Late that afternoon as she still struggled to get something done, a knock came on her back door, and as she descended the stairs, she heard Nick's voice.
"Lauren ?"
Crossing the family room, she found him leaning around one of the French doors; she'd stopped locking them when he was around. As usual, the mere sight of him made her heart tingle. "Hi."
"Here's that color." He stepped inside, holding out a paint sample. "It's called China doll."
She glanced at the card between his fingers and said, "It's fine. Thanks for picking it for me."
Nick only shrugged. "It's my job, Princess. And I'm getting ready to leave, so I'll see you tomorrow."
She bit her lip in response to the nagging tug on her heart. She couldn't quite let him go without asking ... "Nick, I just have to know ... when you come back tomorrow, how will things be?"
He peered into her eyes and lowered his chin. "You mean will it be like before? Will I just come here to paint your house and push up your skirt?"
She nodded.
His hesitation was brief but obvious before he softly said, "No," then lowered a kiss to her forehead.
A knot of worry still gathered in her center, though, and it must have shown on her face, since he added, "Trust me."
He'd asked that of her before, and again the words made her believe in him. It wasn't that she thought Nick Armstrong was the most sincere guy in the world, or the most reliable, but she didn't think he lied to her about things. And after last night and this morning, she thought she might finally have what she'd yearned for with him ... a real connection.
"Good work tonight, buddy."
Davy smiled, waving as Nick left through the screen door. They'd just spent two hours rehanging the gutter on the front of the house, and though Davy knew he hadn't done much more than hold things up and hand Nick tools, he liked when his brother said things like that. They'd just beat the dark, then drunk iced tea in the kitchen. Now he plopped on the couch, pleasantly tired.
"Don't get too comfortable, you need to take a shower."
He looked up to see Elaine's hands planted on her hips, a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She'd been in the backyard working in her flower beds, and the front of her T-shirt was dirty, too. "Looks like you need one worse than me," he said with a grin. She laughed, and her eyes twinkled as she threw a gardening glove at him. He caught it as she said, "All right, maybe I'll go first." Snatching the glove back, she headed toward the rear of the house; he heard her tossing her tools in the wooden box Nick had built for that kind of stuff on the deck.
Glad for the reprieve, he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, but couldn't find anything good. The past few days, in fact, he couldn't find anything that held his attention. And when he'd abandoned the TV and tried to read, he couldn't concentrate on that, either, even though he did want to know what happened to Jim Hawkins and the pirates. Maybe he was still worried about Dad, even though Nick had been right-everything seemed fine now. Or maybe he was thinking about the floral department at Albertson's and Daisy Maria Ramirez.
"Oh, and Davy." He looked up as Elaine stuck her head back in the room, holding out the newspaper. "I meant to show you this earlier. Thought you might be interested."
"What is it?"
"An article about that girl at Albertson's." His breathing stopped; his chest burned. "You know, the one in the wheelchair?" He nodded. "Yeah, I know."
'They did a nice feature on her in the People section."
Yet Elaine frowned. "She has spina bifida."
"What's that?"
"It's a spinal cord problem, something that happens at birth. The article explains it. Wanna see?"
He nodded, too eagerly, he feared. But she didn't seem to notice, just tossed the paper on the couch next to him. He waited 'til she was gone to pick it up, and when he did, his heart sizzled all over again, the warmth spreading through his chest. There she was, Daisy Maria Ramirez, and the picture was even in color. She sat at her table next to some flowers, smiling. He hadn't seen Daisy's smile before, and he knew instantly he'd give anything to have her smile at him like that.
Feeling more private once he heard the shower down the hall, he looked at her a long while, then read the article. Daisy was twenty-two years old and lived in Clearwater with her parents and younger sister. Her spinal cord hadn't grown right before she was born, so she'd never been able to walk. Before Albertson's, she'd worked for a florist for three years, but the place had just gone out of business.
The reporter described her as a shy, quiet girl with a lovely smile. Davy agreed about the smile, and the shy, quiet part didn't surprise him. She was just like him and Dad-different.
She loved arranging flowers, the article said, and also liked reading books and visiting the beach. His heart swelled at that last part, since it meant they had things in common. He felt like he knew her far better than he did, or like he wanted to know her, like maybe if they could both get over their shyness, he'd have things to say to her-important things. The writer concluded with, Watching Daisy create a floral arrangement is a gift to the eye, and Davy wished he'd thought of that, since it was so true.
He was still staring at her picture when Elaine's voice echoed from her bedroom. "Shower's free, Davy. You need to get cleaned up and ready for bed."
"All right," he yelled back, then carried the paper down the hall into his room, stooping to slide it under his bed on top of the games there.
Running the soap over his chest beneath the warm water a few minutes later, he could still see Daisy's smile in his mind. How could he ever get her to smile at him that way? He ran down scenarios in his head, from Hot enough for ya? to Nick's Lookin' good, as usual, but he knew none of that was going to work. Not even Pretty flowers~e just didn't have the courage. He wanted to think she'd see in him what he saw in her, that after one hello she'd understand they were kindred spirits, that they knew the same things, felt the same feelings, but what if that didn't happen? What if he opened his mouth and she gave him a familiar look-the you're-weird look or the sleeping-puppy look?
He kept thinking about the article. It was special, he thought, to have a newspaper devote half a page to you, and he bet she felt proud, maybe if even a little embarrassed. That's how he would feel.
After putting on his pajamas and saying good night to Elaine, he went into his room and pulled the paper back out and thought some more about making Daisy smile. And as he turned out the light and lay down to sleep, an idea began to form in the back of his mind.
He'd once known a pretty girl in school named Lucy, and he'd always pictured her surrounded by black night sky and sparkling stars, like the song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." But he didn't think of Daisy like that couldn't, in fact-because Daisy wasn't dark like nighttime. Daisy was sunlight and flowers. Even her name was a flower of the simplest, prettiest flowers. Daisy was spring and summer, color and texture. She made him feel like the first moment when the sun came out from behind the clouds and hit your face.
He was going to make her something, he decided, something that said everything he couldn't say; he was going to make her a gift. He wasn't sure what exactly it would be yet, but it had to be perfect. Because watching her arrange flowers was a gift for his eye, and he wanted
to give her something just as special in return.
Mornings were Nick's favorite time for working those few short hours before the tropical heat came on full blast. He often got more done in that span of time than he would for the rest of the day.
The following morning, he felt even more energetic than usual. The midsummer humidity hadn't yet set in; a brief overnight rain had cooled the air. He liked the new trim color he was putting on Lauren's house. And it was Friday. Despite himself, he wondered if he'd end up back in Lauren's bed or if they'd part ways 'til Monday. There were suddenly new things to weigh. He'd never meant to promise her things would be different now, but when she'd asked, he somehow couldn't bring himself to disappoint her. Then again, promising not to use her for sex hardly equaled a commitment, so maybe he could manage this. Maybe he could sleep with her, have fun with her, enjoy her, without things getting too heavy. That was the plan anyway.
He went on with his work, focusing on applying an even coat of paint to one of the twin columns that supported Lauren's front awning while he tried not to think too much about the woman inside. Until she opened the front door, that is, a glass of lemonade in her hand Her drawn-back hair revealed delicate cheekbones, and she wore white shorts that showed off tan legs. Who was he kidding-be had been thinking about her, whether he liked it or not.
"I just made this. Thought you might like something other than water."
He lowered his paintbrush. "Thanks." He took the drink from her, their fingers brushing lightly, then drained half of it in one long gulp.
An uncomfortable silence quickly grew, and he wondered if his shortness was scaring her, making her think things had gone back to the way they were before, despite what he'd said yesterday. He could still do that, he told himself, still act like an asshole, and it would likely be a smart move.
"Well"-she shifted her weight from one foot to the other "if you want more, it's in the fridge. I'll leave the door unlocked." "Okay," he said as she turned to go. Then, "Wait." Her blue eyes returned to his and, for some reason, it paralyzed him. I missed you last night. The words popped into his mind, but he couldn't say them. Even if he had lain in bed wondering what she was doing, wishing she were next to him.
So instead, he grabbed her hand and stepped up close to her, lowering his mouth onto hers for a smooth, lingering kiss. She might like talking, but he was still more comfortable kissing.
When it was done, she bit her lip, looked uncertain, and he tried to keep his face emotionless. Yet when she finally started to leave again, he heard himself say, "You like the water?"
She stared at him blankly. "Water?" ''The ocean? Sailing?"
She blinked, still looking uncertain. "Yeah. I mean, of course."
"You wanna do that tonight? Take a sunset cruise on one of the sailboats at the marina?"
The small smile that lit her face warmed his soul in an entirely unexpected way. "I'd like that."
"Okay," he said, a little dumbfounded at how easy it was to make her happy.
When the door closed behind her, he drank the rest of the lemonade, lowered the glass to the front porch, then got back to work. But what the hell had he just done?
He'd just asked Henry Ash's daughter out on a date, that was what.
The first time he'd looked into Lauren's eyes, all he'd been able to see was Henry, and privilege, things that should've been his. Yet when he looked at her now, it was different-and the truth was that this had been about more than just sex since ... well, since he'd first had sex with her. A big part of Nick couldn't quite believe he'd just asked her out-this woman he had no intention of having a relationship with-but despite himself, another part of him welled with anticipation.
"To Sadie," Lauren said, lifting her wineglass as she gazed into Nick's sexy eyes.
"Sadie ... at Ash?" he asked.
They lounged across the long, narrow bow of a sleek schooner while it meandered from the bay into the open Gulf waters. The cries of seagulls competed with the sound of the waves shushing against the boat's hull.
Lauren nodded, then cast what she suspected was a sheepish smile. "If Sadie hadn't called you to paint my house, we wouldn't be here."
"Guess not," he agreed, clinking his stemmed glass with hers.
"I love this," she said, letting her eyes wander out over the ocean as the boat bobbed gently through the evening swells. But I love this night is what she really meant. I loved boarding this boat with you, loved knowing without being told that you arranged for us to have it all to ourselves, other than the captain. I love looking into your dark eyes right now and knowing we both want to be here.
Something in her world had shifted when he'd arrived at her door looking startlingly rugged in a dark burgundy T-shirt and blue jeans. Only as they'd embarked on their date did she realize this was truly turning into romance, the sort that seared her heart in a much deeper way than mere sex ever could. She still didn't know if it would last, and she was afraid to even begin thinking about the future, but she'd begun to believe the pain she'd endured with Nick had been worth it because it'd somehow brought them here. And here was a good place, at least for the moment.
"By the way, I spoke to Phil yesterday. About Jeanne."
Nick's eyes widened, making her regret interrupting romance with real life. "You're kidding me, right?"
"No, but don't worry, I didn't bring you into it. I told him I saw him with another woman at the party."
"I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about you."
"Why?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'm betting he didn't appreciate you sticking your nose into his business."
She smiled in concession. "As a matter of fact, he didn't. But I couldn't know he was cheating and just let it go on without doing something."
"What'd he say?"
"He tried to act like it was no big deal, told me I was taking it too seriously."
"I've always thought," he began, lifting his glass for a drink, "that life's complicated enough without getting involved in other people's problems."
He met her eyes when he was through, but she only smiled. "Sometimes," she answered, "other people really need help, and maybe they don't even know it until someone else does get involved."
Before Nick could reply, the quiet middle-aged captain approached from the rear of the sleek white boat, lowering a lidded wicker basket before them. "Your sunset picnic," he said. smiling in a way that made Lauren think he truly enjoyed his job, or maybe he sensed the same romance in the air that she did. Either way, she returned his smile, then shifted it to Nick. Inside the basket, they found grapes, cheeses, finger sandwiches, fresh sliced fruit, and tiny tea cookies. She laid it all out between them on the checkered cloth provided, then sampled the brie on a toasted cracker. "Mmm," she said. "Good." "What is it?" Nick asked, spying the soft cheese.