by Lili Valente
“Oh, you’ve really got it bad now,” she says, nudging me with her elbow and nodding toward the back of the property. “Come on, walk with me. Tell Aunty Violet all about your first sleepover. How many times did you come? Three? Four?”
My jaw drops as I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder toward the main building, making sure we’re alone before I turn back to her with a hiss, “Shush! It was nothing like that! We just had dinner and practiced fighting so we’d look believable as a couple. It was completely innocent.”
Violet sighs in disappointment as she flips her long black ponytail over her shoulder. “Oh, well. Tonight, then. Tomorrow night at the latest. But you two are totally going to bang if you keep staying with him. Mark my words.”
“I don’t know about that, but…” I start toward the compost heap with Violet beside me, waiting until we’re firmly out of earshot before I add in a softer voice, “When we were practicing arguing last night, we talked about some real stuff, and it was so nice. I feel so much closer to him. Like we’re better friends already.”
Vi’s amber eyes dance. “Friends. Right.”
“Yes,” I insist. “Friends.” I fix my gaze on the trail ahead, fighting a grin. “Friends who maybe want to kiss each other.”
She lets out a soft whoop that I nevertheless shush immediately.
“Keep your voice down,” I say. “I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m getting the feeling that maybe Tristan is starting to feel it, too. This…pull I’ve felt for so long.”
“About time,” Violet says, taking my wrist and pulling me to a stop beside her. “But be careful okay. Make sure you have protection covered.”
My cheeks heat as I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom. I’ve got it covered, I promise. I’ve got an IUD.”
“Of course you do. I just wanted to make sure. Ever since my oldest had that pregnancy scare last year, I’m handing out birth control pills like candy. I don’t want any of my girls having babies until they’re in committed relationships and ready for motherhood. I’m not ready to be a grandma at forty, and I don’t want any of you to have to make the compromises I did.”
“Aw, thanks,” I say, the backs of my eyes beginning to sting. “I like being one of your girls.”
“Of course, gorgeous.” Violet puts her slim but surprisingly strong arm around my shoulders for a quick hug. “You always will be. And you’ll always be the good one since the other three are a coven of hellions.”
We spend the rest of the walk to the compost heap talking about her three girls’ various acts of mischief and rebellion, and by the time we get back to the shelter, Tristan’s car is gone and there’s a note waiting for me on my new desk.
Gone to kill you a picnic worthy of a culinary master’s discerning tastes. Meet me by the snail statue at six. I’ll be the guy on the picnic blanket with a feast and a dog who’s madly in love with you.
I smile so hard my cheeks start to hurt, but even when Violet laughs and swears, “Tonight, girl! It’s going down tonight!” I can’t bring myself to stop grinning long enough to shush her.
Maybe I’m crazy or imagining things, but I read possibilities between the lines of Tristan’s note. Magical possibilities that leave me floating on air through my closing duties, making me immune to the scent of the doggie piles I gather up in the run and the cantankerous hiss of the new Persian cat who’s decided she doesn’t like the cut of my jib.
Nothing can get me down, not now, not with all my most secret wishes on the verge of coming true.
Chapter 11
Zoey
After fighting the snarl of traffic at the one and only roundabout in town—the one that’s been under construction for three years and likely won’t be finished in my lifetime—I park at Tristan’s house, dash in for a quick shower and change of clothes, and then walk the four blocks to the square. I won’t have to worry about driving after a couple of glasses of wine, and it’s a lovely evening for a walk.
Healdsburg is ridiculously picturesque in the rosy sunset light.
Flowers run rampant over every trellis in town—overflowing planters and spilling over fences to tease passersby with thick bougainvillea blossoms and sun-warmed roses perfuming the Indian Summer air. Every quaint old Victorian I pass has a pumpkin or five on the porch and several families have already inflated their giant black cats and ghost yard ornaments in preparation for Halloween.
It’s so warm it’s hard to believe the spookiest night of the year is less than a week away. It still feels like summer, and as I turn left on Matheson Street, wandering past tasting rooms staying open late to supply wine to concert goers, and art collectives selling everything from paintings to sunglasses with hand-carved wooden frames and stuffed felt narwhal heads ready to be mounted in a place of honor in your home, it feels like summer will never end.
It will always be a perfect seventy-five degrees as the sun goes down. The evening air will always smell like flowers, fresh-cut grass, wood smoke from the pizza oven down the street, and popcorn and cotton candy from the vendors on the square. Tiny fairy lights will always glitter around the thick trunks of the redwoods shading the bandstand, and Manny Miller and His Big Band will always be playing instrumental versions of old musical theater favorites as couples sway in the dusk, holding each other close for minutes they’ll remember forever.
I pause at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change, a shiver rushing across my skin as an almost supernatural awareness settles inside me.
I don’t know what’s about to happen on this beautiful, perfect night, but I know that it will change my life. After tonight, nothing will be the same. I will be changed forever—for better or for worse.
But as I cross the street with the rest of the crowd, flanked by a tiny silver-haired couple carrying a picnic basket and a young mother holding a giggling, beaming baby who’s clearly every bit as enchanted by the evening as I am, I can’t imagine anything bad happening tonight.
It’s a night for beauty.
A night for relishing the simple, unspeakably precious gift of being alive.
A night for magic…
The thought whispers through my head as my gaze lands on the man camped out on a rainbow-colored quilt beneath one of the square’s many statues. Tristan has changed into dark jeans and a white button-down shirt that brings out honey-colored highlights in his olive skin. A bottle of wine chills in a bucket at one corner of the blanket, a picnic basket pins down another, and he and Luke are stretched out in front, listening to the band play with matching sleepy smiles on their faces.
I pause, soaking in the sight of them for a moment before they notice me, my heart overflowing with an emotion I can’t quite name. All I know is that looking at them right now, these two feel like home. And as I cross the grass to meet them, for the first time in a long time, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“There you are.” Tristan’s eyes light up as he sits beside Luke. His gaze flicks down and up, his brows lifting as he takes in my yellow sundress with the daisies embroidered at the hem and simple brown shawl. “Wow. You look…beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, lips curving in a too-wide grin as I settle beside him on the quilt. But I can’t seem to help myself. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked at me the way Tristan is looking at me right now—like I’m the loveliest woman in the world, the only woman in the world—and I can’t stop the flush of pleasure that heats my cheeks all the way to the tips of my ears. “I figured tonight might be my last chance to wear a sundress before the nights get too cool, so…”
“It’s perfect,” Tristan says, making me blush even harder. “You’re perfect.”
“Thanks,” I say, the tension thickening the air between us breaking as Luke drops the sock-stuffy he was holding in his mouth and scoots between us with a whimper, casting a meaningful glance at the picnic basket. “Sorry, Luke. Have you been holding supper for me?” I ask, laughing as he lets out another mournful whimper.
“Enough, drama king.” Tristan opens the basket, pulling out a heavy-duty Tupperware container. “We’ll feed you first, then, you poor starving animal.” He pops the lid on the container and leans back to place it in the grass to the side of the blanket. Instantly, Luke is on his feet, padding around to attack his custom homemade mixture of rice, grilled turkey meat, and fresh veggies.
“You would think I never feed him,” Tristan says, shaking his head as Luke digs in with gusto.
I smile. “He’s a growing boy, Dad. He needs two meals a day and as many snacks as he can con from easy marks around the office.”
“Growing out is more like it if he’s not careful. He’s not a puppy anymore,” Tristan says, pulling wineglasses from the basket. “How about you? Are you starving, or would you like a glass of wine before we dig in?”
“A glass of wine sounds lovely.” I lean back on my hands with a happy sigh. “All of this is lovely. The music, the sunset, the people being happy together…” I scan the crowd. From the dancers swaying near the bandstand, to the kids running back and forth across the grass, to the families digging into picnics, nearly everyone has a smile on their face. It’s enough to make my already full heart overflow a little. “I love seeing people being so happy together. It gives me hope.”
“Me, too,” Tristan murmurs. A moment later his lips are warm on my cheek, making my pulse flutter in my throat as I turn to him.
“Is it time?” I whisper. “Are the targets in sight?”
Tristan shakes his head, his face still so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of his skin on my cheeks. I’m drowning in the fresh-soap-and-Tristan scent of him, the one that makes me ache to be even closer to this irresistible man. “No,” he says. “It’s just because you’re you. Is that okay?”
My lashes flutter as my gaze falls to the blanket. “Yes. That’s okay.” I take a breath, pulse thundering in my ears as I force myself to look up into his warm brown eyes. “It’s more than okay, actually.”
He searches my face for a moment, his lips parting as if on the verge of making a confession, but before he can speak, something bounces hard onto the blanket between us, nearly knocking over the wine. Tristan grabs the bottle, rescuing our Chardonnay in the nick of time as I reach for the sparkly red ball and glance up, searching for its owner.
Almost immediately, I spot a little boy with chubby cheeks and raven curls, watching me from the grass a few feet away. I hold up the ball, “Is this yours, buddy?”
His eyes go wide as he nods. “Ball,” he announces. “Red ball.”
“Yes,” I agree, taking a moment to appreciate the redness of his ball. “It is very red. That’s one of my favorite colors. How about you?”
The toddler grins, clearly delighted as he points behind our blanket. “Snail! Brown snail!”
I laugh, head bobbing with his. “Yes! You are really good with your colors. And your animals.” I hold up the ball. “Would you like your ball back?”
He crouches down, holding out his hands as I roll the ball across the grass. The boy snatches it up a second before his dad snatches him into the air, lifting the munchkin into his arms. “Sorry about that,” his father says, hugging the boy close with a smile. “We’re still working on keeping the ball under control.”
“No worries,” Tristan says as I smile and agree, “No worries at all. Have fun tonight.”
His father wishes us the same and crosses back to his own blanket, which is surrounded by a small flock of folding chairs. There are two little girls with braids coloring in tiny pink chairs, an older boy playing a handheld game in another, and a beautiful woman with thick black curls in a cushy red foldout number, tapping her fingers along to the music on her rounded belly, number five clearly in the works.
“Looks like they have their hands full,” I say, turning back to Tristan and accepting a freshly poured glass of Chardonnay.
“Absolutely.” He casts another covert glance over my shoulder. “But at least they spaced them out a little more than Dylan and Emma. Their girls are barely ten months apart.”
“Irish twins.” I blow out a breath as I swirl my wine. “I get tired just thinking about what her day must look like.”
“Me, too. Though my brother Deacon swears a shelter full of animals is more work than any number of kids.”
I wrinkle my nose. “No way. Animals are easy. Well…relatively easy. Meet their needs for food, shelter, safety, community, and routine and they tick along just fine. It seems like there’s so much more that can go wrong with human babies.”
Tristan takes a thoughtful drink of his wine, then runs his tongue over his bottom lip, catching a stray drop of liquid and making my heart start fluttering all over again in the process.
He really does have the most beautiful mouth, and any minute now I could be kissing it.
Our plan is to do a little light making out as soon as we spot Kim and Bear, then transition into a disagreement over something work-related, and finish with a more intense kiss-and-make-up session.
I’m nervous about the performance, but I’m even more nervous that I’ll forget it’s a performance… All the lines are blurring with this man, and it’s getting harder and harder to separate reality and fantasy.
“I don’t know,” Tristan finally says as Luke returns to the blanket, flopping down beside me with a satisfied grunt now that his belly is full. “I think human babies need a lot of the same things. Have you thought about kids? If you want them someday? I mean, you’re obviously great with them.”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I just happen to have a strong appreciation for red balls and brown snails. Any kind of snail, really. They’re pretty fascinating.”
“They are,” Tristan agrees, his lips curving. “Most species are hermaphrodites.”
“I know!” I nod excitedly. “Isn’t that wild? I mean, they never know who’s going to end up pregnant. Could be Thing One. Could be Thing Two. Could be both of them at the same time…” I sip my wine, nodding as I swallow. “It really gives the whole process a layer of suspense that human reproduction lacks.”
Tristan laughs.
“I’m serious,” I say, though I can’t help smiling. “I sort of wish I was a snail sometimes. Home on your back so you never have to leave it, lots of exciting possibilities every mating season, and even if you end up pregnant you’d only have to lay some eggs under a rock or something, not go through actual childbirth. I confess the thought of growing a life inside of me and then having to get that life out safely is pretty terrifying.” I clear my throat and take another slightly too-large sip of wine. “What about you? Do you want kids?”
Tristan’s grin fades as he lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “I used to think so. I’m not sure anymore. Not sure I trust myself, I guess.”
My brow furrows. “Why? You’d be a great dad. There’s no doubt in my mind. I mean, you’re already a stellar dog parent.”
“Thanks. Though, with the number of socks Luke’s vomited up or had surgically removed from his GI tract, I’m not sure the vet would agree with you.” He pats Luke’s rump. “Though, that might be behind us now, huh, buddy? Now that you have Zocky.”
I grin. “Zocky?”
“A mix of Zoey and sock. It’s the perfect name for your brilliant new dog toy. Feel free to use it when you’re applying for your patent.”
“Will do,” I say, nodding soberly. “Thank you so much for the help with that.”
“You’re welcome.” Tristan takes another drink of his wine, making me a little jealous of the rim of his wineglass. “But seriously, he loves it. Zocky’s barely been out of his mouth all day. Thank you.”
I reach out, scratching Luke’s scruff beneath his collar. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. I love this crazy mutt, no matter how many socks he’s laid waste to through the years.”
“He obviously loves you, too,” Tristan says, something in his voice making my heart skip a beat. I look over at him, and it lurches into motion aga
in, racing even faster as his hand covers mine. “And I have a confession to make, Zo.”
I swallow hard, afraid to hope but unable to stop the soaring, sailing, dreams-coming-true feeling swelling in my chest. “Yes?”
“This pretending to be together thing… It’s not…” He shakes his head. “It’s just not working out for me.”
My soaring hopes plummet so fast the world starts to spin. “Oh, okay.” I nod and keep nodding, repeating after a moment. “Okay.”
I know I should say something else—something to make the transition back to friends and colleagues easier—but I can’t find the words. All I can think is that this might be the last time Tristan’s hand is on mine, the last time I get to sit this close to him.
The thought is so horrible and sad that my throat goes tight, and for a second, I’m afraid I might do something mortifying like tear up right here in the middle of the town square. Though I really don’t care what any of these people think of me. I only care about him, this man who apparently doesn’t feel the pull I feel, doesn’t sense the magical possibilities hovering in the wings, waiting for us to reach out and grab them.
“No, it’s not okay,” Tristan says softly. “I knew it wasn’t working out yesterday, and I still went ahead with the fight practice and planning this whole stupid stunt, and I…” His breath rushes out as his fingers curl around mine. “And I shouldn’t have. I should have been honest with you the moment I realized that I don’t want to pretend with you. I want…”
My eyes go wide as I search his face, afraid to get my hopes up again. But he doesn’t look like a man who’s getting ready to tell me he wants to be friends. He looks like a man who wants to kiss me and keep kissing me until everything in the world fades away except his lips and mine.
Finally, I summon the courage to ask, “What do you want, Tristan?”
“I want you, Zoey,” he says, sending my heart skyrocketing into the darkening sky where it explodes in a burst of dazzling color. “I want to give you and me a shot. For real. If you think you might be up for it.”