The door to the tiny market stood open, and Cee was glad to step inside and away from her thoughts.
Shelves of canned and packaged goods lined two walls. A refrigerated case stood along the other. Peanuts in an open barrel lightly scented the air. The sharp scent of dill rose as Cee walked past a pickle keg. A young woman with a baby in her arms sat in a rocker next to a cradle. “Help you?” she asked.
"I'd like some chicken salad."
The girl laid the baby down, and Cee stood looking at the tiny pink face wrinkle up ready to wail. But surprisingly, she fell back to sleep, her velvety skin smoothing out. “Her name is Kathryn, after my mother. How much would you like?"
"Pretty name and baby."
The child's mother wore her hair in a ponytail and looked very young in her denim cutoffs and green and white New Beginnings tee shirt. She wore no rings, except what looked like a silver friendship band on a chain around her neck. She shifted her stance, peering over the deli counter to look at her child, and repeated her question. “How much chicken salad would you like?"
Cee, face reddening at her temporary lapse, asked for a pound. She thought about love and marriage too much for a woman who wanted to be free. Maybe the clerk had turned down a proposal from Kathryn's father.
While the clerk ladled the creamy salad into a carton, Cee picked some other foodstuffs. Potato chips and brownies, with Romaine and bananas to strike a balance. “I'd like a few slices of that cheese as well, Kathryn."
"That's the baby's name. I'm Tina. Will that be all?"
"Sorry ... uh ... Tina.” Cee looked around and, spotting a rack of paperbacks, walked over to look at the romances, but was drawn by a mystery with a private investigator on the front that looked super sexy. The cover blurb described Charlie O'Dell as rough and ready. Adding the book to her pile at the checkout counter, Cee smiled. “That will do it, Tina."
If she couldn't spend the evening with Nick, she'd go to bed with Charlie.
* * * *
NICK LEANED BACK in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. He'd never been a “romantic"—if he and a woman hit it off, he'd let her know up-front he didn't play for keeps, and after a couple of weeks, one of them moved on. Since C.J. was only staying a week, he hadn't bothered with his no-commitment speech, but nothing had changed. Nope, he decided with a grin, he still wasn't a “romantic,” but thanks to her, he'd begun to write like one.
It was nearly dawn when Nick poured his cold coffee down the sink, but he'd finished the second chapter, and the book's heroine was opening like a rose in bloom. Bloom. Hot diggety! Isadora Bloom. He plugged in the last name. By the end of the next chapter, Isadora would start to fall in love with John.
At the end of this week, C.J. would go home and Nick would never see her again.
So what did it matter? Sure they had a good time, but he wasn't looking for commitment, and she damned sure wasn't. Nick crawled into bed and balled the pillow up under his head. Wet. His writing euphoria blasted to hell, he threw the pillow against the wall with a splat. The trailer leaked, and he had a hole in his head, or he wouldn't confuse real life with his book's romance. Celeste Joy was a socialite, willing to play make-believe to become a free spirit because her social burdens were wearing on her. He was a happy-go-lucky bachelor, giving freedom lessons while he researched female emotions, so he could write a book. They were helping each other, and that was it. There would be, could be, no love and forever after for Nick and Celeste.
* * * *
CEE AWOKE AT eight o'clock the next morning and padded to the window. Nick's door stood open, as always, but there was no sound. When he was inside his trailer, he banged around. Pots and pans. Closet doors. Sometimes, it sounded as if he was running into things. She opened her door and leaned out. His hammock was limp. Their picnic table sparkled with undisturbed morning dew. She'd lain awake with witty, wily Charlie O'Dell until two in the morning. When she turned her light off, Nick's was still burning. What did he do all night?
She exercised, showered, and ate a brownie, and Nick's trailer was still quiet. He must be doing some serious sleeping-in. Cee started writing notes, resigning from organizations and committees. She was writing her last note and eating the last of a bag of brownies when sounds began emitting from Nick's cabin. Banging. Whistling. Noisy, slightly off-tune singing. Resting her chin in her hand, she smiled and listened.
Ten minutes later, he knocked at her door. She looked through the screen at him. His grin was brighter than the morning sun, and almost as hot. She stepped outside. “You must have skipped your morning feast."
"I didn't want to spoil lunch."
"What were you doing up so late?"
"What were you doing up late enough to know I stayed up late?” he asked, tipping her chin for a quick kiss.
He made her feel so good. “Reading a mystery."
"You knew how that book would end."
"You don't even know what I read.” She smiled at his surprise. “It's by an author I just discovered, and he kept me in suspense. I bought the book at the camp store."
Nick tugged at the neck of his tee shirt. “Ready to go?"
She stepped inside the RV to belt on her fanny pack and came back to find him sweating. The humidity was low and there was a light breeze. “Maybe you shouldn't have skipped your daily fat intake. You act nervous."
"Me? Nervous? Never. It's hot already, that's all.” He reached for her hand “What'll it be, C.J.? It's your turn to choose. Today I Am...?"
What she really wanted was to learn more about him. Tugging on his hand, she led him toward the lake. “I haven't decided yet."
At the foot of the hill, he kicked a wooden crate that had washed ashore and broken apart. “We could build a raft, a la Tom Sawyer."
Nick stood feet wide apart, looking glorious with the breeze ruffling his sun-washed hair. He planted his fists on narrow hips sheathed in bleached denim shorts, and she saw him manning a raft. A vision of him washing overboard followed, and she shook her head. “Go rafting with a non-swimmer? I don't think so."
"Then who do you want to be today?"
She took a deep breath. “Could we just be ourselves?"
"You know the rules.” He wrinkled his brow. “If you define yourself, you can't become new."
"What are you afraid of, Nick?"
"Afraid?"
She smiled at his indignation. “You? Afraid? Never. Never nervous, never afraid."
"Is that a dare? Because if you think I am..."
* * * *
CEE YAWNED AND stretched against the Indian blanket. The day had been just as much fun as those days when they pretended. They'd hiked the hills and Nick, after a bout of silence, amazed her with his knowledge of animal and plant life. He'd gotten a kick out of science in school, he admitted, and liked spending time outdoors.
Afterward, he drove her to a noisy roadhouse where they ate deliciously greasy burgers and drank cold beer from icy mugs while watching people line-dance. Now they lay side-by-side between their trailers, watching fireflies. It was hard not to ask personal questions, but even with their anonymity arrangement, she felt close to Nick. Maybe their karma was real. She rose on one elbow to look at him. “Was Tom Sawyer your favorite book as a kid?"
"Yep.” Nick nodded and tickled her cheek with a blade of grass. “Yours?"
"Heidi."
"We could climb a hill and eat bread and goat cheese tomorrow."
"All you think about is food."
"That's not all I think about.” Grinning lecherously, he tickled her neck.
She grabbed for the grass. “I also loved Nancy Drew. So, I might become a detective and learn all about you."
Nick captured her hand. “Who was the new mystery author you read?"
His question surprised her. “I don't remember his name, but the book was part of a series about a private investigator named Charlie O'Dell. Want me to go inside and check the cover?"
"No.” Nick drew her nearer. “I want yo
u to stay here with me."
Giving a contented sigh, she moved her head onto his shoulder. The woman across the road called her child into bed. A dog barked in the distance. A pickup pulled into the driveway on the other side of her RV, and minutes later, a country ballad spilled from the open windows of the silver mobile. Soft and romantic, it suited Cee's mood. Nick lay on his back beside her, but when the singer crooned, “You are the wo-man I've longed for,” he turned to caress her face. Kiss her nose. And then her lips. Softly. Hungrily. She melted into his mouth, his body. He held her tightly.
"You're the wo-man I've longed for, C.J.” He said “woman” with the same deep-country accent, the same plaintive moan of the singer, as if he were joking. But his voice was husky and intense.
She stroked his face and felt a light bristle of beard. Liking the feel, she stroked it again. “What kind of woman is that?"
"One with depth,” he said without hesitation. “One with a brain.” He tapped her head. “And heart."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know a good deal,” he whispered. “I don't understand all I know. But I know you're special."
He lay back, his arms folded under his head, and looked at the sky again. “What do you see?” she asked, doing the same.
"Moonlight and mystery."
He was a rare man. His sincerity and openness touched her. “The book I read was Murder By Moonlight. The author was good but didn't have your poetic soul."
She felt Nick stiffen at her side. “I'm not poetic. Why do you keep saying that?"
"I meant it as a compliment."
"It sounds wimpy."
"Sorry, mucho macho man."
"Mysteries aren't supposed to be poetic, by the way."
She loved his laugh. “I sometimes wish we knew more about one another. I don't even know your last name."
Nick turned over on his side and looked into her eyes with a gaze so hot, she thought she'd melt. Then he drew her into his arms again and kissed her senseless. No reason to worry about being cold in Nick's bed—she was ready to tear her clothes off when he lifted his head. “I want you, C.J.,” he said, “but I promise to be patient."
She pulled his head down for another kiss. Their tongues intermingled, and they held one another so tightly, he was panting and she was gasping. She didn't want him to be patient. She wanted to be free. She kissed him hungrily, and he eased away. She was almost too much of a lady to ask, but she had to know. “Why?"
Nick reared back like she'd burned him. “You haven't come to full bl ... you haven't made your new beginning. Yet."
Cee would like to make her new beginning with him. She ducked her head. In three days, she'd be going home.
He tipped her chin. “Stay another week.” Karma. His eyes pleaded with hers, his smile teased her. The hand he laid, hot on her waist, tantalized her. “Please?” he coaxed.
She'd promised herself romance, and he'd given her a delicious taste with promises of more to come. Now, he was holding back while she itched from the inside out, wanting him. Raising her lips in answer, she wished she could stay with Nick for ... ever.
"I'll take that as a yes,” he said, and savoring his sweet mouth, she smiled into his kiss.
* * * *
CEE STUDIED HER face in the mirror. She and Nick had enjoyed a second wonderful day as themselves, further confirming what she already knew. He was fun to be with and made her feel she was, too. She fluffed her short hair, loving it. Loving everything. Everyone.
Nick wants me to stay. In the next week, we'll learn to know one another, for real. I'll find out about his family and his work and—
The phone rang. “Celeste,” Susan said. “I'm on my way home. Mark and I have chosen the twenty-sixth of September for our wedding date."
"You what?” Cee clutched her chest. “You set a wedding date without me? You and I always talk before we make major plans."
"You weren't home, and besides, we're not the only ones involved this time. Mark's parents are going to the South of France in October, and his mother's friend wants to give me a bridal shower while they're at their summer home."
Susan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Cee thought quickly. Suz had a college trust fund. Her parents had wanted her to have a higher education, and Cee was her legal guardian, so it was up to her to intervene—if the eighteen-year-old would listen. “No."
"My mind is made up, Celeste. Mark and I've chosen two weeks from Saturday for the engagement party, and his mother, Ellen, said the invitations must go out at once."
Closing her eyes, Cee pictured the old snob, looking down her nose at Suz, telling her what to do. Making Susan into the kind of socialite Harry and Daddy tried, and sadly, pretty well succeeded in, making her.
"Don't address party invitations without me.” She'd help with the engagement party but wouldn't give up trying to change Susan's mind until she'd walked down the aisle. She would miss Nick's hot, impudent smile. His husky voice. The eager way he greeted her each day. But she couldn't let Susan become a Celeste Harte clone. She had to change the girl somehow. “I'll come home tomorrow."
* * * *
NICK'S CAMPER WAS quiet. His light had burned most of the night again, but Cee couldn't leave without saying goodbye. She walked to the office to take care of business, stopped at the camp store, and returned to find his place just as quiet.
She was out of time. She'd promised Susan they'd address the party invitations tonight and mail them next morning. Taking a deep breath, Cee walked slowly across the lawn past their picnic table. Hers and Nick's. Spoons tinkled merrily in the early morning breeze. Dew glistened on the grass outside his door. Mist hung over the lake like a sparkling veil. It was a heavenly morning. The air smelled fresh and sweet. The birds’ chirping infused the day with new life. New beginnings, ending too soon.
She mounted the steps to his porch and pressed her nose to the screen.
Nick's trailer was tiny. A built-in bench and chest lined the wall on the side toward her place. Appliances and the table with his computer lined the wall toward the lake. The quartz tiger she bought him stood on the computer monitor, and her heart caught with a mixture of joy and grief. Beyond the living area, she could see a bed with rumpled sheets and a sun-bleached head.
Nick lay on his side, his back toward the door, one arm thrown over his head. The sheet hugged neatly curved buns. White buns and a sun-kissed body. Was he wearing low cut jockey shorts like the ones he'd dried by their campfire? Or was he as naked under that sheet as he had been under the Indian blanket the day she'd saved him from drowning?
She was responsible for his life, and she was leaving him.
A breeze coming through the back window stirred something yellow. Pressing her face harder against the screen, she strained her eyes. A woman with a filmy green scarf, scantily clad, leaned against the doorframe near Nick's head. Cee pressed her fingertips to her chest and gasped.
Nick rolled over in bed, flung out an arm, and a mop went crashing to the floor. Cursing, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. She took a step backward but not before he saw her. “C.J."
He popped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around him. Realizing he slept nude made her forget the mop in women's garb, but Nick stared at the creation, face flaming. “It's a kind of joke."
He glanced toward the computer monitor that displayed a color-swirled screen saver. A coffee mug and plate sat beside it. He grabbed a tee shirt off a chair and slung it over the monitor, shuffled a stack of papers into a cardboard box, and set a dictionary on top, then motioned to the padded bench. “Want to come in?"
What was he doing and why? Already uneasy, she opened the door slowly.
His masculine scents pervaded the small dwelling. Yesterday's coffee. The fresh, outdoorsy shaving lotion he wore. Her heart wrenched at the thought of leaving him. How could she say goodbye?
"Sit down while I brush my teeth. Okay?” He grabbed a pair of cutoffs off the floor beside his bed an
d stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.
Listening to the sounds of vigorous brushing, Cee swallowed the lump in her throat and looked around. Open shelves above an apartment-sized stove held a small assortment of convenience foods. An almost empty coffeepot sat on the counter. A single sink held two glasses. The refrigerator door magnet said, “Get It Done.” There were no pictures sitting around. No knickknacks except the tiger. Who was Nick? Did he have ties to anyone? She heard vigorous splashing.
Nick popped out of the bathroom, still drying his face. “A cup of mud and I'll be awake,” he said, grinning. He rinsed the coffee pot and took a coffee can down off the shelf. “So what's up?"
She wet her lips. Unsure how to tell him she was leaving, she stared at the mop. “A joke?"
He reached back in the bathroom to extract the sheet he'd worn and threw it over the fallen woman. “Private one. I mean you'd have to be there. That sort of thing."
Cee was too taken with her mission to pursue inane matters. “Nick, I'm going home today."
He dropped the can of coffee, splattering shiny dark granules everywhere. “You're what?"
"Something has come up. I have to leave."
"It can't be so important you can't stay another day."
Susan was pulling her strings of responsibility, but her feelings would be hurt if she didn't go, and Cee's mother would plan an ostentatious party she'd have to pay for. The most important thing, however, was saving Susan. She had to convince, beg, or bribe her if necessary ... to not marry Mark.
She couldn't tell Nick all that without telling him her life story. And there didn't seem much point now. When she left here today, she'd be bidding him goodbye for the last time. A single tear slid down her cheek.
Nick brushed it away tenderly. “So it's that important."
Clutching his hand to her cheek for a moment, she gazed into his lake blue eyes, nodded, and fled.
* * * *
AND I THOUGHT SHE was different. Nick watched the last swirl of exhaust as C.J. left the Joy section of New Beginnings. He hadn't expected a permanent relationship, but he had looked forward to waking up each day, knowing he'd spend it with her. And each night when she went to sleep, he'd been inspired to write. The taste of her on his lips, her scent on his shoulder where she'd rested her head, the memory of her tawny eyes and hair, awakened his senses.
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 7