by Kim Law
A car pulled up outside, and Ginger took one more swipe at her face. No one who knew her well would be surprised that she was standing inside an empty house crying happy tears, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be so blatant about the fact.
She rose, and headed for the door. She wasn’t officially moved in, but she’d hung the welcome sign the minute she’d arrived, so whoever had just driven up would be her first official guest. She had to go greet them.
Both front car doors opened, and her tears resumed. Her first guests were her two best friends in the world.
Andie and Roni squealed from the driveway, and then they were running. Well, Andie was running. Roni kind of hustled with her belly cupped in her arms.
“You’re here!” Ginger squealed back, bouncing up and down on the porch before getting swept up in a group hug. She hadn’t expected to see them until the wedding.
“We wanted to come early and surprise you,” Andie told her.
“Your mom called and said your house would be ready today. So we packed our bags.”
Ginger grinned from ear to ear. “You came early just for me?”
“For no one else,” Roni assured her. “We even came alone. The men are bringing the kids later, so it’s just the three of us for two whole days. But don’t worry. They’ll be here early Friday morning to help.”
“To help what?”
“We’re moving you in.” Andie beamed at her. “Decorations and all. You have a housewarming party on Sunday, have you forgotten? We can’t have guests in here without the place looking like a million bucks.”
“You’re going to shop for me?” Ginger laughed.
“We’re going to shop with you,” Roni replied. “And then we’re going to sit back and direct the men as they unload the furniture and hang pictures.”
“You guys are the best.”
“That we are.” Andie hugged her again. “But then you’re going to repay us with babysitting duty.”
Ginger readily agreed and led them inside, and together the three of them oohed and aahed over each feature of the house. Eventually, they made their way to the third floor. She, Andie, and Roni entered the office, and Ginger’s tears once again returned. Only, this time they weren’t due to happiness.
Roni slipped an arm around her. “Should I hop a plane and go kick his ass?”
Ginger hiccupped on a sob. “You’re six months pregnant, so I think, no.”
“I could do it. I’ve got a mean roundhouse kick.”
“I’ll bet you do.” Ginger smiled and leaned into Roni while Andie snuggled in on the other side. They stood in front of the closed deck doors, watching the glistening water on the other side.
“He still hasn’t called?” Andie asked.
Ginger shook her head. “I shouldn’t have broken the rules. It was supposed to be just sex. Just fun. I clearly can’t handle that.”
“Only because it was Carter,” Roni soothed. “You’ve always wanted that man.”
“Well, I got him. For a few days, anyway.”
“Call him,” Andie urged. This wasn’t the first time she’d suggested it. “Tell him how you feel.”
“It’s not just about how I feel. He isn’t ready for anything more. And I don’t know if he ever will be. I won’t settle for less.” She pulled out of her friends’ grasp and opened the doors wide. The sound of the waves filled the room. Then she imagined the keys of Carter’s laptop clicking one last time.
She closed her eyes and listened.
Then she sucked in a breath, blew it out, and accepted reality.
“I’m moving on,” she told them. “A new chapter in my life. Starting today. We don’t talk about Carter again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Three days later, Ginger stood beside her mother on a bright October afternoon, Spanish moss swaying above them, and all of Pam and Clint’s friends and loved ones looking on. The minister stated the vows for the couple to recite, and Ginger watched on with pride and love.
There wasn’t a single place in the world she would rather be at that moment.
Her mother was beautiful. And Clint was exactly what she needed.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Clint turned to his bride, and Ginger witnessed the most beautiful sight. The man was completely over the moon for her mom. Love and tenderness burned from the depths of his eyes, and Ginger knew that her mother would forever be taken care of.
Clint cupped Pam’s face in his hands, and as he touched his lips to hers, a warm breeze passed through the trees. It slid a comforting touch over Ginger, and she lifted her eyes to the sky. Her father had just blessed this marriage.
The gathered crowd cheered, and Ginger’s mother reached for Ginger’s hand. They hugged, and danged if tears didn’t threaten to ruin Ginger’s mascara.
“Don’t cry yet,” her mother whispered. “We haven’t taken the pictures.”
“Leave the girl alone, Pam. Makeup can be fixed.” Clint winked at Ginger, then he pulled her in for a tight squeeze. “You’re beautiful. I love the changes to your dress.”
She smiled. She’d convinced her mother that the gown needed a few alterations, and after having all ruffles removed, she’d chopped off the bottom two feet of fluff and separated the dress into two pieces. Her mother might like the girly stuff, but at the sight of Ginger in the more pared-down, formfitting dress, she’d admitted that this was much better. This fit Ginger.
Once finished with the official photographs, Ginger did a quick outfit change and headed into the rec room where soft lights glowed and music was pumping. Her mom and Clint had decided against a formal dinner, instead opting for a more casual atmosphere, so some people were eating finger foods, some dancing, and some simply checking others out.
Like Chester Brownbomb and Mrs. Rylander. Apparently calling the cops on the man once hadn’t been enough, as he hadn’t taken his eyes off the woman all night.
Of course, Mrs. R. seemingly had no clue. She’d decked herself out in a flower-print dress that was a little too large and had probably been in style fifty years ago, had a hot-pink bow stuck in her hair, and had made herself Kayla’s shadow for the evening. Chester was then shadowing Mrs. R., and Vanilla Bean was giving them both the evil eye.
There was nothing like hanging out at the senior center.
Two hours, three beers, and pretty much no food later, Ginger was ready to go home. She’d danced with Clint, Clint’s brothers, Clint’s nephews, several local men she already knew, Chester Brownbomb, and at least six other men she’d met tonight.
She’d tried, really she had. Fun was happening all around her, and to anyone watching, she probably looked to be swept up by it, as well. But she couldn’t shake Carter from her mind. She wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about him, yet she sure would love it if he were there with her right now. She wanted to call him. She needed to know that he was okay.
“Dance with me?”
She turned slowly, Carter on the brain and a frown on her face, to find Patrick, the real-estate agent slash flute maker, smiling at her side. She’d seen him at the wedding earlier, but hadn’t caught sight of him on the dance floor in a while.
“Hi, Patrick,” she greeted warmly, doing her best to shove Carter from her mind. However, she did nothing to hide the exhaustion in her voice. “How are you?”
“I’m doing good.” He eyed her carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Just taking a breather.”
“So no dance for me then?” he teased. He had the cutest eyes. Blue, but there was a maturity in them that said he wasn’t all play. And she remembered thinking at dinner that first night that he looked a little like Carter.
He still did.
“I saved one for you,” she told him. She put her hand in his.
And she did not let herself cry at the fact that she’d rather be dancing with a different man.
A new song began from the DJ, a slow one, and Patrick gave a gallant little bow before sw
eeping her into his arms. His moves made her laugh.
“Anyone tell you that you’re the hottest thing in the room tonight?” he asked as he twirled her around the parquet dance floor.
Ginger took a moment before answering, peeking around at the other women in obvious fashion, taking in each of their gray or white heads. Then she reset her gaze on Patrick’s. “Given that ninety percent of tonight’s population is over the age of sixty, I’m not exactly sure that’s a compliment.”
He chuckled. “Total compliment. Anyone who shows up at her mother’s reception in jeans . . .” He flicked a glance over her and nodded decisively. “Hot.”
“The jeans have attracted attention tonight,” she confessed. She’d swapped them for the skirt. “More than I expected.”
“Well, I have to admit, I was surprised. After the look your mother gave you on our first date when you showed up in jeans, I wouldn’t have expected to see it again.”
Ginger groaned. “You saw that, did you?”
“I saw that. The question I had was, did she think you weren’t dressed up enough for me, or for the restaurant?”
“Probably both, but her focus was on you that night.”
He gripped her hand tighter. “Then let me set the record straight. She was wrong.”
Ginger dipped her head with a smile. “I appreciate that. And let me go on record to apologize for our second date. I’ve learned a few things since then. I was trying too hard.” She released his hand and brushed her fingers in the air in front of her. “This is me. Not the woman who got into your car that night.”
“This is a much better you.”
“Thank you.”
He retook her hand.
“I might even occasionally smell like fish,” she added with a mutter, which only made him laugh.
They danced through the rest of the song, laughing and talking all the while, and when the song ended, he looked down at her before letting her go. His voice turned serious. “Would this ‘you’ be what a man would get if he were to ask you out again?”
Her shoulders drooped. A month ago, and those words would have made her night.
But she wasn’t ready yet.
“I’m kind of,” she began, having to glance down before finishing. Her breath came out ragged as she pushed out, “Not over someone. Yet.”
She bit her lip. She was supposed to be over him by now.
“I get it,” Patrick said. He squeezed her hand in understanding. “But maybe I could try again next month?”
Gratitude ballooned in her, and she gave him a sad smile. She wanted to hug him for both the understanding and the willingness to wait. “No promises, but yes. Please try again next month.”
“You can count on it.” He brushed his lips across her cheek, then he released her and stepped back. “Be good to yourself, Ginger.”
“That I can promise. It’s my number-one priority these days.”
Patrick left her where she stood, and suddenly Roni and Andie were at her sides.
“You okay?” Roni asked.
Ginger shook her head.
And the next thing she knew, her friends had helped her into her car, and driven her home. Which she greatly appreciated. She was done for the night.
She just wanted to be alone. With a good book, if she couldn’t have the real thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Carter stood outside the house that wasn’t his, eyeing the key in his palm and seriously contemplating breaking and entering. He really shouldn’t just open the door and go in. It was the middle of the night. It was illegal.
And she might not be alone.
Especially considering the texts he’d gotten from his sister earlier in the evening.
She’s the life of the party.
She’s dancing with a hot man.
You’re going to lose her, you idiot.
What Julie hadn’t known—what she still didn’t know—was that he’d already been in the car, heading Ginger’s way, when her texts had come in. And he prayed now that he wasn’t too late.
Julie had also texted him several times over the last few weeks just to “update him on their neighbor.” He’d told her to stop it. He and Ginger were nothing. Yet every time he’d pulled himself out of the book long enough to check his phone, he’d missed Ginger even more.
Early yesterday morning he’d finished the book. And not long afterward, he’d gotten into his car and headed south. He’d driven over sixteen hours, had awakened a coastal fisherman and paid him a hefty sum for a lift to the island, and now that he was here, he didn’t want to wait one minute longer. He wanted to see Ginger. Before the sun came up.
But could he just open her door and go in?
He turned back to face the driveway. Only his car and Ginger’s sat there. So if she’d brought home a guy from the wedding, she’d driven him there herself.
Or maybe she’d gone to his place.
Panic began, his pulse beating rapidly. He couldn’t be too late. Not after all this time. Ginger was the one.
It had taken him way too long to see it, but she was it for him. He had to win her over.
He put the key in the lock and turned. The house was dark and silent, and he hoped to hell she wasn’t equipped with her can of Mace, but he’d take it if he had to. He just had to get to her.
Slowly moving through the darkness, his hands full with the items he’d brought for her, he headed for the stairs. Hopefully she’d still be asleep. And hopefully he wouldn’t give her a heart attack by showing up like this.
But when he got to her room, her bed was empty. His heart sank.
Then he saw her through the French doors.
It was a warm night, and she’d apparently taken advantage of it. The underrailing lights were on, and she was reclined in a wooden chair, her bare legs stretched out before her. But she wasn’t sleeping. She was reading.
He crossed the room, dropping his gifts off on the bed, then moved on to the doors. The instant he pushed open the door, she was out of her seat. She whirled toward him, one arm pulled back as if ready to release, and Carter raised his hands in front of his face.
“It’s just me,” he exclaimed.
“What the crap?” she screamed. “Carter! You scared me to death.”
He slowly lowered his hands, peeking out above his fingertips, and letting his gaze eat her up. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “Please don’t spray me with Mace.”
She had on a tight green top that stopped at her waist, and tiny white cotton panties riding high on her thighs. And that was all. Bare legs shone in the moonlight, and if he wasn’t already in love with her before, he would have fallen right then.
“It’s not Mace, you moron.” She lowered her hand, her chest heaving with her breaths. “It’s a freaking horror story. One of yours! And I did not need to be scared to death while reading it! Good grief.” She was still yelling, and he noticed that her hands were shaking.
“I’m sorry.” He tried the lame apology again. Maybe this hadn’t been the right approach.
“Ring a doorbell or something,” she growled out. Then her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “How did you get into my house?”
“I . . . uh . . .” His sister was right. He was an idiot. “I still have my key. I made a copy before so I could come in when I wanted to write.”
The look on her face was not welcoming. “I should call the cops and have you arrested.”
“I really hope that you don’t.”
“Give me the blanket off my bed.” She jerked her arm out stiff, holding her hand outstretched in front of her. “And I’ll think about not calling them.”
He hated to cover her up, but he’d already crossed too many lines unannounced. So he returned to her bedroom and grabbed the gray throw tossed across the end of the giant king-sized mattress, and he couldn’t help but picture her in there. With him.
He swallowed and turned back. He couldn’t think about sex right now.
“What are you doing here?”
she asked as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and crossed it at her waist. Her legs disappeared from view. “Is Julie in labor? Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Julie’s fine. How was the wedding?” he asked.
“It was great. My mother is happy. The wedding was beautiful.”
“And you had a good time at the reception?” He hated the jealousy burning inside him, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know. “I heard you danced with several men.”
She lifted a hand, palm up, as if to ask, What the fuck? “Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Julie. She . . . felt I needed to know.”
Ginger crossed her arms under her breasts and scowled at him. “Well, I don’t know why she’d think that. And yes. I did dance with several men. I had a terrific time.”
“And you were in jeans, I understand.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I was in jeans. I was the freaking life of the party.”
“I wish I’d seen it.”
She didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure if he preferred her sarcasm or silence.
“So did you line up some dates?” he asked. He really was pathetic.
“Are you kidding me?” Some of the anger seemed to leave her, and her posture softened. Slightly. “No, Carter. I didn’t line up dates. What are you doing here?”
The time had come. Either his marathon drive paid off, or . . .
“I had to see you, and I couldn’t wait another minute to do it.” He opened his heart, and prayed that she could see what she meant to him. “You’ve always been a constant in my life, since practically the day I was born. I hadn’t realized how much that meant to me until I came back last month. You were still here. We still had our mornings. And that . . .” He paused, wishing he were doing a better job explaining himself. “It’s the most special thing I’ve ever known.”
“Sunrises with me are the most special thing you’ve ever known?”
“You are the most special thing I’ve ever known,” he said. “Your friendship. Us. Knowing you and I could just . . . be. You were my friend for all those years, but you were also more. I was just too stupid to notice.”