Meeting Miss Mystic (12 page)

In all honesty, though, she shouldn’t need her “cover story.” She wasn’t planning to use it for long. She had booked a room at a bed & breakfast on Paul’s street, and she fully intended to stop by his house tonight to meet him in person and tell him the truth about everything. Sandy had let her practice her speech about fifty times and Zoë was well prepared for her confession.

She was also terrified. She knew he would be angry. What worried her the most, though, was rejection.

Over the past two weeks since Labor Day weekend, her feelings had only deepened. Paul had easily slipped into calling her “Sweetheart,” and in Zoë’s mind, they were an “official” couple, so much so that when Stan’s somewhat eligible son had stopped by the office last week to see his dad and ended up asking Zoë out for coffee, she’d said no. Two months ago, she’d have been delighted that Bruce had noticed her, but now Zoë’s heart was firmly taken by a man she’d never touched, never seen, never met in person. A man who very well might turn his back on her in a matter of hours.

He had every right to turn his back on her. Although Zoë tried to force that painful reality from her mind, she’d had to prepare herself, in some small part, for the possibility that Paul wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t be able to hear her—that he wouldn’t want to know her anymore once he understood the breadth of her deception. It made her stomach flip over with despair when she thought of losing him. After a month of wonderful she could barely stand the thought of returning home to nothing.

“Flight attendants, prepare for arrival.”

Zoë heard the landing gear fall into place and her hands gripped the sides of her seat as her heart fluttered. No matter what happened, there was no turning back now.

She had been surprised to learn that there were only two ways to get to Gardiner. There were no buses, trains or other manner of public transportation, so Zoë had been left with the choice of renting a car and driving herself the ninety minutes south on unfamiliar highways, or hiring a car service. While driving on local highways at home was bad enough, Zoë briefly tried to convince herself to drive when she learned that the only Gardiner tour operator that offered round trip airport service was called
Lindstrom & Sons
. Her first point of contact in Montana would be one of Paul’s best friends.

With a groan, she’d admitted to herself that driving really wasn’t an option and she had called the Lindstroms to book her transfer. She’d spoken with an older-sounding man who’d identified himself as Carl and told her that his son, Nils, would be waiting for her at baggage claim.

Zoë knew who Nils Lindstrom was, of course. Paul had told her all about the Lindstroms in their many phone and e-mail conversations. Nils was the oldest of the four Lindstrom siblings, the older brother of Paul’s best friend, Lars and Paul’s one-time crush, Jenny. Zoë was going to have to be very careful on the drive to Gardiner; she didn’t want Nils to sense anything odd in their conversation. She didn’t want anyone else to figure out who she was before she had a chance to talk to Paul.

As the plane taxied to the gate, Zoë’s heart thumped in her chest, but she pushed her nerves and misgivings to the side, reminding herself of what she knew for certain:

Zoë Holly Flannigan was in love with Paul Johansson.

This was the only way.

***

Paul loved taking a run on Saturday afternoons in the fall. Starting from his house on Stone Street, he would jog south past the high school, around the community park to the Roosevelt Arch, all the way down Park Street to the Yellowstone River, then loop south on Reamer Road into the park a ways before heading north on 89 back home. It didn’t take more than forty minutes. Just enough to work up a sweat and do a little thinking.

Invariably his thoughts turned to Holly.

Twenty-five days. Twenty-five more days until he’d board a plane for Hartford, rent a car and drive north to Mystic. Mostly it felt like eternity. He couldn’t wait.

As they swapped stories about the first weeks of school, he’d been filled with a sense of emotional completeness, only challenged by his physical longing for her. If he was honest, he’d admit that there were days when the sound of her voice—the sound alone—made him hard with wanting her. The physical ache was so profound that at least twice he’d had to hang up with her and take a cold shower, which hadn’t really helped anything. His body wouldn’t be satisfied until it was holding hers, touching hers, his lips capturing hers for kisses, his hands cupping the soft flesh of her breasts in his hands, flicking his thumb over her nipples until she moaned in pleasure and her eyes rolled back in her head as he thrust into—

A truck honked loudly at Paul and he realized he’d veered off the jogging path into the street. He waved sheepishly, righting his course.

This happened more and more often lately—getting distracted by an intense sexual daydream involving Holly.

And heck, it was uncomfortable to live in such a prolonged, heightened state of unfulfilled longing. Most days he felt like a teenager again, his head creating mind-blowing fantasies that kept him in a perpetual state of arousal. Even when he took care of his urges in the shower, it wasn’t long before he was practically aching for her again. Aside from the fact that Paul hadn’t had sex in several months—the last interlude being a one-night stand with a park girl that Lars had set him up with in June—constantly talking to Holly and thinking about her had become a sort of an extended sort of torturous foreplay.

He stopped for a moment at the Arch, catching his breath, leaning up against the cool stone in the sunshine.

He had to stop thinking like this.

Realistically, he knew that as much as he hungered for her, they would probably need a little while to get used to each other before he could make a move on her in October. Oh, sure, he
fantasized
that they’d rip off each other’s clothes at first sight, stumbling through her apartment and falling onto her bed where they’d stay without eating or drinking for four days having epic, nonstop sex until he
had
to drive back up to Hartford to catch his flight home.

He leaned over, putting his hands on his knees and taking a few deep breaths before restarting his run.

You’re going to have to control yourself, Paul. You’re going to have to take it slow
. He didn’t want to scare her. He wanted to do everything right.

It had only occurred to him once that they may not have the physical chemistry in person that matched the emotional chemistry they had over the phone, but Paul had quickly pushed the thought from his mind, convincing himself that their first kiss would be so electric, they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other after that. He was already so crazy about Holly—certainly with the idea of her—there was no way that chemistry wouldn’t follow.

***

Zoë recognized Nils Lindstrom immediately. Besides the fact that he held a sign with the name “Zoë F.” printed neatly, Paul had recently sent her a photo of himself with the two older Lindstrom brothers posing near the Roosevelt Arch. She forced herself to note him, then look away, as if scanning the arrivals area for her name, then circling back to him, and catching his eyes.

“Zoë?” he asked as she approached him, his eyes lingering momentarily on her facial scar before holding eye contact.

“Yes.”

She was grateful he hadn’t stared and smiled at him tentatively, pushing her freshly dyed black hair behind her ears. She’d started wearing it in a pageboy recently, curled under at the ends and held back with a simple tortoiseshell headband. Or, as Sandy noted: More preppy, less angry.

He reached for her bag. “Let me take that for you. Got any more?”

She nodded and he led her over to the baggage claim area.

“I have a suitcase and my art kit.”

“You an artist?”

Nils’s voice was gruff, as Zoë had expected from what she knew of him. She glanced to her left and realized how massive his body was—tall and almost overwhelmingly muscular. His blond hair was cut short in a military-style buzz cut and he kept his eyes down.

“Mm-hm. I’ve come to paint.”

“Yellowstone?”

“Hopefully,” she said, pointing out her black rolling suitcase. Nils hefted it off the belt like it was made of air, pulling up the handle so it was ready to roll.

“Did you book a tour with us?”

“N-no,” she answered. Honestly, she hadn’t given much thought to what she’d do for her week in Gardiner. It all depended on how Paul took the news of her identity. There was every chance she’d be back at the airport by tomorrow, flying home in tears. She tried not to think about that.
Stay positive. Stay positive.

“Well, I got a group going out overnight on Tuesday. Bunch of older ladies. There’s space if you want to go.”

“Wouldn’t I be horning in?”

“It’s not a
private
group,” he clarified. “If it was, I wouldn’t have offered.”

He sighed loudly, and for a moment she thought he was annoyed with her until he gestured to the slowing belt.

“Damn it! Not again. You said you had one more bag, right?”

“My art kit,” she said forlornly, looking at the empty belt as it grinded to a stop.

“Give me your claim ticket.” She fished it out of her purse and without another word he pivoted, pulling her suitcase behind him, headed for the baggage claim help desk.

Zoë plopped down in a nearby chair, trying to steady her racing heart. This was Nils. Nils, Paul’s friend. One degree of separation from the man she loved. She had to get a hold of herself. Did she want to go on a tour? Her answer should have been “Of course!” Saying no made no sense when, as far as he was concerned, she was
here
to paint.

Nils returned a moment later.

“It’s still in Providence. Didn’t even make it to Minneapolis.”

“Oh…” Zoë furrowed her eyebrows. “Is there a nearby art store?”

“There’s a Target here in Bozeman. Want me to take you there? To buy a few things?”

It was unlikely that Target would have what she needed. She had packed an additional blank sketching notebook in her suitcase. She could surely buy a piece of charcoal or some pencils in Gardiner. As much as she would miss her paints, there was no reason to go out of their way; traveling to Gardiner as an “artist” was mostly just her way of heading off questions about the purpose of her trip, anyway.

“It’s okay.” She smiled up at his blue eyes, and was relieved to see warmth behind their icy color. “I can sketch instead.”

He nodded, gesturing to the door and she followed him. He sure wasn’t a man of many words. Silent as they walked over to a small passenger car that read
Lindstrom & Sons
on the side, he popped the trunk and put her suitcase inside. “Keeping your bag with you?”

She nodded.

“Front or back?”

“Excuse me?”

“Front seat or back seat?”

Wouldn’t it be awkward to sit in the back being driven around like Miss Daisy? Anyway, she needed to use the time to get him talking, answer a few questions for her about Gardiner, and, if she was lucky, Paul.

“Front is fine.”

He opened her door, handing her a bottle of water and pouch of trail mix before shutting it.

They rode in silence for a few minutes as he navigated the airport exit. Zoë unscrewed the cap of her water bottle, looking out the window at the mountains as they made their way onto the highway.

“Hey,” he said, the way someone does when they have an idea. “I just thought of something. My friend Paul is the principal at the local middle-high, and I bet his art department has a bunch of supplies he could let you borrow. I’ll give him a call as soon as we reach Gardiner, okay?”

As soon as Nils said Paul’s name, Zoë gasped and her big gulp of water went down the wrong pipe. She sputtered, trying to keep water from leaking out of her nose.

“Are you all right?” he turned his head away from the road twice, quickly, looking over at her.

“Water went down wrong.” She coughed, clearing her throat. “I—uh, well, thank you. You don’t think, um, this principal will mind?”

“Paul? Nah. He’ll be happy to lend a hand.”

“You sure? I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.” She paused, realizing the opportunity to try to get Nils talking about Paul. “He must be very…kind.”

“Oh, sure. It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone’s willing to give a hand. He’s not from here. Paul. He’s from back east, like you. You
from
Rhode Island?”

Shoot.
She hadn’t thought this through—he learned about her city of origin by tracking down her lost bag.

“Near there,” she hedged. “Where’s he from?”

“Paul’s from Maine.” Nils looked over at her briefly. “You ever been to Maine?”

“Many times,” she said softly, turning to look out the window.

Paul’s from Maine.
They weren’t remarkable words at all, but hearing someone speak about him so casually, so matter-of-factly, made her heart almost burst with tenderness. Nils had spoken to Paul countless times, touched his arm or shoulder inadvertently, maybe even hugged him at Christmas. Paul—the actual, flesh and blood of him—had never seemed so real. So close and yet so uncertain.

She suddenly felt like crying, whether from relief or fear, she didn’t know. Relief because he was so real now, and in a manner of moments, she would see him, maybe touch him, watch his blue eyes flash with understanding…or fury. Her eyes burned with tears and she clenched them shut, hoping Nils wouldn’t notice.

“You must be good and tired,” he said gently. “We’ll be there in about an hour. You just relax now.”

“Thank you, Nils,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on the river that snaked beside the highway out her window, white water rushing south toward Gardiner where her fate awaited in Paul Johansson’s unaware hands.

***

The Mountain View Inn was nothing to write home about, but Zoë reminded herself she wasn’t in Gardiner for a vacation. She smiled at the innkeeper who told her that breakfast ended promptly at nine o’clock, then handed Zoë an old-fashioned metal key, pulling the door shut and leaving her in peace.