Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (31 page)

Cissie sighed. Books were a huge part of who she was. She read every night in bed, without fail, and sometimes she was up all night with a fantastic book. But when you had a guy who could make you feel the way Boone did, she could see staying up all night with him instead.

Laurie managed a half-hearted smile. “I can tell you’re thinking about the sex part. Have you two actually done it?”

“Yes.”
In the gazebo
, Cissie thought, and wondered if she should be ashamed that two upstanding citizens like her and Boone had caused a bar scene
and
had sex in a public place.

“I can tell you’re afraid to tell me it was amazing because of what’s going on with Perry and me. But it’s okay.” Laurie smiled sadly. “I
want
you to be happy.”

That broke Cissie’s heart. “Laurie—”

“No. Let’s talk about it.” Laurie took out her comb and ran it through her hair. “Maybe it means something good will come out of what happened to us. Pay attention to the sex part. If that’s good, it goes a long way.” She put her comb back in her purse and looked up at Cissie with an earnest expression. “It’s not everything, but good sex makes the rest so much easier to navigate. Perry and I quit making time for each other in bed. It was a very bad mistake.”

“I can’t believe you’re thinking of
me
right now,” Cissie said.

“Of course, I am. You’re my best friend.”

They hugged, a long hug that would take them both through the party, which wound up being a wonderful event. Cissie was touched by how beautifully Nana had decorated the large lobby entrance. The food was eclectic—everyone brought different things—and all of it was delicious. And way more partygoers came than she expected—at least fifty, and they were all so supportive.

“This was incredible,” she told Nana at the conclusion.

Laurie had gone home with her mother. She seemed in better spirits. Maybe tonight’s party had reminded her, too, that she was part of a community.

“I feel so loved.” Cissie walked around with Nana and a couple teenage volunteers to pick up napkins and put the glass wine goblets in a big bin for washing.

“That’s how I wanted you to feel.” Nana smiled, but she looked tired.

Cissie took a napkin out of her hand. “You sit down. I’ve got this.”

“Tell you what. We’ll leave the rest up to the volunteers. They’re earning service points for the National Honor Society.”

“Okay.” She took Nana’s hand, and they sat down.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” said Nana. “I’m so proud of you.” Her voice trembled with it.

Cissie leaned her head on her grandmother’s shoulder. “You’re the one who got me started. Remember the day on the porch?”

“Of course. But that was
you
—you telling me you were in a rut. You saying that something had to change.”

“Well, something did,” Cissie said. “A tree fell through our roof.”

They both chuckled.

“It wasn’t the tree,” Nana said. “You thought of the sit-in first. But the tree did make us both regroup.”

They sat and watched the teens for a few seconds.

Nana took her hand. “I got a text earlier from someone at Boone’s party.”

“Oh?”

“She said that Boone stayed twenty minutes and left. He told his parents he had something else going on.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“What could be more important right now than his own pre–Election Day party?” Cissie dug through her purse and pulled out her phone on the off chance—the
very
off chance—that he’d tried to contact her, and found a message.

“We’ve got to go,” she told Nana. “He—he texted me. He’s at home. He told us to get back as fast as we can. He’s lit the fire, made cocktails, and you and I are both invited to our own house preelection party.”

“So that’s how it is.” Nana chuckled. “Honey, he’s not getting my vote for mayor, but he wins my vote for Most Adorable Man. I’ll have one little drink, but then I’m hitting the hay. Take advantage of that fact.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

This time, after a fun night hanging at home with his two houseguests, Boone took Cissie by the hand and led her to his bedroom. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to do after Nana said goodnight and went upstairs. Cissie belonged with him as she was now, sprawled on his bed, naked, her hair spread on his pillow, her eyes following his as he took off his clothes, slung them over the divan, lit a low lamp, and returned to the bed to join her.

But then his cell phone chirped from his nightstand.

She sat up on her elbow. “It’s late.”

He checked the screen and immediately tensed. “I can’t believe it. It’s my parents.”

“Great timing.” She smiled and kissed his shoulder.

Her enthusiasm for all things sensual—so fresh and honest—turned him on like nothing else. But he also loved that she made an excellent friend in the bargain.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and took the call. “Hey, Dad. Is everything okay?”

Cissie ran her hand down his naked back, her touch soothing yet also a turn-on.

“Your mother and I are fine,” his father said. “But we need to come talk to you.”

That was weird. “This late?” Boone made a face at Cissie.

Hers registered a budding concern, which was so damned sweet of her. He moved his hand to her thigh to let her know.

“It’s imperative,” Frank said. “We’re leaving now.”

He clicked off before Boone could ask more.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“Well, at least they called ahead.” Cissie reminded him.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Boone kissed her, but he was definitely distracted. “This must be punishment for my leaving the party early.” He couldn’t imagine what else it would be. “They’ll be here in ten. You want to stay?”

She sat up. “I think I’ll go,” she said. “I’d feel funny waiting here.…”

“You shouldn’t.”

She shrugged, leaned forward, and kissed him back. “I’ll see you in the morning. It’s probably best we both get some sleep. And I can’t promise I’ll let you sleep if I stay.” She slipped out of bed and pulled on her clothes scattered across the floor.

He got up, too, ignored his desire to run his hands over her soft, warm body before she got dressed, and went to his bureau instead. He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, donned a T-shirt, and came back to her. She was dressed again and at his reading table and chair.

She looked up at him. “I’m so glad you’re reading
To Kill a Mockingbird
. It’s one of my favorites. I’ve read it at least ten times over the years. How far have you gotten, or are you a re-reader, like me?”

Inwardly, he groaned. Maybe that glow on her face came from the book. But he dared to hope it came from him, too. “I’m just starting.”

“Oh!” She looked delighted. “You’re going to love it.”

“Great.” He kissed her long and deep. “You’d better go.”

When she looked up at him, her eyes were soft. “I wish…”

“What?”

“I wish we weren’t opposed to each other tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He brushed some hair off her face. “Me, too. But politics isn’t everything.”

“But what I feel politically—that’s who I am,” she said. “I can’t separate. My values, my principles, are all tied up in how I vote.”

“Mine, too. But look at James Carville and Mary Matalin. They’re together, despite incredibly dissimilar political views. You and I both love Kettle Knob. We just have different ideas about how to nurture what we have here. Sometimes we’ll run into snags. But everything’s negotiable.”

She smiled. “You’re right.”

Why was he making arguments in support of their being together when he knew—ultimately—that she was going to split when she found out she was shagging the football coach who could barely read?

He watched her go up the stairs. She turned around and blew him a kiss.

When his parents showed up at the door five minutes later, his mother’s lips were compressed and his father’s bushy eyebrows appeared lower than usual, both ominous signs.

“Good evening, son,” his father said in a clipped tone. “I hope those other things you had to do instead of attending your mother’s party got done.”

“They did.” He held the door open. “You know how crazy it gets right before an election. Mom, how’d the rest of the night go?”

His mother launched into a long monologue about all the gossip she’d heard. “It was a huge success, darling. It’s probably good you left—you looked like a man on a mission.”

“Oh, I was.” Boone felt better than ever about leaving. “Let’s head to the study.”

“We’ve seen the
Morning Coffee
tape,” Frank said once they were situated with the study door shut. “And they’re moving it up to tomorrow morning, instead of Sunday. Eight a.m. sharp—it’s going to be a segment on the network’s national weekday morning show.”

“Are you kidding me?” Boone was … Well, he was flabbergasted, to say the least. “Why the full-court press? And how do you know all this?”

His parents exchanged glances.

“Your father has a great deal of influence, as you know,” his mother said. “In light of what happened at The Log Cabin, he took it upon himself to contact some of the staff at the show, so we can be ready for whatever comes before the story hits the air.”

“I can’t believe you did that. Or that they let you see it.”

His father shrugged. “Money talks. Your mother and I made sure we took business cards from the TV crew when the show was here.”

“The production assistants could always use extra cash,” his mother said. “We’re only protecting our interests.”

“I get it that that’s how you work.” Boone sat in his grandfather’s desk chair, crossed his arms, and stared into the unlit fireplace across the room. “But I don’t have to like it. And it was unnecessary. At The Log Cabin, I defended myself, and then I defended Cissie. The show might try to make the situation look worse, but believe me, I’ll get my side of the story out there.”

“The Log Cabin wasn’t the problem,” said his dad.

That was a shock. Boone wracked his brain to think what else this so-called problem could be. “What was, then?”

Becky Lee sank gently into a leather armchair. “It’s your relationship with Ella Kerrison that has us concerned. And the TV people all aflutter.”

Ella.

Boone sat forward over his knees. “How would the TV show know about Ella?”

“They have videotape of you going to her house a lot,” his father said. “In the mornings. Parking your car in the back.”

“It looks like you’re having an affair.” His mother sounded shocked. And worried.

Boone raked a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous. How dare they spy on me? And so what if I’m having an affair with Ella?” His parents both drew back a little. “I’m
not
,” he assured them. “But she’s single, and so am I. Why would a TV program care if we had a romantic relationship?”

“I think it’s because they also have footage of you coming out of your shed with Cissie,” his mother said. “It’s clear you’re kissing her. Not to mention she’s living with you.”

Boone couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“They want to make you look like a two-timer,” his dad said. “An untrustworthy guy.”

Becky Lee got tears in her eyes. “Do you see now why we didn’t want you to live with Cissie? Your reputation is going to be sullied.”

A cold hardness formed in Boone’s chest. “Who took that film of me and Cissie in the shed?”

Frank shook his head. “Someone in Kettle Knob, I suppose. Someone who wanted to catch you being up to no good.”

“Kissing someone—when you’re both single—is a sign of poor character?” Boone raised his voice. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe you have a stalker,” Becky Lee suggested.

“I guess I must,” he said. “Why else would someone hide in my woods and take film footage of me in my shed?”

“Is Cissie your girlfriend?” asked his mother.

Boone hated how fearfully she asked the question. “I wish she were, Mom. But I can’t say that she is. She’s a very nice, smart,
good
woman, and I don’t want you and Dad judging her.”

“Just what is going on between you two?” asked Frank. “And how about Ella?”

Boone stood. “Frankly, it’s no one’s business.”

“But, son—” his mother began.

Boone held up a hand. “Mom, you and Dad need to back off. I have a right to a private life.”

“Well, it’s not private anymore!” his dad snapped.

“Then that’s even more reason for me to guard whatever’s left of it.”

There was another long silence. His parents looked absolutely miserable. But that was their fault. “Why are you two asking for answers anyway? When you already know why I must be seeing Ella?”

His mother lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “We don’t know why you are, honey.”

He shook his head, not really believing her. “You
do
.”

“We
don’t
,” his father reiterated.

Boone prayed for patience. “She’s Mrs. Kerrison’s daughter.”

Why were they still looking at him so blankly? Were they really living that much in their fantasyland? God forbid. Because if so, it made a sham of their relationship, the one he’d been so carefully preserving all these years.

He forced himself to share further. “Ella saw her mother teach me. Ella would sit with us. You saw her, Mom. You did, too, Dad. When you’d pick me up, we’d be reading a book together. Remember?”

His parents exchanged a pained, shocked look.

“I-I forgot,” his mother said.

On purpose
, Boone wanted to add.

“Are you saying that Ella is teaching you?” his father asked. “She’s not a teacher.”

“I know that,” said Boone. “She’s a reader. She’s helped me through the piles of papers and emails I get every day from the school and town hall. I’ve reached a tipping point. The mayor’s race has brought that home.”

His parents were silent.

“I know you don’t like to think about it,” Boone said, “but I still have trouble reading.”

His mother took out a tissue from her purse and wiped at one of her eyes.