Rainy Days and Roses

by Dawn Douglas

  Zelda sat across from him taking delicate mouthfuls of food. She lifted her napkin and dabbed at her lips, and he suddenly imagined someone else kissing these lips. And Zelda kissing back, that soft little moan coming out of her...

  “You said you were dating,” he said. “You just met the guy, so that’s getting ahead of yourself a little.”

  Her lips pressed together, almost imperceptibly.

  “And where’s this supposed to lead?” he continued, shaking his head in disapproval.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re only here temporarily. What’s the point of getting involved with someone?”

  “Maybe we’ll like each other enough to try and make things work somehow.”

  “You think that’s likely to happen?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I—”

  Zelda banged her fork down onto the table and the resounding clatter rang through the kitchen. Dan jumped. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Who knows?” she hissed. “Maybe a miracle will take place, and some man might actually like me for a change.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he said. “I was just pointing out how challenging it might be if you became involved with someone living on a different continent.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” Her voice rose, quivered. “I really need you to tell me how challenging relationships can be.”

  He’d completely forgotten she had a temper. As a little girl, if something didn’t go her way, all hell could break loose.

  “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Maybe I won’t this time.” She sprang to her feet. “Not all men find me fat and undesirable.”

  She dashed from the kitchen, her chair crashing to the floor. Dan rushed after her as she hurtled up the stairs. What the hell had she meant by that?

  “You’re not fat and undesirable,” he shouted as she slammed the bedroom door in his face. “Zelda, could you come out, please? Could we discuss this calmly?”

  “Leave me alone!”

  He lifted his hand to rap on the door, then let it drop. It would do no good. He’d managed to do the one thing he’d been determined to avoid where Zelda Marshall was concerned. He’d hurt her.

  This was getting complicated.

  Chapter Eight

  As she wiggled into a pair of black leggings, Zelda’s mood was grimly determined. Tonight was going to work out if it killed her. She’d marched herself back into the library the morning after her blow-up with Dan and handed in her completed volunteer storyteller application, complete with her phone number, to Mark. He’d seemed thrilled. He liked her. He wouldn’t back away in horror if he saw her naked.

  She slipped a green, flowered top over her head and applied mascara. Then she gave herself a long, appraising look in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction. She looked pretty damn good if she said so herself.

  Suddenly a lump formed in her throat. Her looks weren’t the problem here. There was just something about her that told Dan not to get involved, and that was why he’d walked away the afternoon he’d caught her in the bathtub. He didn’t want to hurt her by starting something up that was purely sexual. She should be grateful really, but she wasn’t.

  They’d hardly spoken for days. He kept trying to chip away the ice between them, but she’d stop him. She kept her voice cold and distant, refusing to meet his eyes. She was angry because he didn’t want her the way she wanted him. And so frightened she was falling in love.

  Squaring her shoulders, Zelda picked up the leather purse from the bed.

  “Grow up,” she whispered. “You are not in love with him. You have the hots, Zelda Faylene, and there’s a big difference.” It was a lie and she knew it.

  In the kitchen, Dan was seated at the table. He lowered the newspaper he was reading and looked up as she walked in.

  “You look pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dan had always been complimentary about her appearance, even when she was twelve and her parents sent her to fat camp. His comment didn’t mean a thing.

  “I hope this goes well for you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to sound so negative the other day.”

  “It’s okay.” She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. All she wanted to do was go back upstairs, change into her pajamas, and get lost in her library book.

  He rose and came to stand behind her. “So we’re friends again?”

  Zelda turned to him and managed a small smile.

  “Friends?” he repeated.

  She nodded.

  “Good, because I’ve missed you.”‘ He smiled his slow, lazy smile.

  Heat rushed through her. She’d never wanted to be kissed so badly in all her life.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Zelda blinked, her mind a blank. “Oh, that must be—”

  “Mark,” Dan supplied.

  “Yes.” She hurried to the door.

  “I hope it’s okay I came around the back.” Mark offered her a small bunch of flowers.

  “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” Zelda buried her nose in the sweet-smelling blossoms. “Come in while I put them in some water.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped inside.

  Dan stared at him wordlessly.

  “This is my friend, Dan Walker.” Zelda fished a vase from beneath the sink. “Dan, this is Mark Shawcross.”

  She arranged the frilly pink carnations and placed them in the center of the table. How very nice, how considerate...Yet more than ever she longed for her pajamas and library book.

  “Ready?” Mark held out his hand.

  Zelda nodded, forcing a big smile as she took it. She’d failed to realize how short Mark was compared to Dan. Mark appeared pale and insignificant, and his outfit—a tweed jacket and dark slacks—was just a teensy bit middle-aged.

  “Well, goodnight,” she addressed Dan brightly. Her fake smile began to hurt.

  “’Night,” Dan said curtly.

  Their eyes met for a brief moment. He looked at her, a grim, searching look. She didn’t understand it and turned away.

  “Is everything all right?” Mark asked quietly once they were outside.

  “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, and began to button up her coat, utterly miserable. This isn’t going to work, a voice inside her head whispered insistently. It’s all wrong.

  In a courtly fashion, Mark held her elbow and guided her to his car, helping her into the passenger seat. He started the car, and she glanced back at Rose Cottage, where Dan sat alone at the kitchen table. He said he’d missed her. She missed him too, ached inside as if she’d caught some illness.

  A chill had descended upon Rose Cottage, where once there’d been laughter, conversation, movies, and meals shared in the kitchen. For the past several nights she’d sat in her room, reading and eating a solitary sandwich for supper. She was a single woman. She was used to whiling away evenings with nothing but a good book for company, but she’d never experienced anything bleaker than those nights alone upstairs in the cottage, with Dan downstairs, so near and yet so very far away. It was as if something tender and new blossoming inside her had been crushed to death.

  The evening should have been perfect. A full moon glowed softly, adding its magical, silvery light to the candlelit window table in the upscale Italian restaurant where Mark had booked a table for two.

  The food was delectable: strands of angel hair pasta coated in a silken sauce accompanied by a sparkling wine. Smiling at Mark seated across from her chatting animatedly, Zelda knew she should be grateful for an evening away from the man who’d never see her as anything but a friend. Being around Dan was becoming more and more painful. And Mark really was quite nice looking. His wheat blond hair was thick and shiny, his eyes blue and sweet. So what if he wasn’t very tall? And wardrobes could always be tweaked.

  “So how long have you been friends with Dan?” he asked.

  “Since w
e were children.” Zelda stared down at the tablecloth, seeing Dan as a skinny teenager with lonely eyes.

  “Has he been a good friend?”

  “The best.” A lump formed in her throat.

  Mark hesitated. “He seems to have rather a surly attitude.”

  “He’s had a hard time lately.” Why were they talking about Dan?

  “Didn’t he want you going out with me?”

  “He’s just protective.” She took a sip of wine.

  Their desserts arrived, and Mark told her how much he loved working in a library, how passionate he was about the world of information, and how the role of libraries was growing and changing in the twenty-first century.

  Zelda struggled to hold in a yawn. He was so interesting, but his voice had a slightly monotonous quality. Maybe it was just the wine. And the fact she wasn’t sleeping well lately, due to obsessing about Dan.

  She forced herself to pay attention, to nod and smile. Tomorrow she’d make tomato soup with the tomatoes Elsie had given her. They’d had quite a cozy chat in the kitchen, over a cup of tea. Elsie kept three chickens, Joyce, Penny and Matilda, and their eggs were delicious.

  “Zelda?” Mark said. “Zelda?”

  With a start, she realized the meal was over and apologized for being miles away.

  “I had such a good time,” she said as Mark drove her home, a tiny bit relieved at the thought of changing into her comfy pajamas and climbing into bed.

  “It was nice, wasn’t it?” He sounded pleased. “Our community really needs more high-end restaurants. Up until now, it’s really been mainly cafes and very casual places geared toward teens and tourists...”

  Zelda’s eyelids began to droop as he droned on with a rundown of all the eateries in Bagley and the surrounding areas. She jerked awake when the car stopped, and realized they were parked outside Rose Cottage.

  Sorry,” he said. “I do tend to go on a bit.”

  “No, no.” She groggily reached for her purse. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’ve been working hard trying to get the cottage in shape, and I’m so tired.”

  They walked up the path together and at the door, Zelda turned and smiled into his eyes. “Thanks again for a great evening.”

  Gently, he reached out and trailed a finger tenderly down her cheek. Zelda ignored the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and prepared to be kissed. This was the perfect end to a perfect evening. She wrapped her arms around his neck and when his mouth touched down she parted her lips, waiting to feel something. Nothing happened. Kissing Mark was like kissing a warm pillow or a teddy bear.

  “Zelda...” His expression was embarrassed as he stepped away from her.

  “What?”

  “Some things can’t be forced.”

  “But—”

  “Ssh,” he said gently. “Goodnight.”

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek and turned away. She stared after him for a moment, not sure how to feel, before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

  The kitchen was empty, but she heard the TV in the family room. Zelda tugged off her jacket, slung her purse over the back of a chair and slumped down, then buried her face in her hands.

  Her date with Mark had been a complete failure. She should have tried harder, listened more to what he had to say, but she hadn’t been expecting a lecture on information technology. And obviously he’d found kissing her about as exciting as smooching a dead fish, but maybe if they’d kept at it a bit longer something would have sparked. She shook her head. It was useless. Mark was right—you couldn’t force these things.

  The light blinked on, and she squinted across the kitchen at Dan standing in the doorway.

  “How did it go?”

  For a moment she considered lying to try and save her pride, but guessed from his knowing look he already had a good idea of what had happened.

  She shrugged. “We just didn’t click.”

  He gave a slight nod, as if this didn’t surprise him at all, and headed to the fridge. Zelda watched him, took in the careless grace of his body. He was wearing jeans. Was he aware that his fly button was open? And why the hell did he have to go around with his shirt unbuttoned?

  “If you’re going to pour yourself a glass of milk, could you please rinse out the glass afterward?” she said tightly, rising to her feet.

  “Sure.” He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “But I was going to make some hot chocolate. Care to join me?”

  “No, thanks, I’m going to bed.”

  “Zelda.”

  His voice stopped her.

  “You’ll find someone,” he said.

  “Maybe,” she whispered.

  “Definitely.”

  She shrugged doubtfully, staring at the floor.

  “Believe me, some man is going to take one look at those crazy curls of yours, and he is not going to be able to resist.”

  Her heart twisted painfully. Why couldn’t that man be him?

  “Sure I can’t tempt you with some hot chocolate?” He grinned.

  “No, thanks.” She forced a little smile. “Goodnight, Dan.”

  Chapter Nine

  He was wrong to feel so vastly relieved Mark Shawcross was out of the picture, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Zelda to be happy, but it was so obvious this guy wasn’t right for her. Why did women always go for these floppy, twittering, blue-eyed Hugh Grant types?

  The night of her doomed first date with the height-challenged library manager, he’d wanted to say more before she went up to bed. He’d wanted to tell her he’d kept every one of her letters. But then he’d felt afraid she’d ask him why, and he didn’t know why. Or maybe he did.

  He loved her.

  Not in a bolt from the blue kind of way. He hadn’t been suddenly struck with a longing to settle down and start a family. He’d always loved Zelda. She was a part of him. She was his best friend. And he was determined not to ruin their friendship just because she’d grown into a beautiful, smart, infuriating, delicious woman.

  For two days straight, rain had been pelting down and they’d hardly left the house, but he wasn’t suffering the slightest twinge of cabin fever. In fact, a sense of contentment settled over him, holed up in the cottage with Zelda. She’d been a bit down in the mouth for a day or two after the debacle with Mark Whatshisname, but it hadn’t lasted.

  He’d walked into the kitchen this morning to find her making French toast, her bottom twitching sexily in time to a John Legend song playing on the radio. For one startling, shining moment everything had seemed right in his world. Now she was giving the back bedroom a fresh coat of paint.

  “Hey!” He yelled, climbing the stairs. “You hungry? I made some chili.”

  The bedroom door opened and her head popped out. “Excuse me? Did you say you cooked?”

  “I’m not just a pretty face.”

  She giggled. “Give me two minutes.”

  There was blue paint in her curls. Whistling, he returned to the kitchen and took bowls from the cupboard and then sliced bread. He’d smiled more in the past two days than he had in the past year, he thought, grating some cheese to sprinkle on their chili.

  Zelda walked in, changed from her work clothes into fresh jeans, and sniffed the air. “Mmm—something smells good.”

  “Come here,” he said. “You’ve got paint in your hair.”

  She stood next to him, and he wet his fingers, added a little soap, and worked at the streak of paint that had grown hard in her hair. It started to come away, and he rinsed his fingers and gently worked the bubbles from the curly tendrils above her ear. She smelled delicious.

  “There,” he said, reluctantly releasing her.

  “Thanks.”

  A little silence hung between them for a moment. Zelda took a seat, and he joined her at the table.

  “D’you feel like a movie tonight?” he asked. “I thought we could go out and find something to rent.”

  “Okay. I think we both deserve an easy night after worki
ng so hard today.” She spooned some chili into her mouth and nodded approvingly. “This is good.”

  “How’s the bedroom coming along?”

  “Wait until you see it, it’s going to be so pretty. I’m glad we decided to leave the wallpaper—I’m sure it’s vintage—and it looks perfect around the fireplace.”

  “I think my mother will like it.”

  A little of the enthusiasm faded from Zelda’s face. He thought he understood how she felt. Neither of them knew what life held after they left this place. Rose Cottage was a little oasis of peace before they ventured back out into the real world to battle their separate demons. Sometimes he wished their time here could last forever, too.

  “Shall I light a fire after we’ve eaten?” he asked.

  Rain still lashed at the windows. The gardens around the cottage were soaked and muddy; the sky above still a stony gray, but inside everything was cozy and snug, especially when a fire blazed in the hearth.

  Before Zelda could answer him, the doorbell rang. It was unlikely to be Elsie with a gift of eggs or scones in this weather. They looked blankly at each other.

  Dan shrugged and went to answer the ring. A shadowed figure moved behind the frosted glass of the door. He opened up, and the shock felt like a punch in his stomach.

  It was Faith.

  She was smiling at him, her golden hair plastered to her head, her blue eyes full of laughter.

  He couldn’t breathe for a moment. The world around receded until it held only her face and the beautiful smile he knew he’d never forget.

  “Faith,” he whispered.

  She stepped forward, straight into his arms, and he held her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body through the cold wet jacket.

  “Poppy,” she corrected him, still smiling, her eyes filling with tears.

  Dan nodded, still holding her. Of course, he’d known she couldn’t be Faith, because Faith was gone forever. It was just the shock.

  His dead wife’s twin sister released him with a soft chuckle. “Are you going to let me and Olivia in or allow us to drown on the doorstep?”