar because he lied about who he was, and I was the target of his deception. He is a thief and a liar, but he owns me in the worst way. Nolan’s sensual, magic-infused kisses make those once unforgivable sins dissipate to nothing and morph into a couple of oil-covered sparrows that muster the power to fly far, far away.
We kiss in the bookstore, under the large hand-painted sign that reads Romance as if paying homage to the genre itself, a living billboard for all to see.
But romance isn’t something that Nolan and I can ever seem to get right. At least not together.
Days drift by with Mattie May pulling Nolan and me in all sorts of crazy directions as we cross things off the bucket list left and right. We’ve built a snowman, spent an entire afternoon bowling as Mattie did her best to earn that ever-elusive strike, saw a double-header at the movies—a rom-com and a horror flick all in the same day, asked the fire chief to give us a tour of the firehouse, even though it was clear Mattie was gunning for a ride in that big red truck of theirs, and as fate—and a hundred bucks slipped to the chief per Nolan’s never-ending wallet, she scored it. We all did. What we haven’t done is talked about any of those kisses I’ve doled out in a stunningly voluntary manner. That last kiss at the bookstore was by far the hottest, steamiest, most diary entry kiss of them all—not that I keep a diary, but God if I did, that kiss would have eaten up pages and pages. I’ve always secretly suspected that bookstore kisses were the very best kind. And being the diligent bookstore patron I am, I ended up purchasing every last paperback I stuffed into that cart. Nolan tried to wave his dollars around, but I’m a quick draw with my Visa, and I was hasty to ninja my way into a little more debt. Speaking of debt, my new job starts in just under a month, and I haven’t breathed a word of it to Nolan yet. I hinted at it when we briefly touched on my career, but I didn’t dare say it out loud. Last summer, I applied for a teaching position at Whitney Briggs University. It’s the same university where my brother, Seth, is a junior, and thankfully, he’s fine with the idea of me setting foot on campus. But Nolan? His ego will inflate the size of a Macy’s parade balloon when he finds out I’m moving to Hollow Brook. I’m terrified at what he might think when I tell him. For obvious reasons, I need to say something. God forbid I casually run into him at the market, or at the movies. He’ll think I’ve morphed into a stalker or something. And with all of these easy kisses I’ve been doling out, I’ve given him no reason to think otherwise.
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