Fighting Love

by Melissa West

  “I knew it! You kissed Zac Littleton!”

  “Dude, you didn’t tell us you kissed her.”

  Sophie spun around to find Charlie and Brady standing between their booth and Fresh Foods’s, Zac’s head dropped in aggravation as the brothers asked a thousand questions as though she weren’t standing right behind them.

  And then she realized it wasn’t merely the Littleton brothers who’d picked up on the conversation. Annie-Jean and Patty were both staring her way. The mayor was outside Zac’s booth, questioning him on what this meant for the town, while Rick went on about who he should stock at the grocery store if she and Zac were to get married.

  Finally Zac shook his head, and she thought for sure he was regretting the whole thing when he said, “Screw it. You want answers? Here’re your answers.”

  He hopped over his booth and started for hers with purpose, his face so tense she considered backing up. He leaned over her table and took her face in his hands, his mouth covering hers before she could ask what he was doing. For a moment she tensed, but there was no denying her body’s response to him. She gripped his shoulders and pulled him toward her, but in her damn flats, she couldn’t reach him properly. So she did the only thing she could—she climbed onto the table, every part of her desperate to be closer to this man.

  Not a thought went through her mind of where they were or who might be watching until she finally pulled away and her gaze dropped to the table, her on her knees, her chest pressed firmly to Zac’s, and he released a deep laugh that rumbled through both of them.

  “I’d say that about settles it. This”—Zac pointed between himself and Sophie—“is a thing now. Just thought y’all should know.”

  * * *

  “So this a thing now, huh?” Sophie asked playfully as she turned down her street, her phone pressed to her ear, a smile fixed in place since their kiss at the market.

  Instantly, Glenda had demanded to know everything, and Sophie assured her she would divulge . . . as soon as she figured it all out herself.

  Something demanding Zac’s attention had happened at Littleton Farms, so he had to leave the market before they could have a real conversation, but he promised that they would talk tonight. Except Sophie had never been the patient sort, which was why it took less than ten minutes after leaving the market for her to crack and call Zac, eager to hear his voice.

  “Didn’t you hear? It’s big news. All over town, in fact.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And what does this being a thing stuff involve exactly?”

  “A little of this, a little of that. Kissing required, clothes optional.”

  She laughed. “Forever the flirt.”

  “Only with you.”

  Her heart warmed as she parked outside her house and tapped her keys against her steering wheel, wishing their date was right now instead of hours from now. “So your place.”

  “My place. I’m doing the cooking thing. Prepare to be wowed.”

  “Really? I didn’t realize you cooked.”

  “I’m a farmer.”

  “So am I, and there’s no fancy cooking to be had here.”

  “You cook.”

  “Oh no, I bake. Big difference.”

  “Ah, I see.” Then Sophie heard someone calling for Zac, and he said he had to run before reluctantly hanging up.

  Now she had two hours to kill and no idea what to do to fill the time.

  Then she thought of the wheel that still needed to be chalk painted and distressed and then waxed, so maybe she could do that to fill the time and prove she was indeed changing.

  With resolve, she started for her front door, just as a text from Zac came through.

  So, I’m thinking a slasher movie tonight. Research how many times they call and hang up before attacking. Thoughts?

  She laughed and started to text back when her gaze caught on the bright green vase of overflowing wildflowers sitting on her front porch.

  Wildflowers.

  I hate wildflowers. Real flowers are more delicate. Like a rose. You might be a wildflower now, but trust me, soon we’ll turn you into a rose.

  A tremor moved down her back as goose bumps popped across her skin. It couldn’t be. He didn’t know she was here, didn’t know how to find her. She was safe.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been a fool.

  Picking up the flowers, she read the card: For being a nice girl.

  Nice girl?

  Then it clicked—Zac. He’d commented yesterday on her being nice, so he must have sent these and the note as a joke. That had to be it.

  She quickly pulled Zac’s text back up and sent her own.

  Nice girl, huh? We’ll see about that. P.S. Thanks for the flowers.

  She clicked Send, then unlocked her door and went inside, her heart growing lighter with each step. Zac had sent her flowers, something she hadn’t received in a long, long time. More and more, she thought maybe this would be different. Maybe—

  Her phone pinged with a new text, and she set the vase on her kitchen counter. She picked up the phone and read the text, only to have the phone slip from her grasp, clinking against the granite countertop.

  Flowers? Not me, though I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t think of it first. Guess I’m not your only admirer.

  Sophie peered at the flowers, so innocent in their vase, and immediately rushed over, grabbed the card, then turned it over to find the name of the florist who’d delivered them. With trembling hands, she dialed the number and waited, her heart picking up speed, a thousand thoughts running away in her mind.

  “Truth’s Gold Florist.”

  “Hi there, I was hoping you could help me. I just received flowers, but there’s no name listed on the card for me to offer my thanks. Can you tell me who sent them?” Sophie’s voice was rattling, but she couldn’t force it to even out. Not until she knew.

  The florist was from a neighboring town, so not directly local, which meant this could be from a customer who’d been by the farm. Sophie often tossed in extras with each of her orders, and she liked to randomly send baskets to the hospital for the nurses who worked such long hours and rarely received the thanks they deserved. There could be a logical explanation.

  “Sure, let me see what I can find for you. What’s your name?”

  Sophie rattled off her name and address, while praying that it was just a customer. Just a thankful nurse from the hospital. Anything or anyone other than him.

  “I’m sorry. There’s no name listed, and the person paid with cash.”

  Cash. So he couldn’t be tracked.

  No. Stop freaking yourself out, Sophie.

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  She hung up and paced her small kitchen in search of answers. Again, maybe it was someone offering the same anonymous gift to her that she did to others. But why couldn’t she stop shaking?

  Her phone rang in her hand, and she dropped it again, this time onto the hardwood. “Ugh.” Her new iPhone now had an impressive crack in the display. She reached to pick it up just as her home phone rang, and her eyes drifted up slowly. The phone continued to ring—long, painful cries—but Sophie couldn’t bring herself to answer the call. Because if no one answered, if she heard nothing but that blood-curling scraping sound, she might fall apart right this second. And she was stronger than the Sophie who fell apart . . . she had to be.

  She waited until the phone stopped ringing, then unplugged it from the wall, taking away her temptation to answer it and confirm her fears.

  The wheel, focus on the wheel. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched—someone inside her house or out, eyes on her, was watching her every move.

  Her cell pinged again with a text, and she reluctantly picked it up, only to release a breath of relief.

  Can you come over a little early? Carrie wants you to do her nails.

  She grabbed her bag
from the kitchen barstool, her keys from the counter, and quickly typed back:

  On my way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dad, I need the nail polish remover.”

  “In your bathroom, right side of the vanity.”

  “How about cotton balls?”

  “Right beside it.”

  Zac shook his head as he realized how much he knew about nail polish and the things needed to remove it. There was a time when he’d have looked dumbfounded if someone had asked him how to remove the stuff, but he’d done it himself too many times to count now, always eager to fill the mother gap for Carrie.

  But today, she hadn’t asked for his help. She’d glanced at her sandaled feet, her hair in a ponytail she’d fixed in place herself, because he’d never been good at that kind of thing, and asked if he thought Sophie might be willing to help her. He said of course, even before he’d texted Sophie, knowing she would be happy to help, and now she was headed over, invading their world.

  So far the only real interaction they’d all had together was those few minutes before his and Sophie’s first date. But this would be different, and he wondered how Carrie would take it—if she’d wonder what would come of this and what that would mean for her.

  “Hey, got a second?” he asked just before she disappeared down the hallway.

  “Yeah. Need help boiling water?”

  He grinned. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so,” she said, so much his kid it hurt.

  “Well, I wanted to ask, you know, what you think of this?”

  She studied him. “You mean your outfit? I don’t know . . . seems a little casual, but I don’t know what women like Sophie like. Does she like casual?”

  “Not the outfit. The date itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  With a long sigh, Zac turned down the stove eye and walked around the kitchen island to stand before his daughter. “I mean, do you have questions? Are you worried? You know you are my top priority, no matter what, right? That no one will ever come between you and me.”

  “I know. But I like Sophie. I like that she’s going to be around. She’s nice, and she’s very pretty. I’m thinking she could teach me how to do makeup.”

  Zac choked on his next words and began coughing. “Makeup?”

  “I’m getting older, Dad, and most of the girls wear a little.”

  Twelve-year-olds wear makeup now? Before he knew it, they’d be having conversations about bras, then dating. He needed a drink. And a class or six on how to handle a preteen girl.

  “Well, Aunt Kate could help with that.”

  “I know. But she’s busy a lot, and I’d like to . . .”

  “To what?”

  Carrie-Anne shrugged her small shoulders and peered up at her dad. “Have my own person to ask, you know?”

  “Oh.” A pang of hurt surged through him, but before he could dwell on it, the doorbell rang, and Carrie took off running to get it. “She’s here!”

  So much for Carrie not becoming invested. She already had hope that this would become something more, and he’d just started seeing Sophie. But then again, the truth of it was . . . so did he.

  The door opened, and Sophie stood there still in the same shorts and blouse she had on at the market, her face pale, nothing about her resembling the happy person he’d seen earlier.

  “Sophie!” Carrie said, wrapping her arms around her, only for Sophie to flinch and then realize who was in her arms.

  “Hey, sweetie. How are you?” She threw on a smile that Zac knew wasn’t anywhere near her real smile and ran a hand over Carrie’s hair, then hugged her again. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Carrie took Sophie’s hand and dragged her in, closing the door behind her, but Sophie still hadn’t looked at Zac.

  “Hey, Carrie, why don’t you run and grab the nail stuff.”

  “Good idea. Be right back,” she said, beaming at Sophie.

  As soon as his daughter was out of sight, Zac walked over to Sophie. “What’s wrong?”

  She drew a rattled breath, then another that didn’t seem to help. “Nothing. I just . . . nothing.”

  He took her hands and threaded his fingers through hers, then glanced down at them. “You’re shaking.”

  Sophie swallowed and lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I just got a little freaked out earlier. Shook me to the bones and I can’t seem to clear it from my head.”

  “Freaked out how? The slasher call again?” he joked, but he immediately realized that there was nothing funny about it. She wasn’t just scared—she was petrified.

  “You’re okay, you know that, right? You’re here. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

  She nodded, and he pulled her to him, hugging her close in hopes of calming her down, his mind racing to figure out what had happened in her past to create this level of fear. Had someone broken into her house when she was a child? Had she been held at gunpoint at a gas station? What happened to make her this afraid of her own shadow?

  “I’m sorry. Really, I’m fine.”

  “Sophie . . .”

  She glanced up, and he leaned away from her so he could try to decipher what was going on in her head, but she wasn’t giving anything away. “You know you can talk to me about it if you need to.”

  “I know.”

  Yet he could tell she had no intention of talking about it. At least not today.

  “Here it is,” Carrie said, busting back into the room with all the excitement of a typical twelve-year-old. “I can do yours, too, if you’d like.”

  Sophie separated from Zac and went to his daughter, then she put on a smile and relaxed her body so as not to worry Carrie. Once again, he was impressed with how often she put others before herself.

  “Let’s do yours first, and then if there’s time, you can do mine. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great. I’m going to Margaret-May’s house in an hour, and we’re supposed to have matching nails. Orange.” Carrie held up the orange polish Zac had picked up for her on his way home from the farm.

  “Oooh. Pretty. Do you have any glitter?”

  “Glitter?”

  Sophie flashed a mischievous smile. “I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

  “I promise. What is it, what is it?”

  She leaned in closer and whispered, “If you sprinkle glitter onto your polish before it dries, you can turn any polish into glitter polish. Want to try it?”

  “Yes! Be right back.” Carrie dashed back down the hall to grab glitter, and Zac thought it wasn’t possible to adore the woman any more than he did already, but somehow she’d surpassed his expectations again.

  “Thank you.”

  She grinned over at him, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes, and he wished she would tell him what was going on so he could help her. So he could fix it. “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  She smiled again, and then Carrie was back and they dove into the nail thing while he continued with dinner.

  Thirty minutes later, Carrie had sparkly orange nails, and they were all seated at the table for grilled chicken Alfredo and Italian salad, the dressing made from scratch, thanks to his mom’s recipe that never failed to impress.

  They ate while Carrie talked away about horseback riding lessons and gymnastics and whether she should try out for cheerleading. Although Sophie asked questions and generally acted as though it were the most interesting conversation she’d ever had, Zac could tell she was still shaken by whatever had happened before she arrived.

  He tried to think if she’d said something, anything, that might be a clue, and then he remembered the text about the flowers.

  “Hey, did you figure out who your secret admirer is?” Zac asked with a smile that quickly dropped away when he caught the look on her face.

  “Someone sent you flowers?” Carrie asked. “How nice. Dad, you should send Sophie flowers.”

  “Yeah, I should. H
ey kiddo, why don’t you grab your bag. The Pattersons will be here any second to pick you up.”

  Zac waited for Carrie-Anne to clean off her plate in the trash, slip it into the dishwasher, and disappear down the hall to grab her overnight bag before he returned his focused to Sophie, unable to hold back any longer. Sophie was a confident woman who liked her independence, so he didn’t want to come across as overbearing, but she was obviously frightened. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t at least try to help?

  “Okay, spill it,” he said, likely too forceful, but he couldn’t help it. Worry had taken over. “What happened before you came here? Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

  She offered a weak smile. “Sort of feels like I did.”

  Just then the doorbell rang and Carrie shouted that she was coming. She gave Zac a hug, and he kissed her cheek before they opened the door and she refused to let him baby her, then they said hello to Margaret-May, who’d run up to their door to get Sophie.

  “Love you, kiddo. Call if you need anything,” Zac called as the girls ran off to the Pattersons’ SUV.

  He waited until the taillights were long disappeared down the road before closing the door and turning back to Sophie.

  “Here’s the thing. I’m standing right here, and I want to help you, but I can’t do a thing if you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s not about trust.” She sat down on the sofa and clasped her hands in her lap. “Don’t you have things in your life that you’d rather forget than talk about? Where talking about them brings up all those old memories, and they last long after the conversation’s over? Well, I don’t want to remember. Isn’t there anything you don’t want to remember?”

  He thought of when he came home to find another man in his bed with Lora and knew just what she meant.

  “I do. Lots of things in fact. But if it’s impacting your present self, then you might need to deal with it if you really want to move on.”

  “See that’s the thing. I thought I had. But then . . .” She trailed off as she tucked her legs up under her and stared into his family room, her gaze locking on a photo of Carrie and Zac at Disney World three years ago. “She’s wonderful, you know? You’ve done an amazing job with her.”