by Nicola Marsh
“Several moments, judging by that faraway look in your eyes,” he said, smiling. “So the swing’s out?”
“Behave,” she said, loving how lighthearted his teasing made her feel.
“Never.” He leaned forward, the light lemony tang of his aftershave washing over her in a welcoming wave. “For all your protestations, I think you enjoy flirting.”
“I’m woefully out of practice,” she said, hiding behind her peppermint tea before she blurted out exactly how much she enjoyed his flirting.
“Only one way to perfect it and that’s lots of practice.” His hand snaked across the table toward hers. “I’ve heard touching is an integral part of flirting too.”
“Is that right?” She allowed him to intertwine his fingers with hers.
“Kissing too.” He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a feather-light kiss across the back of it, setting her arm alight. And a few other choice places.
“You’re a born charmer,” she said, stifling a sigh of regret as he released her hand. “You must’ve left a swathe of broken hearts in your wake over the years.”
A playful smile lit his face. “Why, Cilla, are you fishing for details about my dating history?”
“Call it natural curiosity.”
“Okay, let me think.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Didn’t have a steady girlfriend in college. Played the field a bit, concentrated on getting good grades mostly. Did an internship stint in LA. Been working in New York City since graduation, had a three-month relationship with a nurse. Did locum stints in India, Australia and New Zealand. Casually dated over there.”
He counted his dating history on his fingers and pinned her with a meaningful stare. “Now I’m here, trying to figure out if the first woman I fell in love with is the real reason I’ve been spoiled for all other women.”
Cilla’s jaw fell open as she stared at him in disbelief.
“Yeah, that crush I mentioned I had on you? Kinda blossomed into first love.” He grimaced, utterly adorable in his mortification. “And it was damn painful, lusting after an older woman I thought I could never have.”
He paused, reached across to place a fingertip under her chin and closed her jaw. “Until now.”
Cilla wanted to tell Bryce he was crazy. That he may have held a torch for her back then but first loves in the teenage years were always blown out of all proportion. Larger than life. Dramatic. Totally implausible.
But the serious glint in his eyes told her he wouldn’t take kindly to her making light of his declaration, so she settled for silence.
“You’re surprised,” he said.
“Stunned, more like it.” She sat on her hands to stop her fingers fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. “And undeservedly flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be surprised. And you definitely deserve flattery. You’re beautiful.”
With his adoring gaze fixed on her face, she almost believed him.
A waiter appeared, hovering nearby, and the irrational spell that Bryce held over Cilla broke. She should be grateful. Instead, all she could think was how incredible this man had made her feel in a few hours, more cherished than she had in decades, if ever.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing up, folks.” The waiter slid the bill folder onto the table and disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
When Cilla reached for the bill, Bryce covered her hand with his.
“My treat,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
She nodded. “Thank you. Dinner was lovely.”
“Dinner was delicious,” he said, sliding notes into the folder. “You are lovely.”
Unused to compliments, she made a weird face, somewhere between grateful and uncomfortable, and he laughed.
“You better get used to compliments because there are plenty more where that came from.”
“I’ll try,” she said, and meant it.
Bryce had summed up the situation between them pretty darn well at the start of the evening. They weren’t considering marriage. They weren’t headed for a heavy relationship. They would be dating. Enjoying each other’s company. Having fun. For the short time he was in town. Where was the harm in that?
“Cilla, is that you?”
Cilla froze as a shadow fell over the table and she glanced up into the face of Willow Ziebell, Tam’s BFF.
Cilla had no idea if Willow and her daughter were still in touch but running into her before she’d had a chance to discuss Bryce with Tam didn’t bode well.
Even if Willow and Tam didn’t see each other these days, there was the dreaded social media, where young people reveled in revealing every nitty-gritty detail of their lives. So if Willow and Tam were friends on social media and Willow let slip that she’d run into Cilla with a much younger man . . .
Damn.
“Hi, Willow. How are you?” Cilla held out her hand and Willow shook it briefly, her interest more focused on Bryce, whom she eyed with open speculation.
“I’m good. Still running life coach seminars for the region,” Willow recited almost by rote, now openly gawking at Bryce.
“This is Dr. Bryce Madden—”
“Bryce. Oh wow, I thought it was you.” Willow squealed and clapped her hands like a little girl. “You look great.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Bryce said, his tone flat and sounding nothing like the sweet, animated guy Cilla had been listening to with rapt attention.
Willow’s knowing glance flicked between the two of them and Cilla struggled not to squirm.
“What are you doing here?” Willow made it sound like she’d found Bryce floating through space rather than dining with Cilla in Dixon’s Creek.
“I’m doing a three-month locum in Redemption,” he said, making a grand show of glancing at his watch. “Actually, I’ve got a stack of reports to finish, so we need to get back.”
“Sure,” Willow said, sounding a tad put out. “I think it’s lovely you’re taking Tam’s mom out for dinner while you’re in town.”
Willow leaned forward, giving Bryce a decent eyeful of fake-tanned cleavage. “Tam says she never gets out much and could do with more friends,” she said, flicking her eyes meaningfully at Cilla.
Embarrassment flushed Cilla’s cheeks. Guess that answered the question of whether Tam and Willow were still in touch. She needed to call Tam ASAP before her daughter heard the news secondhand. But the thought of her daughter pronouncing judgment on her lack of social life sparked a tsunami of humiliation. Her cheeks flushed hotter and she lowered her head.
“Cilla and I aren’t just friends.” Bryce stood and moved around to her side of the table with purpose, pulling out her chair so she could stand. “We’re much more than that.”
He slid his arm around her waist. A good thing, considering she would’ve slid to the floor in mortification otherwise.
Willow’s red-glossed mouth made a perfect O and Cilla had an insane urge to laugh.
“See you later, Willow,” he said, giving Cilla’s waist a squeeze that sent a very pleasant zap lower.
Cilla managed a brief “bye” before Bryce guided her through the tables and out the door. Where she proceeded to collapse into giggles. The type of insane laughter that refused to be quelled and only spilled out more the harder she tried.
“Oh my goodness, did you see her face?” Cilla wrapped her arms around her middle. It did little for the stitch that twanged with every guffaw. “You’re bad.”
“You’re only realizing this now?” His hand splayed across her lower back, his fingertips grazing the top of her butt, and Cilla almost died on the spot. “I remember Willow from high school and she’s still bitchy.”
Cilla’s laughter petered out as the reality of the situation hit. “You can’t blame her for thinking you were taking pity on her friend’s mother.”
“I hate people making assumptions.” A frown creased Bryce’s brow, making him attractively formidable. “They should get their facts straight before opening their big m
ouths.”
Heartened by his defensiveness, she nodded. “True, but it’s going to happen a lot if we’re seen together.”
“That bothers you?”
“Usually it would, but tonight has taught me something.”
“What’s that?”
Having no clue whether she was doing the right thing in telling him exactly what she was feeling, Cilla blurted, “I’ve shut myself off emotionally for years and being with you makes me feel good.”
“The feeling’s entirely mutual.” His expression softened as he cupped her face in his warm hands. “You’re not going to freak out if I kiss you, right?”
“I might,” she said, caught in the intensity of his eyes, unable to look away.
She might not freak out but she might die of a heart attack. For that’s what it felt like the longer he stared at her—like her heart might explode from her chest. It pounded that hard, making her breathless and anxious. With cardiac arrest imminent, lucky for her Bryce was a doctor.
His thumb brushed her bottom lip softly, and she swayed toward him. “Cilla, I’ve wanted to do this for so long . . .”
The next few moments happened in slow motion. Bryce lowered his head. Pressed his lips to hers. Once. Twice. Barely-there kisses. Butterfly kisses. Light and heady and intoxicating.
The third time, he increased the pressure, more demanding. Challenging her to give in to the questionable attraction between them.
For the first time in decades, she did.
Cilla relaxed her lips, giving Bryce entrance. When his tongue touched hers, she wanted to cry, the jolt down below was that powerful.
She’d sacrificed her sexuality along with her self-esteem to Vernon and she’d never expected to feel like this, ever.
But as she was ready to give herself over to the best kiss of her life, Bryce eased away.
Oh no. Was she bad at this?
“Too much, too soon, huh?” He released her but didn’t look unhappy. “I’ve been imagining that for so long, but then when you said all that stuff over dinner I vowed to take it slow—but Cilla, you have no idea what you do to me.” He took a step back, his grin rueful. “Actually, if we’d kept kissing, you would’ve had a fair idea. But I sensed you weren’t in the moment?”
Embarrassed, she winced. “Sorry. My first kiss in decades, so I was over-analyzing.”
Rather than laughing at her, he nodded. “So that means the next time I need to sweep you off your feet so spectacularly that you can’t think of anything else?”
His understanding touched her. “I don’t need bells and whistles. I just need . . . time.”
“That your way of saying don’t rush you?”
“It’s my way of saying we do need to take things slow, because I have no idea whether I’m up for this or not.”
She couldn’t be any more honest, and if it drove him away, despite her yearning for a repeat of that kiss, so be it.
He smiled and the tension kinking her neck dissolved. “Haven’t you heard? Slow and steady wins the race.”
“I’ve also heard clichés are mood killers.”
They laughed and Cilla wondered how on earth, after so many years of being satisfied with her own company, she could look forward to their next meeting so much.
20.
Relieved that it was still summer vacation, Sara entered Redemption Elementary.
It was her first time anywhere near a school since Lucy’s death and it made her throat tighten stepping inside the main building.
But the art teacher had seen her pyrography pieces for the fair and wanted to discuss further work with her. When Andy Symes had first called and asked her to come in for a meeting, she’d been inclined to blow him off with some lame excuse.
Then she’d remembered why she’d done those pieces, for a little boy who deserved a fighting chance to live, and she’d agreed.
However, as she neared the art room, courtesy of the directions Mr. Symes had given her over the phone, her feet slowed.
She could hear voices. Chatter. Giggles.
When she peered through the door’s glass panel, her stomach somersaulted.
The room was filled with kids. Ranging in age from five to ten, all wearing art smocks and holding paintbrushes, standing behind easels.
Damn. Andy Symes was teaching summer art classes.
She had to escape. Had to get outside where she could breathe again.
But as she forced herself to look at the kids’ happy faces, a strange thing happened.
The pain of loss, the ache of bitterness that seemed permanently lodged in her chest, eased. It didn’t vanish completely, the sharp stab reminding her of all she’d lost, but the longer she looked at those kids, the easier it became to breathe again.
One of the kids, a freckle-faced boy with red curls, caught sight of her and said something, presumably to Mr. Symes, standing behind a supplies cupboard out of sight.
When all the kids turned to look at the door, she forced a smile and waved. Baby steps. Progress. Such a minor advance but with her labored breathing it felt like she’d run a marathon.
The door opened and she stepped back to allow the teacher out. When he smiled at her, her heart stopped all over again.
Andy Symes was Delivery Boy. All grown up.
“Hi. You must be Sara?” He held out his hand. “I’m Andy.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand and trying not to giggle like the teenager she’d once been.
His eyes crinkled a little, as if he was thinking. “Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”
“Don’t think so,” she said, not wanting to embarrass herself by divulging the ludicrous fact that she remembered who he was from a parcel delivery over fifteen years ago. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your work, and other things,” he said, staring at her like he was trying to place her. “Come into my office so we can chat.”
He opened the door to a small cubicle next to the art room and she glanced back at the kids.
“Will they be okay?”
He waved away her concern. “Kids who attend art programs during summer vacation want to be here. They won’t mess up.”
Impressed, Sara followed him into the small office and took a seat opposite his. Several of the pyrography pieces she’d donated to Cilla’s fair were on his desk.
“These are amazing,” he said, picking up the top one and studying it. “You’re very talented.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you create in other media besides wood?”
“Leather.”
“No painting or sculpting?”
Feeling like a prospective assistant being interviewed for a job, she shook her head. “Pyrography’s always been my passion.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He smiled, catapulting her right back to that day he’d stood on her doorstep, parcel in hand, asking her out on a date. “How would you feel about teaching the kids a few basics?”
Uh-oh. Sara couldn’t have heard right. She resisted the urge to slap her palms over her ears.
“I know you’ve only moved to town recently and are probably getting settled in, but it would be great for the kids who are genuinely interested in art to get a well-rounded education while they’re doing the vacation program.”
He made it sound so easy, so logical. Her first reaction, to throw up, was far from that.
Clueless how to extricate herself from the situation without sounding mean and heartless, she said, “But I’m not a teacher. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he said, replacing her piece on his desk. “A demonstration or two. Maybe a mini-lecture on the history of pyrography, that kind of thing.”
She’d done a hundred presentations in her old job. Public speaking didn’t intimidate her. But standing in front of a roomful of kids? That terrified her.
“We can’t pay you, but the kids would really love it.” He leaned back in h
is chair, fixing her with a quizzical look, like he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t jump at the chance. “What do you say?”
Sara waited for the panic to set in. Waited for the familiar sick rolling of her gut when she envisaged being around kids again.
But it didn’t come, and in that moment, she knew she had to take the next step. A giant leap, more like it, but it was time.
She remembered drawing with Lucy. Using chalk and crayons and pencils. The joy of seeing a little person create. The wonder in her child’s eyes as she traced one of Sara’s doodles.
She could do this. In Lucy’s memory. For her.
“Sure, I’d be happy to help out,” she said, surprised by how lighthearted she suddenly felt. “Just let me know convenient days and times and I’ll work around it.”
“Thanks, Sara. The kids will love it.” He stood up, staring at her with intent bordering on confusion, before his expression suddenly cleared. He snapped his fingers. “I remember you. You lived at Issy’s place on the outskirts of town.”
Sara blushed. “Yeah.”
Andy chuckled. “Did I hit on you?”
Dying from embarrassment, Sara nodded.
“Sorry. I asked out a lot of girls back then. Being a delivery boy was the best job ever.” Andy laughed louder and Sara joined in. “Would you believe that’s how I met my wife?”
“Then it was meant to be,” Sara said, glad that Delivery Boy had found his happily ever after. If only they could all be so lucky. “I’ll talk to you soon, Andy.”
She let herself out and strode down the hall, unable to stop smiling.
In agreeing to work with Andy’s art class, she hadn’t just taken a giant leap forward.
She’d taken a running jump into a massive chasm.
It felt great.
A major part of Sara had died along with Lucy and now, for the first time in a long, painful twelve months, Sara felt like she was finally living again.
21.
Jake knocked twice on Olly’s door and entered. If he waited for Olly’s approval to come in, he’d be waiting all day.
“Hey there, time for lunch.” Jake hovered in the doorway, hating how gauche he felt around his nephew.