The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel)

by Lauren Christopher

  Becky came into view, searching for Elliott across the floor.

  Natalie sighed and stepped back, ever so slightly, and eventually spun him toward Becky.

  Her work tonight was done.

  Elliott laughed at one of Jim’s jokes back at their table and tried not to glance up any more to his right, because he knew Natalie was on that side of the room, and he couldn’t seem to know that and focus on any conversation at the same time. Instead, he shifted in his seat so he couldn’t look that way. For the rest of the evening, he chatted it up with Becky, Jim, and Nell; put plenty of money into the volunteer pot; turned down an offer of darts because he was worried Natalie might be playing; danced with Becky two more times and Doris once; and thought about the sea lions only five more times. He did okay.

  At the end of the night, the Colonel pulled him aside, cleared his throat a few times, and mumbled a request for a ride.

  Elliott blinked back at him. “A ride? You’re not driving back to Casas del Sur with the others?”

  “I’m, uh . . . meeting someone. But I don’t want the others to know. I was going to drive myself, but I don’t feel like breaking the rules tonight.”

  “Breaking the rules?”

  “I’m not supposed to drive at night. Doctor’s orders.”

  Elliott glanced back at the table at Becky. What was he supposed to do here? “Colonel, I’m on a date. Could I have Jim drive you?”

  “Never mind. I’ll find a way.”

  “Wait.” Elliott grabbed his retreating shoulder. The Colonel was the type to break rules all over the place, and he could definitely see him taking his own golf cart into the dark if Elliott didn’t help out. “It’s okay. I’ll do it. Let me take Becky home first.”

  “Thanks, son. I’ll wait out front.” The Colonel straightened his tie and shuffled off toward the bar, waving to various people.

  Elliott sighed and headed back to explain this to Becky. He’d had the sense she was going to invite him over tonight—he’d been getting hints all evening from her. But he didn’t know how he felt about it. He liked her and all, but he still felt guilty that all he wanted to think about right now was Natalie. And the sea lions. In that order: Natalie, sea lions, Becky.

  But was he letting something good slip away? Natalie was not his. Becky might actually be a candidate. But, then again, didn’t Becky deserve better than someone who thought of her as third in line?

  “We’ll make sure she gets home, Sherm,” Jim said.

  “But you can come check on me,” Becky said with a smile, looping her long necklaces in her finger. Elliott normally wasn’t very good at reading women, but that smile was pretty idiot-proof.

  He headed for the exit door with a mixture of confusion and dread. He didn’t know why he was being so hard on himself—obviously Becky wanted him over, and he wouldn’t be hurting anyone if he took her up on the offer.

  He loped across the bar floor to Louis Armstrong’s sad trumpet in “La Vie en Rose,” telling himself not to look around for Natalie, but he couldn’t help himself. He glanced once to the left and, like some kind of magnetic response, his eyes landed right on her. She looked beautiful, throwing her head back and laughing at something a big dude—he thought his name might be John-O—was saying.

  A flash of jealousy went through him. But jealousy over Natalie was not his to feel. Plus, that was probably the kind of guy she was attracted to.

  He decided he hated John-O.

  Armstrong’s wailing trumpet notes followed him out the door.

  Natalie saw Elliott leave the bar out of the corner of her eye and felt a surge of disappointment. She tried to concentrate on something John-O was saying but had a hard time, and she eventually broke away to wander by Elliott’s old table. It was weird that he’d left alone. But Nell, Jim, and Becky were gone, too. Maybe they’d all left together but not really together?

  Regardless, this was not her business. She checked on the other volunteers, swung by to talk to Sugar for a few minutes, and then ran into Marie, who pulled her aside behind the rations table.

  “Dear, can you give me a quick lift?”

  “A lift?”

  “A ride. I need wheels. I need to . . .” She looked side to side, then leaned closer. “I have a date. And I don’t want the others to know.”

  “Wow. A date. Who’s it with, Marie?”

  “I’d rather not say right here. But if you can do it, I need to leave soon. I’ll go get my purse.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet—”

  But Marie had already scampered away.

  Natalie smiled, said a few quick good-byes, then headed out to the golf cart.

  Elliott pulled straight up the hillside in the Colonel’s cart and was immediately glad he hadn’t let the Colonel drive himself. Although it was one of the most souped-up golf carts on the island, the road was winding and dark and not paved all the way. It led up to a hotel on the hill—the Castle—which was where he’d guessed the Colonel was going. The Castle was remote and mostly for high-end tourists, and it was the best place to go if you were on a secret date.

  “So who’s this date with, by the way?” Elliott asked as the golf-cart motor whined in protest.

  “None of your business.”

  Elliott bit back a smile. The Colonel sure never changed.

  “But thanks for taking me,” the Colonel added gruffly.

  Elliott parked the golf cart in the Castle’s nearly-empty parking lot and, when the older man hesitated in the passenger seat, decided to walk the Colonel in. Elliott guided him lightly by the arm.

  The Castle’s dining room was as elegant as they came—the center filled with crystal, glass, and shades of white, while the outside walls created a cocoon of dark wainscoting. Enormous windows opened to views of the town below. Twinkle lights sparkled all the way down, while stars filled the sky from above. A bar sat off to the right through a wide archway. It looked like a small four-piece band was set up, playing to the patrons, which Elliott could count on one hand. Everyone was probably at the Shore Thing tonight.

  He and the Colonel took a seat in the center, at an intimate table for two, and the Colonel took some time to rearrange the table setting, laying a lavender envelope against a crystal vase of white flowers.

  “Do you know how to order a martini?” the Colonel asked, rearranging the envelope for the fourth time.

  Elliott shook his head.

  “How long have you been drinking, son?”

  “Uh . . . well, I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Seven years? What do you usually order?”

  “Beer mostly, sometimes scotch.”

  “Well, it’s about time you knew how to order a good martini. Here’s the thing—you have to make sure they don’t pour the vermouth into the glass. You’re supposed to pour the vermouth into the shaker, swirl it around so it coats the insides, then pour out what remains. Dry as they come. AND ORDER IT WITH OLIVES. No silly stuff like candy canes and limes.”

  As the waiter approached, the Colonel turned slightly in his chair. “Two martinis, please. Very dry. Straight up. Stirred, with olives.”

  The waiter bowed and left, and Elliott leaned closer. “Colonel, I can’t stay. I hope you ordered that for your date.”

  “No, it’s for you. I just want you to taste it. Just stay until she arrives. She might stand me up, you know. Though it’s not likely.” He threw Elliott a grin that shed five decades off him.

  “Who is this? Is it someone coming on the night ferry?”

  “No, she’s someone who lives here. But I just decided I had to ask her out right away. Couldn’t wait another day. Time is of the essence, you know.”

  “You have Senior Prom coming up. That’ll be another occasion to ask her out.”

  “I should have said time is of the essence when you’re old. I don’t want to wait all the w
ay until Senior Prom.”

  “But it’s only a couple months away.”

  “Old, I said. That’s a couple months I wouldn’t be with her. And I’m not guaranteed those months. You’d do wise to follow that advice, too, young man, even though you’ve been drinking for only seven years and don’t know how to order a proper martini.”

  The live quartet struck up a song in the corner of the bar room. Elliott and the Colonel both glanced in their direction.

  “Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you can waste time,” the Colonel suddenly said. “When you find someone you’re interested in, you need to move. Life’s too short to waste time drinking bad martinis or being away from the one you love.”

  The waiter came then and plopped the two martinis down. “Taste that,” the Colonel said, pushing Elliott’s toward him.

  Elliott took a small taste and let it swirl in his mouth a minute. He wasn’t usually a fan of gin, but he had to admit, this was delicious. “That’s good.”

  “Always order it that way. None of this sugary crap you young people drink. Chocolate and vanilla! We’re not making ice-cream cones here. Martinis should be DRY.”

  “So tell me about that Medal of Honor.”

  “Ah, I don’t want to talk about the war.” He looked away and settled back in his seat.

  “I’m just asking about the medal because I admire that kind of courage.” Elliott took another sip of his martini. Damn, it really was good.

  “That’s not courage, son. That’s called ‘doing your job’ when you’re in a war. Courage is stepping up when you aren’t expected to. You know what the scariest day of my life was?” the Colonel asked. “Asking my wife to marry me.”

  “No.”

  “Yep.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Fifty years.”

  “Kids?”

  “Two. One lives in Virginia, and one’s in Florida.”

  “What happened to your wife?”

  “She died of cancer. 1995.”

  “Did you ever marry again?”

  “No. She was it.” He took another sip. “Until now. I might have found my second chance.”

  “It’s never too late, right?”

  “Actually, it can be. If you don’t act. Especially when you’re my age. So that’s why I’m acting now. But this kind of stuff . . . this first-date stuff . . . this is a kicker. The first time’s always the kicker—when you know she’s the one, and you ask her out. Terrifying. That takes courage.”

  Elliott twisted his martini stem and thought that over. “How do you know this one’s the one?”

  “I know. And you’ll know, when it happens to you. She’ll make your palms sweat. She’ll distract you in ways you didn’t know you could be distracted, and you’ll wonder why you can’t get back to your normal life. She’ll make you stupid.”

  Elliott leaned into his chair. Natalie was a little like that. She made his palms sweat. She made him stupid. At least when he was in her presence. When she wasn’t in his presence, he felt strangely alive, just thinking about her. And he’d been more distracted thinking about her in the last five days than he’d been with anyone he’d ever met in his life . . .

  “Why do you admire courage so much?” the Colonel suddenly barked.

  Elliott glanced up from his drink, startled out of another reverie about Natalie. As his mind tried to wrap around the new topic, he didn’t know how much he wanted to admit to the Colonel.

  “Most men who admire it feel they don’t have enough themselves,” the Colonel said.

  Elliott looked away. “There might be something to that.”

  “Something happen in your past?”

  Elliott didn’t know if he wanted to go there. He never talked about this. The only person who knew the whole story besides him was Nell.

  But, for some reason, on this mild night at the top of this hill, with all the city lights below, he found he wanted to tell the Colonel. It felt like talking to his granddad again. Maybe the Colonel could give him some advice.

  “I was part of a home invasion,” he finally blurted out. “My parents were killed. My sister hid me and her, and she got us out to safety. I was too scared to move.”

  “Wow. Hard on a kid.”

  “I was already seven.”

  “A very young kid.”

  Elliott shrugged. “I felt like I was old enough to have figured something out. I always wonder if I have what it takes if I’m ever in a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “Anything requiring courage.” Elliott moved his drink in a circle.

  “Courage always comes with fear, you know. It doesn’t mean you’re fearless. That’s for fools.”

  “I doubt you lacked courage when you earned that Medal of Honor.”

  “Are you kidding? I was scared shitless. Fear is part of a thinking man’s life, son. Courage is what you exhibit in the face of that fear. What scares you now?”

  Elliott pushed the martini glass back and forth on the white tablecloth as he thought that over. “Not doing my job well enough, I guess.”

  “What happens if you don’t do it well enough?”

  “A lot of animals die.”

  “And there’s a possibility you might fail?”

  “Definitely.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  “Yep.”

  “But you’re doing your job anyway?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s courage, son.” He took another sip of his drink.

  Elliott kept moving his glass around. Was that right? Was that all it took? The ability to face your fears? Elliott had enough fears to go around, for certain, but if all he had to do was face them every day, he could possibly handle that.

  “I feel like there’s something else,” the Colonel said.

  “Like what?”

  “Something involving a woman.”

  Elliott lowered his eyes. Everyone knew he was on all these dates—Jim, Nell, Natalie, the Colonel—but his heart was yearning for someone else altogether. The Colonel didn’t know that part. Maybe that made him a coward most of all.

  “I’m not very good in the love department, Colonel,” he finally said, hoping to shut down this avenue of conversation. He looked around the room. “This is a cool place.”

  “That’s why it takes courage.”

  “What?”

  “Love,” the Colonel said, leaning back in his chair. “Takes a lot of courage. How long do you think it took me to write that card there and put it out on the table for her to see? Once she sees it, there’s no turning back. Takes a lot to put yourself out there on the line, your chest open, your heart exposed, waiting for the bullet.”

  Elliott took a drink. Is that what was going on here? Was he just scared to put himself on the line? Maybe Natalie was the one for him, but he was too scared to let her know?

  “We might start by making sure you know how to dance, though, son. You’re terrible.”

  Elliott chuckled. “I won’t argue with that. But I don’t usually go out dancing, so I think I’m safe.”

  “You kids have no idea what you’re missing. Nothing is better than dancing with a woman for the first time—holding her in your arms when she’s not quite yours to hold, imagining, hoping. I saw you on the floor tonight, and you seemed to catch a little of that.”

  Elliott wasn’t sure which dance the Colonel was talking about—when he was date-dancing with Becky or accidentally dancing with Natalie. But the Colonel was right on one point: Elliott definitely felt something dancing with Natalie. Holding her close, smelling her hair, having his lips close enough to her neck that he thought about kissing her there, just once, for real. He took another swig of his martini and decided to say nothing.

  “And you’re prob
ably not a good conversationalist—smart, quiet kid like you. Not good at small talk, right?”

  Elliott shrugged. “Not exactly.”

  “Believe it or not, that can work to your advantage. Skip the small talk and go straight to what you want to know—the deep stuff. Ask her about her family, what she wants out of life. You can skip questions about the weather. You know . . .” The Colonel looked toward the entrance. “Ah, here we are.” He stood abruptly. “Beat it, kid. I think we’re ready to roll.”

  The Colonel straightened his jacket, then leaned across the table and yanked a rose out of the vase, holding it in front of him.

  Elliott turned to see who the Colonel’s date was, lifting himself out of the chair, and was surprised to have his eyes light on none other than Marie, charging through the room in her USO getup, followed by none other than . . . Natalie?

  Elliott swallowed hard and thought back to the Colonel’s use of “we.”

  And then he wondered just what the hell the Colonel had been telling him all night.

  CHAPTER 16

  Natalie stopped abruptly when she saw Elliott and the Colonel both straightening their jackets.

  What was Elliott doing here? And my God, Marie was seeing the Colonel? Marie picked up the pace and covered the entire expanse of white carpeting before Natalie could think of what to ask first.

  She smoothed her USO costume skirt and finally followed. The small quartet behind her struck up a smooth violin tune.

  “Hello, ladies,” the Colonel said with a bow. “Natalie, thank you for driving Marie. Could I have you two fine chauffeurs wait for just a moment in the bar? I already bought Elliott a drink, but, Natalie, what can I get you?”

  “I’m fine, Colonel. We’ll just wait over . . .” She waved her hand back toward the bar, her mind still swimming about how she’d ended up spending an evening with her greatest temptation. Again.

  Elliott followed her into the bar, where she quickly ordered a water from the bartender. Her flesh-colored Mary Jane pumps pinched her toes as she hoisted herself up onto the bar stool. When Elliott seemed to finally settle in next to her, she whirled on him.