Meeting Miss Mystic (7 page)

How about you bite it?

She felt the burning in her stomach catch like fire on kindling and erupt upward past her chest to her shoulders, down her arms to her fingertips, which curled around her phone. Her heart pounded furiously at the suggestive question, feeling she was at a crossroads. Did she engage in a little sexy talk with him or shut it down? She couldn’t very well call them pen pals anymore if she bantered back, but damn it if she couldn’t help herself.

How about I do?

Oh, man, Holly. I REALLY wish you were here.

She shook her head, smiling sadly at the phone before turning it over on her lap and thinking,
Me too, Paul. Me too.

***

Paul had absolutely no idea what was going on in the movie. What’s more, he was in total shock about what was going on in his body. His heart was thumping like crazy and all the blood in his head had rushed south as he read her words. He glanced down at the bulge in his lap, wishing it away.
She’s a couple thousand miles away, buddy. Stand down.

How had that just happened? How had they gone from chitchat to sizzle? Evelyn Berry.
Thank God for Evelyn Berry
, about whom he hadn’t given a single thought in at least a decade. Holly had a little playful-jealous streak that was not only adorable, but a complete and total turn-on.

How about I do?
Paul groaned softly and shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position to accommodate his aroused body.

He looked at his phone but she hadn’t written back again. Settling back in his chair to try to catch up with the movie plot, he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn’t going to be able to wait until Christmas to meet his Holly.

***

It turned out to be a pretty good movie
, thought Zoë, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The red-haired man in the beginning was Emma’s brother who went off to fight in WWII. He met another man, played by Ryan Gosling, who became his best friend, but who accidentally killed him during a particularly confusing battle scene. Ryan returns to the states after the war and looks up Emma to explain what happened, but she immediately knows him as her dead brother’s war friend and welcomes him into her life with warm, open arms. He falls so hard for her, he can’t bear to tell her the truth so they fall in love with this huge, terrible secret hanging over his head. And when the truth comes out—

Zoë’s phone buzzed as she made her way out of the theater.

So, what’d you think?

Texting while walking wasn’t Zoë’s forte, so she crossed the wet street quickly and ducked into Starbucks. She considered having a salted caramel latte, her favorite, but decided to have a less-fattening cup of regular coffee instead. She sat down at a small bistro table by the windows, which ran with rivulets of rain and made her feel very warm and cozy inside.

Stopped in at Starbucks. Raining cats and dogs here. I liked it. You?

It was good. Thank God the Colonel confessed it was his gunshot that killed the brother. I was really squirming over his deception.

Reading this, Zoë flinched. Another reminder that she was deceiving Paul. She shoved the feeling aside. It had been such a wonderful night; she wasn’t going to ruin it with self-recrimination. She could beat herself up later.

I know. I was worried too…like, That’s IT? You two BELONG together!

Sucker for a happy ending, Miss Morgan?

Absolutely. No question. No apologies.

Speaking of questions, can I ask one?

Sure. Anything.

I know it’s about 8:30 there and it’ll be almost 10:00 by the time I get home, but…

What?

Could I call you? When I get home?

Her breath caught and she took a careful sip of her steaming hot coffee then stared at the screen until her eyes started to burn.

She should write back no. She had already crossed a line by letting their conversation this afternoon hurtle over flirty into sexy. If she intended to let this go, now was the moment. This was the time to say
No, Paul. No. You’re terrific, but you deserve someone better than me. I’m not who you think I am.

Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Wasn’t it?

It might have been the right thing to do at some point, she suddenly realized. But that point had passed. Zoë wanted Paul. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything for two long, cold, sad years. She wanted Paul more than she needed to be a good person. She had no idea how to make sense of her and Paul, but she was very sure of one thing: saying no at this point was simply impossible, so she needed to make her peace with it.

I’ll be waiting
, she typed, tucking her phone back in her bag and trying to ignore the confusing feelings in her heart.

***

Paul was lucky he didn’t get into an accident, driving like a maniac, well over the speed limit, to get home and call Holly. He parked his car in his gravel driveway and hustled up the stairs of his front porch, unlocking the door of the four-bedroom stone and clapboard house he had purchased when he moved to Gardiner. It was easily one of the most expensive houses in town—in fact, prior to Paul’s purchase, it had functioned as the Yellowstone View Bed & Breakfast—but it was nothing for Paul, whose trust fund tidily covered the expense. He knew he didn’t need the extra three bedrooms, but when he moved to Gardiner, he intended to stay there and he had hoped to one day have little bodies populating those other three bedrooms. Someday.

The thing about it, though, was that even though he liked his house, it had never felt like a real home. The truth is that Paul had always lived in houses—large, proper, professionally—decorated houses with beautiful furnishings, devoid of warmth, focused on status and wealth and the importance of
things.
Even now, in the house he’d bought for himself, he didn’t feel like he was home. He felt like he owned a house that covered his head and offered a place to bathe and sleep. He’d done precious little to personalize the house after buying it, and any warmth that it appeared to have was a remnant of the previous owners who left just about all of the furniture. And hokey, western-themed decorations. And Cleo.

Cleo, the B&B Yorkshire Terrier who was a contingency of the original sale, trotted into the room, putting her little paws on his front leg and panting in excitement. She had been four years old when he purchased the house and the owners had stipulated that Cleo came with the house. No Cleo? No sale. They were moving to a retirement home in Florida that wouldn’t accept pets. While Paul wasn’t real fond of little, tiny, yappy dogs, he had wanted the house, which had a strange New England feel to it, so he’d agreed to let Cleo stay on. She was a gentle, affectionate little thing and had worked herself into his heart, keeping him company on cold nights curled up by his feet.

He settled down on the couch in the front room, catching his breath for a second. Glancing at his watch, he found it was 7:35 p.m., 9:35 her time. He could call at any time.

“Whaddaya think? Should I call Holly? Huh?” he asked the little dog who looked up at him adoringly, wagging her tail.

Practically humming with excitement and nervous energy, he headed into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of iced tea. He opened the sliding door onto the back deck that had a good view of Electric Peak in the distance.
Electric. Yeah, that’s about right.

The entire drive home, he tried to tell himself to calm down and step back. Although he and Holly had exchanged a week’s worth of e-mails and an afternoon’s worth of texts, he really didn’t know her well enough yet to be
falling
for her. And yet, he thought about her more and more. All the time, even. He wondered what she was up to as his brain worked efficiently in two time zones. Who was she talking to, and were her students giving her a hard time? Did she miss her mother terribly some days and was there some gym teacher making goo-goo eyes at her from across the faculty cafeteria? He had so many questions; there was so much he wanted to know about her—anything, everything.

He sat down on the porch swing, placing his tea on the table to his left as Cleo jumped up to sit beside him.

“Only one way to get some answers, huh?”

He leaned forward to take his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Holly’s number.

***

After Starbucks Zoë stopped in at the grocery store, so it was late when she got home. She was surprised to find Sandy coming down the stairs of her apartment. Since Saturday nights were the busiest nights at the pizzeria her aunt owned and managed, it surprised Zoë that her aunt wasn’t working.

“Look at you,” said Sandy, a pleased, curious smile lighting up her face. “Were you out on a date or something?”

Zoë glanced down at the ankle-length white, cotton skirt and aqua blue, short-sleeve polo shirt she was wearing with a turquoise bracelet. They were clothes and jewelry she hadn’t worn in a long time, and while the elastic of the skirt’s waistband had been kind to her fuller figure, she was busting out of the shirt a little. Putting them on had been a silly concession to Paul going out on a date with “Holly.” That, and Zoë just wanted to amplify the “Holly” feeling. While fishing the clothes out from a bin at the back of her closet had made her run a little late, they had, in fact, made her feel a little better.

“Nah,” she shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Just felt like a change.”

Sandy bounced down the remaining three steps and pulled Zoë in for a big hug.

“You’re starting to look a little like yourself again,” she said softly, then pulled back. “Where you been?”

“Just to the movies. Saw
Closer To You
. It was good.”

“Yeah? I guess so. You don’t look all mopey. You should go to the movies more often, Zo.”

Zoë shifted her keys back in forth in her hands.

“You could start dating again, you know,” said Sandy.

“Yeah, they’re really knockin’ down my door, Sand.” Zoë jutted her index finger toward the scar on her face with a sardonic pucker.

“Hey, don’t blame that! It’s not that bad anymore. At all.
You
put out a vibe.”

“Oh, I do?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What vibe is that?”

“The stay-away-from-me-or-else vibe.”

“Or else
what
? My giant five-foot-four frame makes them run in fear?”

“No one wants to get shut down when they ask out a pretty girl. You
act
closed, you
are
closed,” said Sandy. She paused for a second, gesturing to Zoë’s shirt and skirt. “But I like this. It’s not as…angry.”

Zoë took a deep breath and considered her aunt’s words. Sandy was right. In the past few days, Zoë didn’t feel as angry. Or as sad or sorry. Guilty? Yes. But all around, she felt lighter since she met Paul, found a friend in him, a possible…
someone
. In fact, she’d go so far as to say she felt more hopeful too.

“Maybe I don’t need that therapist, after all,” said Zoë, giving Sandy a small, unsure smile.
Maybe I just need more of Paul.
“Hey, why aren’t you at Morgan’s?”

“Didn’t feel well,” said Sandy, looking down.

A shudder went through Zoë and she heard her keys hit the ground. This was how it had started with her mother. Not feeling well. Little did they know cancer had already ravaged one breast, leeched into her lymph nodes and started an assault that couldn’t be beaten.

“S-Sandy!” she murmured, her hands cold as ice, fear thick in her voice.

Sandy’s face snapped up, eyes wide and surprised. She blinked twice, then—understanding Zoë’s expression—shook her head back and forth. “No! Oh, no! No, Zo! Nothing like that!! I’m pregnant! I’m just pregnant.”

Zoë’s breath came out in a rush and her whole body relaxed to the point of feeling dizzy and limp. “Oh! Oh, God. Oh, geez, you had me scared for a minute.”

Sandy took Zoë’s hand and rubbed it between hers. “I could see Carly pass over your face like a ghost, Zo. I’m so sorry I told you like that. It didn’t even occur to me.”

Zoë looked at her aunt’s face, realizing for the first time what she had said. She was pregnant! As Zoë caught her breath she started giggling and the giggle turned into all-out laughter as she clasped Sandy’s hands, smiling at her aunt.

“Oh, my God! You’re having a BABY! That’s such great news, Sand!”

Sandy beamed. “You know we been trying, and suddenly my boobs felt really painful last week, and I tell you, Zo, I got scared, thinking of Carly, of what had happened to my sister. So, I went to my doc expecting some really bad news, but my boobs are fine! It’s just one of the first symptoms of pregnancy!”

“When?” asked Zoë, glancing at Sandy’s still-flat stomach.

“Spring,” said Sandy. “And how’s this for magic? I’m due on your mom’s birthday. April 11th. How do you like that?”

“I love it,” Zoë sighed, smiling with real happiness for her aunt.

“If it’s a girl, she’ll be Carly. If he’s a boy, Charley. Either way, I know this baby’s connected to your mom, Zo. I know it.”

Zoë felt pretty sure her aunt was right. She felt so happy, she didn’t think before she said, “Did you tell Thea last night?”

Sandy nodded. “She asked about you.”

Zoë stiffened then leaned down to pick up her keys. “What’d she ask?”

“How you’re doing.”

“How was...” Zoë gulped, and then raised her eyes to Sandy’s. “Brandon?”

“He’s good, Zoë. He walks like a normal kid. The prosthetics are amazing.”

Zoë highly doubted he walked like a normal kid. Normal kids had legs made out of flesh and bone. Brandon had legs made from carbon fiber.

“When he’s eighteen he can be fitted for a new kind that attaches right into the bone above his knee. You don’t have to take it on and off—it’s permanent. Isn’t that amazing? He’s excited for that.”

Zoë’s heart sank. Most six-year-olds were excited for soccer, carnivals and swimming pools. Her nephew was excited about permanent legs to replace the ones he lost? She shut her eyes, wincing. When she opened them, Sandy was staring at her, that concerned look back on her face. Zoë couldn’t talk about it anymore.