Harvest Moon (20 page)

She moved and stopped.

“Perfect.”

She drew in a breath, presumably aware of his proximity.

“Lower the glass to the bar on your left. Take your time, and when it’s down, move your other hand onto the bar.”

Once the glass was down and both her hands rested in front of her, she said, “Now what?”

“Leave the glass alone. The bottle is a few inches from your other hand. Slide your fingers over it, then guide your hand up the bottle and hold the neck.”

Like soldiers following a commander, her fingers marched to the bottle, and her hands slid up the smooth sides with a slow caress. She held the neck and lifted the bottle.

“Done.” Her breath sounded raspy, almost winded. She smiled and the simple act pleased him in ways he’d never have dreamed.

“Keep coming to me until I say stop, short steps.”

“How many?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Her lips twitched. She took a deep breath and moved in his direction, slow steps, but more certain than he’d have expected. He took full advantage, studying the rounded curves of her breasts, the lace bra strap peeking from beneath her shirt, right near her shoulder. One more step and she’d land in his arms.

“Stop. Don’t open your eyes.”

She waited, so close he could reach out and run his hand along the curve of her waist or lean forward and kiss her lips. Through ragged breaths, the gentle rise and fall of her chest made him ache with desire. Did she feel it too?

“Instead of you opening the bottle, would you object to letting me take it from you?”

She drew in her lower lip for a few seconds. “No.”

“Lift the bottle, like you’re offering it to me.”

She did so, keeping the wine about six inches from her chest.

“Our hands might touch.”

She nodded. He gently placed his hands around hers, and they both stayed that way for several seconds before he finally whispered, “Open your eyes.”

Slowly her lids lifted, her long dark lashes flickered. She stared at him, the steady rise of her chest and sweet floral scent of her hair filling his senses, a reminder of their one shared kiss.

“You were great.” He spoke softly, afraid he’d scare her away.

“So were you.” She parted her lips and her face softened into a smile so genuine, so loving, he couldn’t move, never more terrified of making a mistake.

“I’m back!” Sophie yelled from the kitchen, then barged into the tasting room. “I am so sorry, Ronnie. Duncan met me—” She stopped, stared. “Oh!”

Veronica’s hands slipped from the bottle, but Trent stopped the fall.

Sophie cut her gaze back and forth between them, the wine, and the glass, and her brows furrowed. “Are you two having a glass of wine?”

“Actually, I was showing this wine to Veronica in the hopes she’d join us at your house tonight for dinner and try some.”

Sophie grinned. “Beat you to it. I already invited her and she said yes. Isn’t that right, Ronnie?”

Veronica nodded and her cheeks flushed pink, but she kept her gaze on Trent and didn’t move, despite how close they were, or Sophie’s presence. A very good sign.

Trent pulled his free leg inside the kayak’s cockpit and settled his body in the seat. The first time he’d tried to get into one of the narrow boats was earlier in the summer, during a visit to Duncan’s place. While Patrick instructed him from the sidelines, Trent had lost his balance and tipped into the shallow water. Pat laughed his ass off. Trent soon joined in, despite feeling every part the fool.

He’d taken the boats out many times since and now confidently pushed himself forward along the shoreline with even strokes, enjoying the heat of the early morning sun on his skin and the way the movement burned his muscles. Near some lily pads, he slowed to watch several turtles bask in the sunlight. One of the little treasures he’d started to pay attention to on these trips.

The lake’s calm brought him unexpected peace. For twenty minutes, he propelled through the dark waters with only a few breaks. Cool water splashed off the paddle, refreshing as it landed on his hot skin.

With each stroke, he tried to push himself further away from the overwhelming urges for Veronica he’d wrestled with last night. After Sophie interrupted them in the tasting room, Veronica had returned home to change clothes for dinner. An hour later, she’d returned to the house dressed in a sundress, little strappy sandals, and—as always—a short pearl necklace. God, his hands had itched to draw her close and kiss her, the way he’d wanted to at the end of their wine bottle game.

He steered the boat around a bend, opening to a wider part of the lake. Another kayaker drifted in the center, their paddle not visible. He cut across the choppy water in the boat’s direction. As he neared, he realized the kayaker was female. He slowly smiled and stopped paddling, allowing the boat to drift in the gentle waves.

Seated in her kayak, Veronica tipped her head toward the boat’s back. A rolled up towel was tucked beneath her neck and her sunglasses had been propped in the soft curls of her hair. White cords dangled from her ears, presumably attached to ear buds. Her leg hung out the boat’s side, bronzed and glistening. His kayak floated closer. She wore a one-piece bright red bathing suit under a pair of shorts.

Veronica’s voice skipped across the water, sweetly crooning about having a ticket to ride, a Beatles classic.

Trent sat through two verses, unable to wipe the smile from his face. His boat drifted close enough to breathe in the tropical scent of her lotion. He dangled his fingertips in the water, then lifted them and flicked the droplets through the air, toward her arm.

She stopped singing, opened her eyes wide, and lifted her head. “Oh! Trent.” She removed the ear buds and smiled. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to enjoy the show. Beatles fan?”

“Who isn’t? They’re great.” She used her elbows to shimmy upright. “I’ve never seen you out here.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not following me, are you?”

“No!” he said quickly, only her laugh made him realize she’d been teasing him.

“Do you kayak much?”

“Been out a few times. How about you? I’d never have expected to see you out here.”

She looked at him funny, somewhat confused. “Why? I grew up on the lake. We were out on the water all the time.”

“I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. Like the way we lived just outside Manhattan, so I’d go into the city a lot.”

Their boats bumped, and her lovely dark eyes met his, causing a commotion inside his chest.

“Last night was fun.” She searched his face, as if trying to read his thoughts.

“I’m glad you joined us. Sophie’s dog and Boomer were funny. I didn’t think dogs played.”

She laughed, her teeth as white as the pearls she usually wore, which were absent today. “Bella has known Boomer since I got him.”

“Even the dogs in Northbridge seem to know each other.”

She grinned. “Anonymity isn’t an option in this place.” She paused. “If you’ve got time, want to see some baby ducks?”

“Sounds fun. Lead the way.”

She dropped her sunglasses to her face, pulled the paddle out from underneath the corded deck rigging in the front of her boat, and paused. “I’m glad for some company.”

“Me, too.”

Following her from behind, he worked hard to keep up the pace. He admired her fluid movements, bred by a lifetime on the lake. When she reached the shoreline, near some rocks, she stopped paddling, turned around, and placed her index finger to her lips. “We’re going in here.” She pointed to an alcove opening, where tree branches hung low.

He ducked underneath the branches and went in behind her. They drifted, slow and quiet, until she stopped and motioned for him to bring his boat to her side. She held the edge of his cockpit, steadying him next to her.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing to the shore.

A mother duck waddled with several fuzzy babies, bustling on the lawn’s edge, close to the water. The mother glared their way, squawked loudly, and belted serious grunts of concern. Her long neck swiveled between a watchful eye on her babies and the intruders.

“How’d you find this place?” he whispered.

“We used to hide in here and smoke cigarettes when we were in high school.”

“You?”

She arched a brow. “Don’t let the pearls fool you.”

He remembered her passionate kiss, the one she’d given to him purely by accident.

“Want to see where we used to have keg parties?”

He laughed a little too loud and received a startled quack from the mother duck. Lowering his voice, he said, “Sure. Then where? The place where you guys performed satanic rituals?”

“Does Wiccan count?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She grinned. “Follow me.”

* * * *

Veronica paddled to the shoreline of the small island. Over forty years old, and here she was, luring a guy she’d just met to a former make-out spot for the kids who lived around the lake.

These days, her grip on good thinking was so weak it needed a personal trainer, all thanks to Trent. From that first kiss, to singing at karaoke, to yesterday’s wine bottle game, she couldn’t apply one ounce of logic to the way she behaved around him.

Especially yesterday. With each request he’d made, she’d found the confidence to move with his voice. Each small victory encouraged her further. So many times she’d wanted to peek from behind closed lids at the man whose voice, alone, boosted her confidence. The smile she could hear in his voice made her stomach flutter, a voice that sounded with pride over her small achievements. During dinner at Sophie’s house, it was clear there’d been a shift in the rules of the game they’d been playing.

She’d made huge strides in lending trust with the wine bottle game, a fact he seemed to understand, much like Ry always did. Was she that transparent? Or could it be there were a lot more good men out there than she’d ever dreamed possible?

Still, she’d voluntarily handed Trent her trust. So much trust that if Sophie hadn’t burst into the room…

She sighed and glanced over her shoulder, where Trent slowed his kayak a few yards away. “Careful when you get out. It’s rocky.”

Trent frowned.

“You’re not barefoot, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. On second thought, stay put. I’ll give you a hand after I get mine on shore.”

She reached beneath the boat’s opening and slipped on her water shoes. After hoisting herself out of the kayak, she tossed her paddle on the nearby grass, pulled the boat through the knee-deep water, and dragged it to the shore.

She returned to the water and held his kayak on the sides, steadying the boat. “Take your time.”

He stared at her hands. “This isn’t very manly.”

“One, remember the rocks I mentioned? Two, this isn’t the 1800s anymore. Women have proven themselves quite capable. Besides, you’re plenty manly.”

He grinned and his gaze softened, sending a warm squiggle through her heart. “You win.”

His biceps flexed as he reached behind and lifted his body from the cockpit. One stretch of his long leg and he got out without tipping, and carefully worked his way to the shore. Together they hoisted the fiberglass-hulled boat onto the grass.

“See over there?” She pointed across the water, toward several large homes with sprawling lawns leading to the lake, manicured so perfectly they resembled carpets.

He nodded.

“That’s where the rich folks built houses in the early 1900s.” She reached into the back of her boat and pulled out a small backpack, slipped the nylon straps over her bare shoulders. “Did you know the lake in those days was called Putticaw Lake, shortened from the original Native American name of Puttacawmaumschuckmaug Lake?”

He chuckled. “I spent five minutes last week with Sophie while she tried to teach me how to say it. Never again.”

She laughed.

He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and stared out into the distance. “I think my great-grandfather built one of those.”

When Duncan first came to town to buy land, Sophie had learned about the Jamieson family home and how Duncan had spent a few summers of his childhood there. Probably Trent had, too.

A pained expression crossed his face, but he quickly wiped it away. “Is this where the famous parties took place?”

“Not here. Follow me.”

She took the familiar foot-worn path through the bushes and tall trees, Trent following closely behind.

“So why do you still live in Northbridge, anyway?” Trent asked.

Veronica skirted the issue with a joking, “Old habits die hard,” but his silence after told her he didn’t buy it, or think it was funny. Instead she told him about the time during high school when Bernadette formed a protest because the new conservative board of education tried to ban the book
Brave New World
, dragging on the story until they entered the circular clearing.

“Here we are.”

Since her teenage years, the trees had grown taller, but still opened up to the clear blue sky. A boulder near the perimeter of the clearing that they used to climb on seemed smaller.

“Impressive.” Trent scanned the area.

“I think that boulder shrank over the years.” She cut him a sideways glance. “‘Just like our pants shrink with age, so do the places where we once had memories.’”

“Poetic.” He arched his full, dark brows. “Keats, right?”

She chuckled and walked over to the large rock and stepped into a groove worn out by climbers over the years. Hoisting herself to the top, she glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”

He climbed up and stood by her side.

“See? This is a good spot because you can see people out on the lake, but they can’t see you.”

“Perfect spot for teenagers to get into trouble.”

“Exactly.” They looked around for a minute, and then she hopped to the ground, slipped off her backpack, and pulled out a blanket. Several other items spilled out, including the paperback she’d planned to read on her outing.

“Were you running away from home when I found you?” Trent grabbed an end of the red plaid blanket, pulling his side flat and smooth.