by Katy Paige
She held his eyes, standing beside him on the corner of the street as they waited to cross. Her whole body seemed to tense up for a moment before relaxing.
“I’m Zoë,” she said.
“Just Zoë?”
“Zoë’s fine,” she muttered softly.
“Fine. That’s right. Zoë Fine.”
“Hey,” she continued, anxious to steer him away from the subject of her name, “you never told me. What story you were thinking about? When you were so quiet before?”
Before he could stop himself, his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, to her breasts, where they lingered before he forced his eyes to slide back up her face. He felt the flush of heat on his cheeks as he stared at her, noticed a blush of color on hers too.
“‘Miss Temptation,’” he whispered.
***
Zoë stared up at him, feeling her eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh!” she gasped, looking down quickly, her cheeks aflame with awareness, with arousal.
“Miss Temptation.” Wow.
Zoë knew the story well.
It was the ultimate turned-on/can’t-have fantasy, especially because it ended with an ambiguous fate. The young man apologizes to Susanna, who, after some honesty about her hurt feelings, forgives him and allows him to take her out on a date.
Zoë’s pulse sped up as she realized that Paul had thought of the story while walking with her, wondering if she reminded him of Susanna, the dark-haired temptress. She furrowed her brows. No. It couldn’t be. He had just made a show of telling her he had a girlfriend.
When she glanced up at him, she caught the flexing of his jaw, something she might do if she were frustrated or angry with herself.
Suddenly, she heard the crack of thunder. The light changed suddenly from dusky lavender to yellow.
He took her hand as the sky split open with rain, pulling her across the street to the wooden gazebo that sat at the edge of a restaurant parking lot, overlooking the Yellowstone River.
Safely under cover, she looked down at their joined hands in the half-light of the small gazebo. There were blond hairs peppering the masculine contours of his; she could feel them under her fingertips. She longed to bring his hand to her lips, to press them against those wiry blond hairs, to lay her cheek upon them and tell him everything.
Instead, she wiggled her hand away and sat down on the bench that followed the curve of the small, round, open-air shelter. The rain intensified, pattering on the roof over their heads, making the river below them rush a little louder.
Paul ran his hands through his wet hair, wiped them on his jeans and sat down a respectable distance from her.
“They take a walk at the end of that story, too,” she observed, flicking a glance at him. “The girl and the man who yelled at her.”
He’d been looking at the floor, but he raised his head, his blue eyes piercing and troubled. “What’s your story?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Why are you here? In Gardiner?”
“Vacation. To paint.” She looked down at her lap. She owed him something more. A little bit of the truth. “To see someone.”
“A friend?”
She shrugged.
“A man?” he pressed.
“Mm-hm.”
“Who?” His eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“It’s complicated,” she said, a note of warning in her voice as she turned away. “Tell me about this girl who’s got you in knots.”
He clenched his jaw again, then relaxed, settling against the gazebo railing and looking straight ahead, away from Zoë.
“Holly,” he whispered reverently.
The acutely surreal nature of the moment wasn’t lost on her. He was about to talk to her about…herself.
“Okay. So, what’s the story with Holly?”
The sky thundered another warning and the rain switched from steady pattering to loud pouring. Paul slid closer to Zoë on the seat, until he was only a few inches away. She knew it was probably for the sake of their conversation—so that he could hear her better under the rainfall—but she teased herself for a moment that he wanted to be closer to her too. His hand rested on the bench beside her thigh, distracting her.
“Let’s see…Holly. She’s beautiful. She has long blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s petite and slim and stunning. The sunniest girl I’ve ever seen.”
Zoë bit her lip and looked away from him, her heart dropping with a painful thud as he described the way Zoë used to look. She’d known that her looks were important to him, but hearing the reverence in his voice as he talked about her picture made her realize how very far she was from where she used to be. She propped her bent elbow on the railing behind her and supported her head with her hand, grateful for the rain, for the way it mirrored the deep sorrow that was taking over, the feeling of overwhelming defeat.
“I mean…I think.”
“You think?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ve only seen one picture of her.”
“Oh?” Her voice, which she’d carefully modulated at a breathier version of itself, didn’t need any help in sounding thin and thready.
“Mmm. I met her online.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t think that’s weird?”
“Lots of people meet online,” she answered dismissively. “But it’s the perfect place to catfish someone. How can you be sure she’s been honest with you?”
“I just know. We agreed to build our, um, relationship on trust. I know her. I mean, I really, really know her. My heart knows her heart.” He paused for a second, moving his elbows to the railing and leaning back a little bit, relaxing into the subject of his nonexistent dream girl. “Truth?”
“Yes, please.”
He glanced askance, grinning at Zoë. “It’s just gravy that she’s so beautiful. It doesn’t really matter to me. She’s funny and smart. She teaches art to kids and she loves the same movies I do. We talk about books and our jobs and our families and what we want from life. She’s kind and surprising and amazing, and she loves deeply.”
“You?” Zoë asked. When he didn’t answer, she clarified her question: “Does she love you?”
“God, I hope so,” he murmured low and quick.
She winced at his words, at the intensity of them, the way he said them without having to think. And the irony of his hopes, which she could have confirmed beyond any shadow of doubt right then, right there.
Tears burned her eyes as her lids slowly lowered at the bitter sweetness of his words. She trembled and felt her lungs working to keep her breathing steady, not to give herself away. Here was the man she loved, telling her he hoped she loved him, and she was helpless to say anything in return.
“I still haven’t met her in person yet. That worries me sometimes,” he confessed. “She’s on a pretty high pedestal in my head and I just hope—”
“What?”
“I just hope she’s everything I—I mean, I hope we, um…click. On a, um, personal level. You know?”
Oh, she knew. She’d feared the same thing until she’d met him in person today, when those particular fears were assuaged tenfold. Just looking at him made her fingers long to touch him again. God, if they ever actually got the chance to click, they’d—
“You’ll click,” said Zoë quickly.
“Yeah? You think so?”
“You’re crazy about each other. You’ll click.”
He turned to her, cocking his head to the side, and smiling gently. “Hey…how do you know she’s crazy about me?”
“I just—I mean, how could she—” Zoë took a deep breath, looking from his bright blue eyes to the river below them. “Rain’s stopping.”
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
He stood up. She brushed her eyes with the backs of her hands before looking up at him, but they still glistened, and he noticed when their gazes met. His eyes softened with gentle concern.
“You look sad. Are you okay?”
She sniffled once and gave him a small smile. “It’s nice to see someone so happy.”
“Are you…unhappy?”
“I’m—I’m not…I’m just not as happy as you,” she finished lamely.
“He’s unkind to you? The guy you’re here to see?”
“No! Not…not exactly,” she said softly, looking down.
“Doesn’t he see what he has in you?”
“I haven’t been honest with him.”
“Well, you can fix that, can’t you? Tell him the truth about—whatever’s bothering you?”
“I wish it were that simple,” she said, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m a good judge of character, Zoë. You’re a good person. You saved my dog, which means you’re brave. You’re kind and patient, listening to me yammer on. You’re a good listener.” He put his hand on her elbow, turning her slightly to face him. “And you’re very pretty.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread slowly across her face as he stared at her, his warm bluish-green eyes holding hers, the heat of his hand on her skin.
“He’s an idiot if he doesn’t figure it out soon.”
She scoffed, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of the moment then tilted her head to the side, searching his face. All she could think—all she could feel—was:
He loves me. He loves me as much as I love him.
She uncrossed her arms and reached one hand up to his cheek, letting her fingertips lightly, tentatively graze his skin before palming the side of his face, her skin resting flush against his.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He looked surprised at first, but then his smile faded as he glanced quickly from her eyes to her lips, where they lingered for a moment before returning to her eyes. She stepped forward, one small step, until her breasts brushed against his chest and she heard his breath catch. She stared at his lips, and then flicked her eyes back up to his. His chest rose and fell into hers with the force of his breathing. His brows furrowed in confusion, then realization. Suddenly he stepped back from her and turned, facing away.
“We could get that coffee now,” he said tightly, under his breath.
Zoë dropped her hand from his face.
Oh, my God.
She’d been about to kiss him.
If he’d just dipped his head the smallest bit, his lips would have landed on hers. Her heart beat wildly as she stared at his back, her breathing as labored as his.
She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep up this charade. She had to tell him, just tell him and whatever happened, happened.
“Paul, I need to—”
“No, listen.” He turned around, one hand up, halting her words. “It’s not your fault. It was just an intense moment. Talking about relationships and everything…and anyway nothing happened. Don’t apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to apologize. There’s something I need to say—”
“It’s okay. Really. I mean it, Zoë. We’re both just, you know, figuring out our way with the special people in our lives. Sharing matters of the heart and feelings and—well, like I said, nothing happened, okay? Let’s forget about it.”
Her shoulders sagged as her courage retreated.
“I promised you coffee, Miss Fine, and I aim to deliver.”
He grinned at her, gesturing to the archway of the little gazebo, and she forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, back out onto the gleaming sidewalk.
CHAPTER 10
“So, you’re going to meet my friend Maggie, who owns the Prairie Dawn, and probably Lars Lindstrom. He’s a brother of Nils, who picked you up at the airport today, and his girlfriend Jane will probably be there too.”
“Will Nils be there?” asked Zoë.
There was no earthly reason why her question should bother him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t.
Damn it, he’d been close to kissing her a few minutes ago. When she’d touched his cheek and stepped toward him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and slam his mouth down over hers. Anything to relieve the longing he felt.
It was only because they’d been talking about Holly and his feelings for her, right? Just for a moment, his feelings for Holly and the closeness of Zoë must have gotten mixed up in his head. Thank God he had stopped himself before he did something he really regretted. It had nothing to do with Zoë. Nothing. It couldn’t.
Except. It could.
Because he couldn’t deny that he’d been attracted to Zoë from the moment she’d raised her dark eyes to his, holding Cleo on his front porch. And the more time he spent with her, the more he felt drawn to her, like he knew her, like she already meant something to him, even though he barely knew her at all. Something was happening to him, and if he was honest, he’d admit that it wasn’t just because of churning up all of his feelings for Holly. It was her. Zoë. Something about her. She was getting under his skin. When he’d seen the profound sadness in her eyes, it had been like a punch to the gut. He hated seeing it. And he wondered again—what in the world had happened to this girl?
Why was her face scarred? And why did they guy she was meeting not value her? Is that why she was so sad?
For years he’d watched the Lindstrom brothers, ready and willing to beat up anyone who dared to look at one of their women cross-eyed, and for the first time, he understood that protective feeling on a visceral level. Who was this guy? He deserved a beating and good. And Paul sure wouldn’t mind being the one to give it to him.
Testosterone-fueled revenge fantasies aside, however, he knew it wasn’t his fight. He needed to stay away from Zoë. He needed to give her the art supplies tomorrow and not see her again after that. He’d made a commitment to Holly, spoken or unspoken, and he was a man who honored his commitments; a man who didn’t break a woman’s heart.
He felt better as he resolved to stay away from Zoë. He’d have coffee with her tonight. A friendly cup of coffee, surrounded by his friends. Then he’d walk her home, get her the art supplies in the morning, and that would be an end to this little flirtation. He’d go see Holly in twenty-five days, as planned, with a clear conscience and an open heart.
“Paul?” she prompted.
What had she asked? Nils. She wanted to know if Nils would be there. Was she interested in Nils? Damn Nils, anyway.
“No,” he said roughly. “Is that okay with you?”
“Um. Sure.”
“Sorry for snapping.”
“I thought you were friends.”
“We are friends.”
“Are you mad at him?”
“I’m not mad at him. He and Maggie have a thing. Just so you know. He’s not available.”
“I didn’t ask if he was available.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just saying—”
“Did you miss the part back there where I said I was in the middle of something complicated too? I assure you I’m not looking for—”
He put his hand on her arm, making her stop walking, and turning her to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her face, feeling helpless. The next words came tumbling out roughly, troubled, a remnant of his stream of consciousness. “I like you.”
Zoë looked surprised at first, and then he watched her face soften, her pink, glossy lips tilting up at the corners in pleasure. “I like you, too.”
He knew he was sending her wildly mixed messages. Best to just clarify everything once and for all.
“But I’m with Holly.”
“I understand.” Her smile faded until her face was expressionless, and her glance darted to the hand that still held her arm. “Maybe you should let go of my arm.”
“Sorry,” he said again, jerking his hand back. “I’m a disaster. Bet you’re wishing you’d said no to coffee, huh?”
“No. Not at all,” she said, gently. “I don’t know anyone in this town. It would have been a lonely first night. Instead I have someone to talk to, and take
a walk with…and I even get to go for coffee and meet some of his friends. And he’s getting me art supplies in the morning. It’s not such a bad deal for me.”
Her graciousness made him feel even worse, even as it made his heart continue to soften toward her, this strange, dark, sad girl. He took a deep breath and sighed.
***
With Paul’s hand on the small of her back, Zoë stepped into the Prairie Dawn, her lips tilting up in a smile as the place of her dreams materialized before her in the space of one step.
It was a large open-plan room with rustic wooden columns at intervals and brightly colored throw rugs covering parts of the scuffed wooden floor. Bookcases and windows lined the walls from floor to ceiling to Zoë’s right with brightly upholstered seat cushions under every window. Several overstuffed chairs and a few mismatched wingback chairs dotted the landscape of the room and several bistro tables tiled with small pieces of mosaic glass offered cheery places to share a cup of coffee with a friend. Finally, to her left she saw the small copper coffee bar where Paul had first seen her picture.
Zoë sighed in pleasure, glancing up at Paul, whose eyes were fixed on Zoë like he couldn’t look away, like watching her reaction to the Prairie Dawn was the moment on which the fate of the world rested.
“Paul!”
He turned from her toward a voice in the back of the café, and Zoë followed his glance to a table populated with four people: a large blond man who pulled a wingback chair up to the table, held a curly-haired woman on his lap. Lars and Jane, check. Jane had her head resting on Lars’s shoulder when they had arrived, but now she looked up, eyes warming as she waved at Paul.
Another woman, with strawberry-blonde hair in two braids, stood up and waved them over, putting her hand on the shoulder of another man—also redheaded—seated beside her. From Paul’s description, she knew the woman was Maggie, and she was pretty sure the younger redhead was Maggie’s visiting cousin, Graham.
Zoë knew full and well that Maggie had seen a close-up face shot of her before she had taken it off MeetTheOne, and she prayed that with her darker hair and dark eyes Maggie wouldn’t know her. Her pulse leaped into a gallop as the moment of truth neared. Paul moved easily through the maze of tables and chairs and Zoë took a deep breath, following at a close distance behind him with her head down.