Meeting Miss Mystic (17 page)

“Not Nils?” 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 her from the moment she’d raised her dark eyes to him, 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 was she 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. This guy who was making her so sad? He deserved a beating and good. And Paul sure wouldn’t mind being the one to give it to him.

However, testosterone-fueled revenge fantasies aside, he knew it wasn’t his fight and his feelings confirmed that 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. Just coffee, surrounded by his friends. Then he’d quickly walk her home, get her the art supplies in the morning, say good-bye and be on his way. That would be an end to this little flirtation, and 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. “He’s probably working.”

“Wow! Okay.”

“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, 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 to let go of her. “I’m a disaster. Bet you’re wishing you’d said no to coffee, huh?”

“Not at all,” she said, gently. “You’re not a disaster. You’re…you’re doing fine. 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.

***

Paul put his hand on the small of her back and she 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 placed throughout 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 must have 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 looking over at Paul.

Another woman, with strawberry-blonde hair in two braids, stood up and waved them over, putting her hand on the shoulder of a another man—also red-headed—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 Meet The One, and she prayed that with her darker hair and dark eyes Maggie wouldn’t know her. Her pulse leapt 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.

Finally they stopped beside the table and Zoë knew she had to raise her head. She clenched her teeth together once, summoning her courage, then lifted her head, her dark eyes smacking into Maggie’s green ones right away.

Maggie blinked twice, her face segueing from friendly openness to mild confusion in an instant. Zoë could see the question
Where do I know you from?
flit across Maggie’s face as Maggie tilted her head to the side, staring at Zoë.

“Who’s this?” asked Jane in her smoky voice, shifting on Lars’s lap to reach up, extending her hand to Zoë with a warm smile.

“This is Zoë,” said Paul, looking over at Zoë and smiling. “She saved Cleo from the front wheel of Maurice Evan’s Chevy this afternoon.”

Zoë took Jane’s hand, smiling uneasily, worried about Maggie.

“I’m Jane. This is Lars.” Jane nodded to the blond god holding her around the waist possessively.

“Heya, Zoë,” he said, letting go of Jane only long enough to shake Zoë’s hand.

“You look like your brother,” said Zoë, smiling back at Lars with a little more confidence. Maggie hadn’t said anything yet, but Zoë was still stalling on their formal introduction.

“Which one?” asked Lars, quirking a brow at her.

Jane slapped his chest lightly. “How would Zoë know Erik?” She turned back to Zoë. “Do you know Erik?”

“Not that I know of.”

“See?” She winked at Zoë. “She means Nils.”

“He picked me up at the—”

“You’re the artist,” said Lars, his eyes brightening with recognition.

“Wow.” Zoë peeked up at Paul, smiling. “This
is
a small town.”

“We’re all in each other’s business,” said a woman’s voice to Zoë’s left. Moderately heavy Scottish accent? Check. It was Maggie. “That’s just what we do.”

Zoë’s smile faltered, but she took a deep breath and reapplied it, turning to Maggie. “I think that’s nice.”

“Do you, now?” asked Maggie, putting out her hand, her face pleasantly neutral as she stared at Zoë without wavering. “I’m Maggie. I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“Unlikely,” said Zoë, dropping her hand as Paul dragged over a chair and bumped it lightly against the back of her legs. “I’ve never been here before.”

Maggie nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing on Zoë’s facial scar before returning to her eyes. Zoë sat down and Paul dragged another chair to sit beside her. The redheaded man across the table stared at her.

“Since you’re all so rude about introducing people, I’ll introduce myself,” he said in a thicker Scottish accent than Maggie’s. “I’m Graham. Maggie’s cousin.”

“Hey, Graham,” said Zoë with a chuckle, ignoring the way his eyes flicked to her breasts before licking his lips suggestively. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old. Cheeky.

Paul cleared his throat loudly and Graham looked away from Zoë, smirking at Paul. “How’s Miss Mystic?”

Wow, this is weird.
They sit around and talk about me? Huh
. All eyes turned to Paul and so Zoë twisted slightly in her seat to do the same.

Paul glanced at Zoë for a split second before speaking, and she could have sworn she saw some emotion cross his face—regret or guilt or…what? Was he reluctant to talk about Holly in front of her now that they’d almost kissed?

“She’s…she’s great. She’s at a teacher’s conference this week.”

“How many days now? Until your visit?” asked Jane. Lars tugged Jane closer and landed a quick kiss on her neck.

“Twenty-five.” Paul crossed and uncrossed his legs so that his shoe brushed Zoë’s leg through her skirt, then skittered away like her skirt was on fire.

“Paul’s headed to Connecticut to meet his girlfriend, Holly,” said Maggie to Zoë, sitting back in her chair, watching Zoë’s face. Zoë could see her mind working and her heart sank. It was only a matter of time until Maggie placed her face. Hopefully she’d at least have tonight to build some sort of rapport with Paul...
before
Maggie outed her.

“Paul was just telling me about Holly,” said Zoë neutrally.

“Paul’s virtual girlfriend,” said Graham, winking at Zoë.

“I assure you, she’s real,” said Paul softly, and Zoë’s heart clenched from his words and his solid tone.

“So glad to hear it,” said Graham, looking pointedly back and forth between Zoë and Paul. “When you two walked in together, I thought maybe you’d thrown over Holly for…”

“Zoë,” she reminded him, raising an eyebrow at his teasing. “And no. We just met.”

“Ohhh,” Graham winked at Zoë, his gaze flicking briefly to her chest again before he picked off a piece of the muffin in front of him. As he popped a piece of muffin in his mouth, two dimples cratered his cheeks as he grinned at Zoë, chewing slowly. “Well, that’s good.”

Paul cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and his elbow brushed the side of Zoë’s breast. He didn’t mean to do that, did he? Whether he did or not, it made her more aware of him, and nervous.

She turned her attention across the table and caught Graham’s eyes frankly appraising her chest again. He was a good few years younger than Zoë, but cute in a self-assured, bad-boy sort of way. His hair was more red than blond, almost the same color as Prince Harry’s, with bright green eyes, and Zoë could see the end of a tattoo snaking out from the cuff of Graham’s long-sleeve shirt, wrapping around his wrist and out of sight. He reminded her of some of her more cocky middle school students, full of piss and smart comments, brimming with hormones, just as ready to take a swing at someone as charm them.

Maggie placed a hand on Zoë’s arm. “What can I get you to drink, Zoë? Cappuccino? Latte?”

Paul turned to Zoë, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Black coffee’s great,” she answered, feeling her face flush from his attention.

“Two black coffees, Mag,” confirmed Paul. “And thanks.”

Maggie stared back and forth between Paul and Zoë for a moment before affixing a smile on her face and turning toward the coffee bar. But Zoë had seen the wariness in her gaze. Maggie sensed that something was off here. Damn woman’s intuition, anyway!

“So, Zoë, what’re you here for? Family? Holiday? On the lam?”

Zoë chuckled, looking up at Jane’s teasing emerald eyes. “I always wanted to see Yellowstone.”

“And you’re an artist, right? What’s your medium?” asked Jane, her head back on Lars’s shoulder.

“Oh, I love acrylics and oils. Pastels. But I can make do with charcoal and good paper if there’s nothing else around.”

“I heard you lost your supplies,” said Lars, smiling at her raised brow. “Yes, Nils again.”

“That’s a shame,” said Graham. “How’d it happen?”

“My art bag never made it on the plane,” said Zoë shrugging.

“I’ve got her covered,” said Paul, shifting in his chair until his hip lightly grazed Zoë’s.

Zoë turned to him because his voice was low and a little bit terse, and totally directed at Maggie’s cousin. There was definitely a little rivalry between the two men and Zoë realized that every time Graham spoke to her, Paul ended up brushing against her. Were the two things were related?

“Y-yes. Paul said that I could borrow some supplies from the art department at his school.”

“Your knight in shining armor,” said Jane, kicking Paul lightly with a sneakered foot and winking at him. “Hey! I have an idea!” She turned to Lars and kissed his lips lightly. “How about we take Zoë into the park tomorrow with us?”

Zoë could have sworn she saw a twinge of disappointment on Lars’s face before he composed himself, smiling warmly at Jane. “Whatever you want, Minx.”