Meeting Miss Mystic (19 page)

He closed his eyes, lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

***

One minute she’d been trying to get back to her inn as fast as possible, and the next moment she was in Paul’s arms, sobbing against his chest, taking advantage of his solid warmth. She couldn’t have stopped the tears if she’d wanted to.

The crying had been about everything: losing her mother, the accident, Brandon’s legs, her own injuries, falling out with Thea, pretending to be Holly, falling in love with Paul, knowing that he felt something real for Zoë, and the terrible inevitability of having to tell him the truth and how much it could potentially hurt him when she did. Everything was a mess and she couldn’t figure out how to unravel it all into order and sense and goodness. So, she cried. Her shoulders trembled as he ran his hands gently, soothingly up and down her back, before brushing her hair from her face. Eventually the slow, languorous movements made her tired, burning eyes heavy and she took a few deep breaths as her tears tapered off.

She stepped back from Paul, raising her head, swiping away the tears under her eyes with her fingers, brushing away the wetness on her cheeks with the palm of her hand. And then she looked up. The soft glow of the street lamp in the rain caught the light blue of his eyes. The rain beat down harder and it felt like waking up inside of a dream—like whatever happened next, it wouldn’t actually be real.

And in that moment she forgot about Holly and Zoë and Zoë Holly, about the internet and lies and Maggie’s sharp assessment. She forgot about Mystic and Montana and legs that limp and hair dyed black and heartbreaking tattoos of little lambs with all four legs. She couldn’t remember anything but the man holding her.

When he closed his eyes and lowered his head, it was all she could do to keep from fainting.

***

He caught her lower lip with his as he’d wanted to every time she’d bitten it that afternoon and evening. He captured it, lightly touching it with his tongue, shivers climbing up his arms as he moved his hands from her damp back to her face to press his palms against her slick cheeks, his fingers threading through her thick, wet black hair.

Zoë moaned softly into his mouth and the sound was like liquid heat in his veins, racing through his body until it reached his heart, setting it on fire, making it hammer as his feverish blood shot down past his waist making him harden with want for her. He pulled her closer, parting the pliant seam of her lips with his tongue, tilting his head to better fit his mouth flush against hers.

She flattened her hands on his chest as he explored her hot, wet mouth, swirling his tongue around hers and groaning as she stepped into him, pressing her belly into his hips, his hardness pushing insistently against her softness.

He wanted to touch her, to run his hands under her shirt and fell the softness of her skin. He started running his fingers down her face, one of them gently tracing the scar that ran from her hairline to—

“Paul, wait—” she murmured, her voice breathy and overwhelmed. She pulled back from him, dropping her chin so that his lips grazed her forehead.

His chest moved up and down with the force of his breathing. He was acutely aware of her hands on his chest, her fingers moving slightly with every breath as they gently molded over his muscles. He looked down at her little fingers and the reality of what he’d just done broadsided him like a sucker punch. His hands froze on her face, trembling, before he dropped them silently, stepping back from her.

“Zoë. My God, I’m so—I don’t know why I did that, I—I don’t know what to say.”

There was no doubt in his mind who had started that kiss. It was his fault and his alone. She had been vulnerable, crying and sad, and it had bothered him so much, he’d wanted to give her any comfort—
every
comfort—he had to offer. But to take advantage of such a moment. He swallowed painfully, furrowing his brows in shame, daring to look at her.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, her captivating chest still heaving as she caught her breath.

Her eyes looked stricken, but not in the same way they had a few minutes ago, and he realized, with some small consolation, that they didn’t look hopeless anymore.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she whispered.

He didn’t know how to take her words. Was she just being kind to him by trying to smooth over the awkwardness of his actions? Or was she actually worried he regretted that mind-bending kiss?

“I’m not,” he answered softly without thinking.

The muscles in her face relaxed and she exhaled, taking a deep breath and putting out her hand. He took it, silently, lacing his fingers through hers as they walked the rest of the way across the bridge.

***

They didn’t say another word to each other on the short walk back to Zoë’s inn. He didn’t ask her why she was crying and she didn’t ask him why he had kissed her. They both seemed to understand that there wasn’t room for such questions right now, nor space for the answers, which would further muddle whatever was between them.

Zoë needed to clear her head and figure out what she should do next. And that couldn’t happen while she was within touching distance of Paul.

As they neared the front porch of the Mountain View Inn, Paul spoke softly, his voice laced with regret. “Zoë, I—”

She interrupted him. “I know you’re with Holly. I know that. But, I’m only here for a few days and I’d like to spend time with you. We won’t—we won’t kiss again. We can just chalk that up to an emotional moment, okay? But, I just—I like being around you.” They stopped under a streetlight and she shrugged, looking down at their hands, which were still clasped intimately together. Did he realize they were still holding hands? “Please don’t cancel coming to the falls tomorrow.”

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed. He reached up and tucked a piece of damp black hair behind her ear, looking at her tenderly.

“We’re both taken,” he said softly.

She bit her lip and dropped her eyes, unable to speak, almost unable to bear the irony that they were, in fact, taken by each other.

“Come to the falls,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, so she peeked up at him from under her lashes. His was staring at her lips with a fierceness that she could see, but couldn’t necessarily explain. Then he sighed, looking away from her for a minute, over her shoulder at the Mountain View Inn porch, shaking his head back and forth as if in surrender. Finally he looked at her and his lips—the lips she could still feel moving on hers—tilted up in a small smile for her, searching her eyes before nodding.

“I’ll come get you at nine,” he said, dropping her hand. “’Night, Zoë.”

“Good-night, Paul,” she breathed, watching him turn and walk away.

She exhaled a ragged breath and hurried up the stairs, opening the door of the inn and going directly to her room. She threw the key on the antique desk beside the door with a clatter, running her hands through her hair. She paced the room once, then twice, before peeling off her wet sweater and sitting down slowly, disbelievingly, on the edge of the bed.

“What a goddamned mess,” she whispered to herself.

She lay back, tears pooling in her eyes as she stared at the ceiling, letting herself, just for a moment, remember kissing Paul. His lips had been warm and soft on hers, taking the breath from her as he moved them gently, then more insistently against hers. Her heart raced remembering his arms holding her then touching her face, one finger running down the scar on her cheek like a raindrop. In fact, she’d pulled away because of the intimate way he’d touched her; he hadn’t seem to notice her scar—hadn’t looked quizzically at it, or stolen glances at it while he thought she wasn’t looking. But his touch told her a lot: he did notice it, he did wonder about it, but it didn’t seem to make him less attracted to her. He didn’t avoid it. He went out of his way to connect with it.

Tears ran out of the corners of her eyes at the thought of such tenderness, but shame arrived quickly on its heels. Guilt and shame in equal shares.

Her original plan was to walk to his house, knock on his door and tell him the truth. She was so derailed from that plan now, she didn’t have a clue of how to get back on track. She’d saved his dog, he’d bandaged her up, and he knew as well as she did that sparks flew then…but they couldn’t keep their hands off each other while walking to coffee, literally. Holding hands, touching his face, the near-kiss in the gazebo. And it wasn’t just her, either. Every time Graham had looked her way, some part of Paul’s body touched hers. Not to mention his holding her…and kissing her. And the evidence of his arousal, his blatant attraction to her, had been patently irrefutable.

Fix this, Zoë, before it’s too late.

Walk to his house. Knock on the door. Tell him the truth.

It’s just as good a plan now as it was five hours ago. Just do it.

The voice in her head was firm and reasonable, and she gravitated toward it. Maybe he’d even feel softer about everything since they’d already had a chance to connect a little bit. She sighed, sitting up and wiping the tears away. She was strong. She had the courage to do this.

She slipped her shoes back on and went into the bathroom to brush her damp hair into a ponytail, giving herself a quick pep talk before heading for the door.

Hearing the knock from outside was the last thing she expected. Her pulse raced and her heart leapt imagining it was Paul. She opened the door and was surprised to find Maggie standing on the other side.

“Can I come in?” she asked in a gentler, warmer voice than she’d used at the café.

“I was just going to—um, sure.” Zoë stepped back to let Maggie in the room.

Maggie walked over to the windows and peeked outside at the street below.

“Never been in here,” she said lightly, giving Zoë a half smile and sitting in the wingback chair.

Zoë closed the door and sat down on the bed across from Maggie, her nerves shot. Was Maggie here to tell her that she’d already gone to Paul?

“After you left,” she started, sitting back to make herself more comfortable, “he was upset.”

Zoë swallowed, staring at Maggie, not knowing what to say.

Maggie sighed, meeting Zoë’s gaze. “It occurred to me after you left that I didn’t give you a chance to explain anythin’. Called you a liar. Threatened you. Tried to boss you around.” She flinched, looking down. “I’m sorry. You have to understand. I love him. Like a brother or a cousin. I’m certainly closer to Paul than Graham. Can’t see him hurt and know I did nothin’ to stop it.”

Zoë leaned forward. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Is your name Zoë or Holly?”

“My full name is Zoë Holly Flannigan. My mother’s maiden name was Morgan.”

“Holly Morgan. I see.”

Zoë nodded slowly.

“What about the hair? The scar on your face? Your eyes? You look very different, Zoë.”

“I opened that account two years ago. About a week later, I was in a terrible accident, and everything changed. Someone I love very much was hurt. I was hurt.” Zoë took a deep breath, biting back her tears. She slowly pulled on the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up around her thighs until her right leg, with all of its twisted, purple, mangled flesh was in full view.

Maggie gasped, covering her mouth her hand.

Zoë’s could see her working her jaw as she took in the extent of Zoë’s injuries.

Maggie finally lifted her gaze to Zoë, slowly moving her hand back down to her lap.

“What happened to you?”

“My car was run off the road. My nephew was in the back. He was only four. He lost both of his legs.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maggie, her eyes went soft with sympathy.

Zoë was grateful for her kindness and hated it simultaneously. She pushed her skirt back down, smoothing her hands over her lap.

“I don’t work as a teacher anymore. I barely see my sister; she can’t stand the sight of me. When you—” Zoë’s voice broke and she bit her lip, composing herself before continuing. “When you wrote to me and told me about Paul, it was like—it was like the sun coming out after two years of darkness. And then I met him, and he was just so—so wonderful. I almost told him several times: I’m not the girl in the picture anymore. But I couldn’t do it.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“I knew I could look like myself again by Christmas. My hair would grow out and I could dye it back to my natural shade of blonde. I could take out these—” she extended her eye open between her thumb and forefinger and took out one of the brown contacts, balancing it on the pad of her forefinger “—and be blue-eyed again. By then I would have had my final facial surgery in October, have time to heal and by Christmas my face would have looked okay again. I can’t get rid of the tattoos, but I could have lost all of the twenty-five pounds I’d put on. I was even planning to get my old job back, if possible.

“I had a plan to be Holly by Christmas when he came home to see his family.”

She placed her contact lens in the case on the bedside table, followed by its mate, and then she clicked the container carefully shut.

“But he decided to visit you in October instead,” said Maggie from her chair in the corner, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

Zoë took a deep breath and sighed. “If he came to Mystic and found Zoë instead of Holly, I was afraid he’d turn around and go home. But I thought if I came here and told him to his face that I’d deceived him, he’d have no choice but to listen. Except his dog almost got hit by a car, and I lost my nerve and the whole—”

“I see,” said Maggie, shaking her head lightly and looking out the window.

“Honestly, I never meant for it to get this far.”

Maggie looked back at her, giving her a stern, disbelieving look. “I don’t think I buy that.”

“It wasn’t my intention from the start. Really, it wasn’t. It’s just that he was so wonderful. My life had been so awful and then suddenly here’s this man dropped into my lap.” Zoë looked down, smiling at her hands on her lap. “And he’s funny and kind and he’s everything I would ever want. He makes me want to be the girl from the picture again. He helped me to remember who she was. He’s already made my life so much better and brighter and…” She looked up, meeting Maggie’s softening eyes. “I fell in love with him, Maggie.”