Meeting Miss Mystic (16 page)

“An old Kurt Vonnegut story.”

“Hmm. From
Welcome to the Monkey House
?”

“Yeah! In fact, it is,” he said, surprised she’d guessed the collection of stories so easily.

“My copy’s so dog-eared now, I finally bought it on my Kindle. I read it cover to cover a couple of times a year.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“Oh, no,” she mumbled in her distracting, breathy voice. When he looked down at her, she was biting back a smile. “Why do I have to go first?”

“I won’t tell you mine until you tell me yours.”

She chuckled. “Hard ball. Okay. My favorite’s ‘The Long Walk to Forever.’”

The thing is? Paul loved “Miss Temptation” but “The Long Walk to Forever” was—hands down—his favorite story too.

He sucked in a deep breath. He barely knew this woman. Why did it feel so intense, so complicated just to walk along next to her?

“Mine too,” he admitted.

“No! Really?”

He nodded. “Vonnegut called it a ‘sickeningly slick love story.’”

“I know. It’s in the preface. But it was a true story. He actually spent that afternoon with his wife.”

“Hey! You really did read it cover to cover.”

“Sure. Why would I lie?”

He looked down at her again and noticed she was biting her lip and grimacing as though she’d said something wrong.

“All okay?” he asked and she nodded.

“So that’s the story you were thinking about? As we’re walking?” He heard the warm amusement in her voice. “Should I read into that?”

He knew she was teasing, but he couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat at her question.

“No!” he exclaimed, guilt and surprise making him answer too quickly and too harshly. “Not at all! No. I have a girlfriend. I wasn’t even thinking about that story.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, not looking up at him. “I didn’t mean—I was just…teasing.”

Her voice was small and hurt and he felt like a spaz, like an ass, like he’d just said “To hell with you!” like the bitter young man, full of painful longing, in
Miss Temptation
.

“Sorry,” said Paul, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Me and Holly? It’s a weird situation. I guess I’m a little out of sorts over it.”

“Would it help to talk about it?”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”

She pointed ahead to a wooden gazebo situated adjacent to a restaurant across the street. “You think they’d mind if we sat there for a bit?”

“Nah. But, I mean…you’re here to paint or be on vacation and so far you’ve rescued my dog, almost been hit by a car, skinned your knee and been roped into coffee with a grouchy local. Doesn’t sound like a very fair deal to you.”

“I guess it’s up to me what a fair deal looks like, huh?”

He stared at her upturned face, that feeling of knowing her infusing his whole body. Could he have met her while he was at school? Did she summer in Newport? Have a job there at some point? Why did he feel like he knew her?

“Who are you?” he breathed, the words falling out of his mouth before he had a moment to review them.

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.”

“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?”

He looked into her deep brown eyes, and, before he could stop them, felt them drop to her lips, then lower to her breasts, where they lingered before he forced them back up to her face. He felt the flush of heat on his cheeks as he stared at her, saw the blush of color on hers too.

“‘Miss Temptation,’” he whispered.

***

Zoë stared up at his face, feeling her eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh!” she gasped, looking down quickly, feeling her cheeks flame 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.

Zoë’s pulse sped up as she realized that Paul had thought of the story while walking with her and it made her shudder lightly in pleasure, 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.

She glanced up at him and she noticed his jaw flex twice like hers would if she were frustrated or angry with herself. She heard the crack of thunder as the light changed and suddenly he took her hand as the sky opened up 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.

Once safely under cover, she looked down at their joined hands in the dim 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 building. The rain intensified, pattering on the roof over their heads, making the river below them rush a little louder.

Paul ran his hand 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 quietly. “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?” he asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“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 man?”

“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. “You go first. Tell me about this girl who’s got you in knots.”

He clenched his jaw once then sat back against the gazebo railing, looking straight ahead, away from Zoë.

“Holly,” he whispered reverently. He stretched his jaw, rubbing it with his thumb and forefinger and sighed loudly.

The acutely surreal nature of the moment wasn’t lost on her. He was about to talk to her about…herself.

“What’s the story with Holly?”

The sky thundered another warning and the rain switched from steady to 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.

“She’s beautiful. She has long blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s petite and sort of willowy. 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, the way she wasn’t able to look now. 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.

“From what I can tell anyway,” he continued. “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. “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. Her heart.” He paused for a second, moving his elbows to the railing and leaning back a little bit, he relaxed into the subject, describing his nonexistent dream girl. “You know, it’s just gravy that she’s so beautiful. It doesn’t really matter to me. She’s funny and smart. She teaches 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 she loves deeply.”

“You?” Zoë asked, still looking away.

“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.

“I mean, someday. Eventually. After we’ve met,” he added in a distracted whisper.

Tears burned her eyes as her lids slowly lowered at the 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
. You know?” He looked as Zoë suggestively.

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—How could she—” Zoë took a deep breath, looking from his bright blue eyes to the river below them. “Rain’s stopping.”

“Yeah, it is.” He stood up, looking over the ledge at the river.

She brushed her eyes with the backs of her hands before looking up at him, but her eyes still glistened, and he noticed when he looked down at her. His eyes softened with gentle concern.

“Hey. Zoë. You’re sad. Are you okay?”

She sniffled once and gave him a small smile. “It’s nice to see someone so happy.”

“You’re
un
happy?”

“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, you’re brave. And you’re kind, 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 his, 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 think—was:

He loves me. He loves me as much as I love him. I know it. I’d bet my life on it.

She uncrossed her arms and reached one hand up to his cheek, letting her fingertips lightly, tentatively graze his skin before letting her palm fall flush against his skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked surprised at first then his smile faded as he glanced quickly from her eyes to her lips, where he 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, and 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 mid-air.
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—”

“No, listen.” He turned around, one hand up. “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 Zoë, 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.”