The more Nick said, the crazier what he'd done seemed. “It doesn't make sense."
He inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly. “I didn't understand women and couldn't tap into Isadora's emotions to make her come alive on the written page. You're deeper than any woman I've known, and I thought you could help me learn."
"Let me get this straight. You'd only dated airheads, and I had sense. So you taped my face on a mop so it could become your heroine. Then you tried things out on me to see how this Isadora-mop would react?"
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I hoped I'd put it better than that."
Cee poked a finger in his chest. “You set me up with games and picnics and romantic evenings."
"No. I didn't. It just ... in the beginning, maybe."
"You admit it.” She tapped her finger against his chest to accompany her rising voice. “You used me for research. You used me to learn about women.” She jabbed hard. “You used me."
Her father and Harry manipulated her, but she thought Nick liked—loved—her the way she was. She lowered her voice. “Like Susan said you would."
"C.J.” He reached for her hand. She tucked both hands between her knees. “I can explain."
She closed her eyes against the summer day. She could smell the roses, hear Marianne's gardener running the mower, feel the sun on her skin, but nothing seemed real. Nothing was real. It was all fiction. Nick used her when she thought he loved her.
She'd felt guilty when she took the manuscript from Susan's room, but with each page she read, she'd been drawn in more. Reading was like living the story. When they made love, she felt as if she was Isadora.
Wait a minute. Cee's eyes flew open. She was Isadora. And John was Nick.
The story was different, but the emotions were the same, and the lovemaking familiar. Her cheeks burned. She grabbed Nick by his shoulders. “You scum. You wrote about us making love."
"I did?” He glanced sideways to one of her hands, then the other. “I mean I didn't."
If he thought she was going to choke him, it wasn't a bad idea. “You wanted this book so badly, you took me to bed and told me you loved me. You made love to me and wrote about it.” She shook him.
"If it seems familiar, it's because our lovemaking is all that's real for me."
"You expect me to believe that now that I know you write romantic fiction?"
"I'm speaking from my heart."
"I followed my heart when I should have used my head. Now, I see why you plan to move away. Your romance is finished, so I'm of no further use."
"No matter how we started, I fell in love with you. If there are similarities to real life, they're not intentional. I'll burn the book if that's what you want. Just try to understand. Please.” He tried to pull her into his arms. “C.J., sweetheart, I do love you."
If he did, he was short on judgment. “I should have known when I found you lying in a hammock, waiting for mañana, that you were irresponsible. In the real world, people have real jobs. Mop ladies, games of pretend, and romance writing are charming, but they're not love. And they're not real. They're fiction. Just like our relationship."
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Chapter Ten
NICK SAT ON the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. Cee admired his rootless way of life but thought he should get a real job. She liked him to be fun loving, but thought he should quit playing games. Lying in his hammock was charming, but irresponsible. She loved him until she found out about the book. Now he was dog meat. The weird thing was, he understood.
He'd wanted to understand this woman, but it would be easier if he didn't. Then he could blow off her tirade as unreasonable, emotional behavior rather than accept it as an angry goodbye and somewhat-justified retribution.
If he used her, he never meant to hurt her. She'd opened up new worlds for him, allowing him to write about love and know what love meant. She'd changed him for the better, and he was willing to trash the manuscript, but she hadn't even acknowledged his offer. Nothing he'd said made a difference. She'd ordered him out of her garden, out of her carriage house, and out of her life.
He walked to the window and looked down at the empty terrace. She had agreed to let him stay in the carriage house one more week while he kept his commitment to his father. Nick's time was running out in more ways than one. He had to write the book's ending. Stroking his quartz tiger for luck, he set it on the computer monitor and sat down at the keyboard.
John took the job he'd yearned for in the city, and he and Isadora said a goodbye. Soon, he discovered that without her, his job was meaningless, as was his life. He went home and wrote songs and asked her to marry him. She accepted but said he needed a job first, and as mayor, she could offer him one as street cleaner, animal warden, or custodian at the courthouse.
Nick wiped out what he'd written and started over.
John took the job he'd yearned for in the city, and he and Isadora said goodbye. Soon, he discovered that without her, his job was meaningless, as was his life. He went home and asked Isadora to marry him. He got his old job back and she ran the town. He resented the hell out of his bride.
Nick started again. John took the job he'd yearned for in the city, and he and Isadora said goodbye. He found someone else and...
No.
John took the job he'd yearned for in the city, and he and Isadora said goodbye. Soon, he discovered that without her, his job was meaningless, as was his life. He went home and asked Isadora to marry him. She accepted with tears in her eyes. “Clout doesn't matter,” she assured him. “Neither does money and style.” So, he took a job training horses, something he'd loved doing when he was younger. Isadora loved horses, and John, and one day they would own a farm where they'd raise mares for their children to ride.
After the wedding scene, where Isadora and John pledged their love forever, Nick wrote “The End.” And none too soon. It was almost the end of August. He propped his chin on his hand. That was it then. His hero and heroine's lives were settled, and when he gave the book a title, he'd put his manuscript in the mail.
The book would sell, he felt sure, but would cost him more than he'd make. Dawdling over his keyboard, he thought about Moonstruck. When she threw him, he didn't give up. Was he giving up on C.J. too easily? He hadn't said everything he wanted her to hear. She'd said things he hoped she didn't mean. He was grown up, and she liked Today I Am as well as he did. Yeah, the mop lady was a little foolish, and the bet was downright stupid, but both were fun.
The bet. He'd forgotten to tell her about the bet. If she knew what the stakes were, she'd understand why writing a romance was so important to him.
Or maybe she wouldn't, since she didn't think writing was a real job. There were thousands of writers who'd take offense at that remark, and he was one of them. Writing was harder than construction. Bingo! Nick smacked his hand down on the keyboard, shooting gobbledygook across the screen.
Construction was a real job.
His dad needed another supervisor, and Nick needed a job with regular hours and paychecks, so C.J. would see him as responsible. A man who was ready for marriage and commitment. Since he turned eighteen, he'd been on the move, changing jobs, but he was ready to settle down now, with the woman he loved. He wanted to wake up to C.J. every morning, build homes in sawdust and sunlight, and return home to make love to his wife at night.
Nick Dennis was ready to commit. He'd take her someplace romantic, give her his news about the job and ... propose. Nick's hands shook so that he could hardly punch in her number on the phone. This was what he'd wanted all along; he'd just been slow to admit it.
The phone rang, and no one answered. It rang again. And again.
Squaring his shoulders, he stalked across the yard. Susan opened the door and smiled. “I didn't think the phone was for me. Cee's gone for a walk."
"Which way did she go?"
"She likes to be alone when she's upset, and she's very upset with you. I wouldn't t
ry to catch her. She'll be back.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Susan leaned against the doorjamb. “I called off my wedding."
"Wow. That's big news."
"I haven't told Cee yet. I may still marry Mark but not this soon.” Susan came out and sat on the doorstep. “I'm going to college."
He sat beside her. “I have big news too. I'm going to work for my dad and ask Cee to marry me. Is that okay with you?"
She nodded. “Why are you going to work for your dad? Don't you like to write?"
"Sure, but I like building houses too. Winters are slow. I can write one Charlie book a year, or maybe two."
Susan smiled. “No romances?"
"This one got me in hot water."
"I don't see why. It's a beautiful love story."
"Tell that to your sister-in-law, will you?"
Suz nodded again. “Who should give Cee their news first?"
"You. She's been praying for yours."
"She told me to do what I wanted. It was my choice, not hers. I didn't think she'd ever see that, but she did."
Nick grinned.
"Mark and I don't laugh and tease like you and Cee. I want to be sure."
C.J. would be thrilled. Her plan worked the way she wanted. Seeing them as a happy couple had impressed Suz.
Footsteps sounded on the front sidewalk. He could make it across the lawn before she rounded the house. “I'll scram. Call me when you're through."
* * * *
NICK GRABBED THE phone on the first ring.
"Cee's in a good mood now. Time to make your move. But you better hurry. She's headed out to cancel my wedding arrangements.” Susan sighed. “I have the job of notifying all the guests."
Nick loped down the steps and around the side of the carriage house. Seeing C.J. headed down the sidewalk at a fast clip, a smile on her face, he headed her off. Her smile disappeared faster than an ice cube in a sauna. “Can we talk?” he asked.
"There's nothing to talk about.” She dodged across the street and he followed, nearly tripping over a fireplug.
"You ought to go out for the Boston marathon,” he grumbled. She walked faster. “C.J., please stop. I told you I'd trash the book.” She tossed her head. “I might have used you a little, in the beginning.” She sidestepped a big man with a small dog on a leash. He did the same, and the dog yapped shrilly. Nick raised his voice to be heard. “Then I tried not to use you and didn't realize I was, but the two romances intertwined."
"Like I said, our love was fiction.” She flung the words over her shoulder. She had a delightful swing to her hips that he'd have enjoyed if he weren't hell-bent on catching up.
They'd covered two blocks in as many minutes, and he'd begun to pant. Soft living had put him out of shape. A sign announcing a catering service hung over a door just ahead. If Cee ducked inside, he'd never get to talk to her. He lunged, caught her arm, and spun her around. “I have something important to say."
She blinked and touched her throat. They stood on the edge of Montclair's small downtown area. His hand rested lightly on her elbow. The sun peeked out from beneath a cloud. “Please listen to me,” he said gently.
C.J. led the way across the street to a tiny corner park with one bench. Sighing, she folded her hands in her lap. In her yellow blouse and shorts, she looked as bright and fresh as the daisies that danced around the flagpole. A cannon half-hid them from passersby. An American flag flapped gently in the breeze. Traffic rumbled slowly. Cotton candy from a street vendor's booth sweetened the air. He wouldn't mind living in Montclair. “I made a wager with Dell. If I won, I got to live in his cabin at the lake for a year. If I lost, I had to go to work for Dad like Dell thought I should. Looking back on how angry I was with my father, you can understand why I'd want to win so badly. Right?"
She narrowed her eyes. “What was this bet about?"
"Let me finish. I'm going to turn down the lakeside cottage because it's too far from Dennis Rustic Homes and you."
"You lost."
Nick shook his head and chuckled. “Technically, I won, but Dell gets what he wants. Ironic, isn't it?"
"What did you do to win?"
"Wrote a romance, and I was having trouble, but that's where you came in."
"You used me to win a bet?"
"Yes. I mean, no."
"You ... used ... me ... to ... win ... a ... bet.” She jabbed a finger in his chest with each word. “A bet that would take you to the lake where I wouldn't see you again. First I'm research, and now that you've written the book, I'm—” She threw up her hands and searched the sky for a word. “Yesterday's newspaper."
She was supposed to laugh, not shout. She must have missed the irony. “You're not listening. I'm giving up the cabin I won rent-free for a year. Because I want to,” he added hastily.
"Humph.” She flounced off, dodging traffic as she crossed the street. He jumped out of the way of a bicycle and caught up with her. “Now, I understand why you moved on me so fast,” she fumed. “You had to win the bet so you could keep on writing and put a solid roof over your head so your precious computer wouldn't get wet.” She stopped to poke him again. “I fell right into your lap, offering you an apartment, a love story, and more."
"You taught me about love. I taught you freedom. Is that so unfair?"
She turned on her heel, walked right past the caterer's shop, and kept going. He reached for her but caught only a handful of humid air. She dashed into a supermarket. He followed. “What are we doing in here?"
"I'm here to cool off."
The frigid air inside the market should do it. Or maybe he felt the cold shoulder she was giving him. He exhaled, expecting to see his breath.
Cee dashed down the produce aisle. When he caught up, she was thumping a watermelon with such vengeance, he was glad it wasn't his head. “I moved on you because you're beautiful and intriguing."
She moved to the cantaloupes and picked up one to smell it. He'd hoped to propose under different circumstances but might never get the chance. “Your RV was hung up and you needed my help. Lucky for me.” He leaned against the melon counter with an arm on either side of her. “Later, I needed your help, and you saved my life.” He grinned.
"Forget it.” She waggled the ripe-smelling fruit in his face. “You're responsible for yourself."
"Celeste Joy. Sweetheart. I want to be responsible for you.” She buried her face in the melon again. He took a deep breath. The produce department wasn't a prime place to propose marriage, but it was now, or make a trip through canned goods. If he did it right, maybe she'd remember this as a romantic moment.
He dropped to one bare knee between the pears and peaches. “Celeste Joy Harte, will you marry me?"
She dropped the muskmelon with a splat. “Do what?"
Shoppers turned to stare. Nick felt his face turn red but he kept his knee on the cold tile and looked up at her imploringly. The smell of ripe melon filled the air. Lucky for him, it hadn't landed on his head. “Marry me, please. I love you and I'm going to take a day job with Dennis Homes, work regular hours, and settle down. No more hammocks or romance books. No more fun and games. I'll bring home a steady paycheck every week. How about it, C.J.? Please?"
She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. “No.” She breathed the word.
"No?"
"Absolutely not."
He stood quickly, realizing what a fool he'd made of himself.
She scooped up the busted cantaloupe, dropped a handful of bills on the checkout counter, and ran out the front door. He walked slowly, with all the dignity he could muster.
She was waiting outside. “Let's talk."
If she'd agreed to talk when he wanted, half the town wouldn't know their business, and she wouldn't own a mushed melon. She dropped it in the nearest trashcan, and he let her take the lead. She went back the way they came, past the caterer's.
He spun her around. “If you marry me, we can use Susan and Mark's date and place and you won't have to cancel."
&
nbsp; Cee poked him in the chest. “How did you know they aren't getting married?” He grinned sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes. “I can't believe Suz is in cahoots with you."
"You wanted us to be friends. She learned to like me."
Nick followed Cee down an alley that came out on a narrow street. Benches faced a pond where ducks swam tranquilly. He wished he were a duck. She sat on the closest bench. He sat next to her. “Would you care to explain why you won't marry me?"
"You're selling out, Nick. You were my idol. Living freely. And now you're throwing it all away to work nine-to-five."
"Seven-thirty to four. Half hour for lunch."
She didn't smile. So much for humor. “I'll be able to go to bed when you do at night. No more late hours.” He was groveling now and hated himself for it.
She tossed her head and the breeze rippled her short golden hair. The sun had lightened it more. “You taught me to be free. Now you're throwing in the towel."
"I'm throwing out my hammock which is a helluva lot more precious than a towel. You wanted me to take a real job. You wanted me to be responsible and steady."
"No, Nick.” She took his hand in hers. “I want you to be you, free and breezy."
"You said—"
She put a finger to his lips. “Things I didn't mean."
"Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't marry me?"
"I don't want to get married. I want to love and enjoy one another."
"Live together or apart and date?” He couldn't keep the chill out of his voice. “That's for kids."
"If you live in the carriage house, we could choose between my bed and yours. Breeze back and forth. We're still young, and it's a sign of the times."
"I can't believe you mean that.” He rose to pace, and a bag lady wearing a straw hat with a purple rose stared at him. He sat down again. “In a small town like this, word would spread and embarrass Susan."
"I'm not her mother. She's going to college. We'd be discreet.” C.J. shrugged.
At one time, that might have sounded good, but he'd changed and had to convince her that change was for the better.
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 16