Playing the Part

by Darcy Daniel

  “She laughed at you?” she asked, wanting to know what on earth could make his face light up like that while remembering something awful.

  “Yep. Because she knew exactly what that girl was doing.”

  Her breath caught. “She did?”

  “According to Mum, that girl only teased me because she was trying to convince herself and her friends that she didn’t like me. It all had to do with keeping up appearances. Mum said the teasing would’ve stopped if the girl had managed to convince herself she didn’t like me. But she kept at it, which meant she liked me… a lot.”

  Anthea clamped a hand over her mouth as the first pinpricks of tears spiked her eyes.

  “And then I looked forward to school. And I couldn’t wait for her to tease me,” he said.

  Tears spilled from her eyes and traveled over her cheeks. He didn’t hate her after all. In the end, he actually liked being teased. The relief was so great, a small sob escaped.

  Cole tilted his head and frowned. “Are you crying?”

  “Of course not,” she managed to say on a shaky breath.

  He grinned, squeezed her foot and kept massaging. “You really are a big sook, aren’t you?”

  “That’s just lovely. A girl gets a bit emotional and you have the nerve to tease…” Hadn’t he just told her that he believed teasing was a form of affection? She smiled, wiped the tears from her face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You know, I think your mother’s pretty smart.”

  His deliciously attentive hands stilled on her foot and she couldn’t miss the anguish that took the smile from his lips.

  “She was,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “Was?”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he shook his head and gently removed her foot from his thigh and placed it on the step. He rose, offered his hand.

  “Come on, you big wuss. Let me help you inside.”

  She took his hand, tested her weight on her foot. It was a little sore, but nothing she couldn’t cope with. “No way. We’re almost done. I plan to finish what I started.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What about your toes?”

  She squeezed his hand. “All better after that massage.” She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Though he couldn’t know it, she was thanking him for more than the massage. She was thanking him for forgiving her.

  Later, as the sun began to set behind her, Anthea planted the last sapling at the end of the last row. She rose, wiped the sweat from her brow and took in the sight of the field.

  Elation filled her heart as she gazed at row after row of perfect little paulownia saplings. A sense of accomplishment and pride she hadn’t experienced for an awfully long time washed over her.

  The sputtering of an engine caught her attention. She looked toward the small tin shed that had protected Cole and herself from the hailstorm. As she wandered over, the engine died. Cole unclamped a hose from the water pump and pulled a cord. The pump roared to life. He shut it off.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Hose must be blocked. We’ll have to fix it tomorrow morning.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  He swung around and grinned at her.

  “Come on. Let’s get ourselves fed. And since you’ve been such a great worker, I’ll let you have a five-minute shower.”

  Chapter Ten

  After Cole placed the lasagna in the oven and Anthea disappeared into the bathroom, Karin arrived. They sat at the kitchen table as Karin carefully removed his stitches.

  “So how’s your little payback plan going? I’m surprised she’s still here,” Karin said.

  “She’s the one who’s a surprise. Never would’ve pegged her as a hard worker.”

  Karin released a puff of air. “I bet she complains constantly.”

  Cole shook his head as Karin let go of his hand. He ran a finger over his palm where the stitches had been. “I guess she’s serious about that part she wants.”

  Karin remained silent for a long moment, then said, “You like her.”

  It wasn’t a question. And even though it was true, he felt like a fool. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  From the bathroom, the sound of the running shower stopped.

  “Okay, my mistake,” Karin said. “Anyway, I’d better get home to the old ball and chain. I’ll see you at the barbecue.”

  Cole sat there for a long moment, thinking about what Karin had said, then rose and began throwing together a salad.

  Anthea came into the kitchen and stood beside him while he chopped a cucumber. Fresh from the shower, he knew the scent that wafted over him was all her own, not a bottled perfume. It engulfed and distracted him.

  “Whoa,” she said, and grabbed his hand. “You were just about to cut your finger.” She plucked the knife from his grasp. “I’ll finish this. Off you go.”

  After taking a shower, Cole decided it might make a nice change if he dressed in something other than his work pants and pink T-shirts.

  In the bedroom, he found a pair of jeans and a nice shirt he’d never had any reason to wear. As he buttoned the shirt, his fingers shook. Somehow he’d gotten it into his head that the little celebration he had planned seemed an awful lot like a date. He shook his head and told himself to stop being absurd.

  Heading into the living room, he opened the window he’d thrown Anthea’s suitcase through. Then he put a CD in the stereo and adjusted the volume so the soft, easy-listening music would be loud enough to hear on the veranda.

  When he entered the kitchen, the smell of lasagna made his mouth water, but it still had at least another twenty minutes before it was ready.

  He opened a cupboard, reached all the way to the back and found the stems of two wineglasses. They hadn’t been used since his grandparents’ last anniversary, just over ten years ago.

  His grandparents had been gone such a long time, dying so close together, as if one couldn’t possibly live without the other. Even so, right to the end they’d worried about him. Worried that he would be stuck in a dark world all on his own if he didn’t try to resolve what had happened the day he lost his sight. They had tried their hardest after that horrific day to get him help, but he had shut down to everyone except his grandparents. No one could ever understand what had happened the way they did, so why should he open up to some stranger about it? As a kid, talking about it in therapy had made no sense to him. He still couldn’t see the point. And he still didn’t want to think about it.

  As he washed and dried the glasses at the sink, he wondered if he would ever have the type of relationship his grandparents had. An anchor during his rocky childhood, they had always been there for him, and the loving gentleness they displayed with each other served as a complete contrast to his parents’ relationship.

  Living with both couples, he saw the best and worst of what love had to offer. While his father showed him how to be the nastiest type of husband, his grandfather taught him how to be the kindest.

  Before losing his sight, he used to secretly glance up from his homework and watch his grandfather kissing his grandmother every time he came in from working the fields. Cole remembered the way he always held her for just a few seconds longer than seemed necessary, and how he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Even after Cole lost his sight, he could still see it all in his mind’s eye. Something he’d never forget, but also something he believed he’d never know.

  Finding the bottle of wine in the fridge, he picked up the wineglasses and headed out.

  As he walked toward the front door, his heart lurched. He hoped Anthea didn’t think he was trying something on. But would it be so bad if she did?

  When he pus
hed through the screen door, he jerked to a stop. A blur of colors and shapes swirled before his eyes. He blinked fast, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Slowly, the blurs swam into focus, the gentle dusk light preventing the excruciating pain he’d experienced last time.

  And then he saw her. She stood at the veranda railing in a pretty summer dress with her back to him. The warm breeze blew her long, dark hair against her shoulders and as he watched, she turned. And smiled at him.

  He’d always known she was beautiful, but had no idea that one look into her eyes would stop his heart.

  “You look especially handsome,” she said.

  Before he had a chance to take in every inch of her, the world faded. This time he tried to fight it, but the darkness returned anyway.

  Disappointment must have shown on his face, because she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “What?” He cleared his throat and tried to forget about his apparent returning sight.

  “Can’t take a compliment?”

  “No—I mean…so do you. Look wonderful.”

  “Good one.”

  Her small laugh made him smile. “I can imagine, can’t I?”

  “No law against it.”

  He strode over to the small table beside the porch swing, poured two glasses and joined her at the railing. “To a planted field.”

  She clinked her glass against his and he took a sip.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said after a moment. “All the little rows. I wish you could see it.”

  “I remember how it looks.”

  “It’s amazing, knowing what it’ll look like in a few years, knowing that what we planted will be in someone’s home one day… The sense of satisfaction. I get it now.”

  He leaned against the railing, tilted his head toward her. “You sound surprised.”

  “You know what surprises me?”

  “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “It’s you. The way you don’t even act like you’re blind. The way you walk around here like you know exactly where you’re going.”

  “I know every inch of this place.”

  “But you don’t wear dark glasses or use a cane. And your eyes…” She touched his chin, tilted his face toward her. “They’re so alive. They even react to the light. Why is that?”

  How could he tell her that he refused to use anything associated with being blind because he felt like a fraud? He shrugged and faced the field, forcing her hand to slip from his chin.

  “I don’t know,” he lied.

  After a long silence, she asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “How did it happen?”

  He tensed. This was not what he wanted to talk about. Not in this moment. Not ever. He shook his head and remained silent.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and in that simple word he heard a compassion that made him feel like the world’s biggest heel. She might be lying to him about who she really was, but he’d been lying to himself for a hell of a lot longer.

  * * *

  After finishing dinner, they settled on the porch swing with another glass of wine. Anthea stared at the stars. They seemed so much brighter here without the city lights fading them into oblivion.

  Bugs fluttered around a globe by the front door, which spilled pale light along the veranda and across their faces. Meg lay on her back, belly exposed, while Anthea rubbed the dog with her bare feet.

  Cole handed her the wine bottle. She shared the last of it between their two glasses, then reached over and placed the empty bottle on the veranda beside her. The porch swing rocked as she righted herself, the movement making her aware of the slight buzz she’d developed from the wine. She rarely drank, but liked the way it made her feel warm and fuzzy, and a little cheeky.

  “So, what made you buy the wine?” she asked.

  Cole paused with the glass halfway to his lips. “I get some every time I finish planting a crop.”

  She smiled. “But Mike said you never—”

  “Mike doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Who did he think he was fooling?

  Cole drained the last of his wine. “I suppose we should go in.”

  Disappointment swept through her. “Why? It’s so peaceful out here.”

  “We should go to bed—I mean sleep—Me. I’m going to sleep. ‘Night.”

  She laughed at how flustered he was and, as he rose, she grabbed his hand, stopping him. He turned his face slightly in her direction. She swallowed, unable to take her eyes off his strong profile.

  “Wait,” she said. “Sit down.”

  She knew he wanted to flee, but the effect of the wine made her brave enough to finally ask him the question she desperately wanted to know the answer to. She tugged on his hand, refusing to let go.

  “There’s something I’m curious about,” she said.

  “Seems to be your nature.”

  “Not so long ago, it wasn’t.”

  Relenting, he released a sigh and sat. Even though his hand relaxed in hers, she squeezed it and held on.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  She took a deep breath. “Before, when I kissed you, you said I was right. Right about what?”

  He was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said softly, “That the reality would ruin the fantasy.”

  Her face dropped. She’d known that’s what he’d meant all along, but to hear him say it hurt more than she expected.

  “I’m sorry it was so awful,” she said. “But I did warn you.” She tried to let go of his hand. This time, he held on.

  “No. That’s not what I meant at all.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “You were right about the reality ruining the fantasy, because the reality was so much better than anything I’d ever imagined.”

  Completely thrown, she looked at him. “Then why were you so upset?”

  “Because now I know what I’m missing out on…and that’s a new form of torture.”

  Stunned by his revelation, she tightened her grip on his hand. And here she’d been thinking the opposite. “But that was just a nothing kiss. There’s so much more—”

  “Don’t say that.”

  She saw the craving written all over his face. All this time, he’d wanted to kiss her again. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

  “Stop staring,” he said.

  She let go of his hand, took his wine and leaned across him so she could place their glasses on the table at his side. As she eased away, she boldly hiked up her dress and straddled his lap.

  Surprised, his body went rigid beneath her. “What’re you doing?”

  The porch swing rocked from her sudden movement. She cupped his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his in an intimate gesture. And before she could think about what she was about to do, she answered, “Torturing you some more.”

  Gently, she brought her mouth to his in a series of soft, closed-mouthed kisses. Cole responded instantly, matching her kiss for kiss. As she tilted her head from one side to the other, their noses brushed.

  Even though she hadn’t opened her mouth to him yet, her heart raced as it pumped blood right to her core. She could feel the excitement pooling there, growing in intensity from just those sweet, simple kisses. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they went further, if he touched her where she wanted him to.

  Groaning against his lips at the thought, Anthea loved it when his throat rumbled in response. She opened her mouth slightly and touched her tongue to his lower lip. When he opened to her, his mouth was on fire, hot and hungry. Yet he held back and let her take the lead.

  In the far corner of her mind, she knew she was teaching him exactly how s
he wanted to be kissed. It almost seemed unfair that once again, she was getting everything her way. But this time, she reasoned, there were no complaints.

  In a slow and intense battle of restraint, she explored his mouth with her lips, her tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth. When his tongue entered her mouth, she squirmed on his lap, wanting more contact, but knowing what she’d find if she scooted closer. And she didn’t think she possessed the restraint not to take full advantage of him. This was about kissing, nothing more. Her body might be screaming for release, but she needed to keep her composure.

  Then he touched her, and all rational thought vanished. His hands burned through the material of her dress as they came to rest on the outside of her thighs. Unable to help herself, she sighed with pleasure, deepened their kiss and trailed her hands from his face to his broad shoulders.

  His hands traveled down to her knees and found bare skin, hesitated just a moment, then slipped beneath the hem of her dress and began a steady, sensual journey upward. When her grip on his shoulders tightened, his hands stopped.

  She broke the kiss enough to say, “Keep going.”

  As her mouth met his again, his chest rumbled with what was surely the same desire that coursed through her own body.

  His fingers traveled further up her thighs, and the material of her dress brushed her skin as it glided higher and higher. When he stopped again, she whimpered in protest. Then his hands flattened, and he spread his fingers wide so his thumbs brushed against the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

  She shuddered in anticipation as those thumbs started to move in slow, maddening circles. How he knew what to do to drive her insane, she didn’t know and didn’t care. What she did know was how close she was to coming undone.

  Part of her knew she should stop this, but a stronger part wanted to let go. The way she felt seemed as new to her as it was to him. She’d never been so turned on, so out of control and uninhibited. But once again his hands stopped their ascent and she had to remind herself that he’d never done anything like this before.

  He needed encouragement, and she was more than willing to give it to him. Boldly trailing her fingers down his arms, she encircled his wrists and gently eased his hands forward. His fingers slid higher, his thumbs so close to her apex.