Melissa Senate (12 page)

No. Not yet, anyway.

“Your lack of answer means no.”

I shrugged. “We live together. I know he’s committed to me, to the relationship. I’ve always known we would get married.”

She stared at me. “I’m just trying to imagine going for a guy like Tom in the first place when there’s a guy like Nick at work every day. I mean, how could you stand it? You kiss Blah goodbye in the dorky school office and then you see Nick walking around. How can you bear to kiss Tom after even looking at Nick?”

“First of all, Tom is perfectly attractive. Second of all, there’s nothing wrong with a harmless fantasy crush.”

My mother once told me that she had a huge crush on the actor Sean Connery and that she’d gone to see all his Bond films and every one of his action movies with my father just so she could stare at Sean for two hours. And when the credits rolled and the lights came on and my mother went from gazing upon Sean Connery to her own husband, she said the feeling was the same. No momentary pang of disappointment, of reality settling in. She was as hot for her everyday husband as she was for a man once named
People
’s Sexiest Man Alive. She rarely talked about my dad, but she did say at least twice that it had been worth it, being that in love.

But how could that be? If I gave up forever with Tom Truby for a few weeks with Nick, and surely that was as long as it would last, would that be worth it? Just to have been his, for him to have been mine, for a short while?

Granted, a few weeks wasn’t six years of marriage and two kids. I couldn’t see Nick married with children.

“Ruby, your fantasy is telling you he wants you. He’s flying here to stop you from marrying another man. You can’t get more real than that. You and Nick could very well be the right people for each other, but how could you have ever known before? You’ve had a boyfriend practically from day one.
You’ve
made yourself unavailable. And very likely on purpose.”

Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.

“You, sister dear, are at the fork in the road. One way is the road less traveled by you—the one that doesn’t come with a map. The other one is a straight line to Boresville, U.S.A.”

She almost had me with her well-used literary reference. But Tom wasn’t boring to me. Not at all. He just wasn’t Nick. Tom didn’t elicit all kinds of adolescent reactions in my body—the racing heart, the sweaty palms, the inability to complete a thought while he looked directly into my eyes.

Okay, so maybe if I were watching Nick up there on the big screen, that face and body magnified, and then the credits rolled and the lights came on and there was Tom Truby sitting next to me with his pleasant face and warm smile and comforting sweater-vest, I would feel that momentary pang, that sigh of
if only.
But that was what fantasy was all about. And wasn’t
fantasy
the key word?

C
LOSE TO MIDNIGHT
, N
ICK ARRIVED ON THE DOORSTEP OF
T
HE
Double Sisters Inn, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He wore a dark-green T-shirt and jeans and Pumas, and there was five o’clock shadow involved. With his fair skin and those dark, dark eyes and long, dark lashes, he looked like a movie star. As I watched the taxi speed down the dirt road, dust flying, I started to panic.

I will not cheat on Tom. I will not cheat on Tom. I will not cheat on Tom.

I repeated it over and over as I led Nick to my room. To talk. There were two other guest rooms available for him to choose from. The Jesse James room or the Huskers room. Or he could sleep on one of the overstuffed chairs in the parlor. But he was not, under any circumstances, sleeping in my room.

In the small feminine Peaceful room, his presence was too big, the bed looming too large.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” I said, moving over to the window. I sat down on the chair, and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re halfway to Las Vegas, Ruby. All of a sudden I thought, she’s going to arrive in Las Vegas, Truby’s going to fly out, and she’s going to come back married. And that’ll be that. She’ll be lost to you.”

I did have to credit Nick for not going after married women. The ring on a woman’s finger meant something to him; he respected it.

“Nick, I think you’re suddenly interested because I’m engaged. And now on a road trip.”

“I thought about that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m not
suddenly
interested, Ruby. I’ve always been interested. But I’ve always been…”

“Always been what?”

“Worried about screwing things up. You’re my best friend, Ruby. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I tell you everything.”

I was afraid I’d burst into tears, so I said, “Give me a minute, okay?” and then fled into the bathroom, where I sat on the rim of the clawfoot tub and tried to catch my breath.

Right then, right at that moment, Tom Truby was home in Blueberry Hills, sitting on the sofa with Marco and grading his summer-school essays while every now and then giving Marco a scratch. Maybe he was watching The History Channel or a movie. But he was home, unaware that the woman he lived with, the woman who claimed to love him, the woman he loved, was now in a hotel room with another man, having this conversation. In the immortal words of Joan Armatrading, it made him into “some kind of a unknowing fool.” It wasn’t fair.

Nick would have to go. End of story.

But then I opened the bathroom door, and he looked up at me, and I knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can I stay here with you?” he asked. “I won’t touch you, I promise. Unless you want me to. I just want to lie here with you. I want to know what that’s like.”

We’d laid in bed together before. Many times, many beds, fully clothed. I’d always felt the air whooshing out of my body, while Nick would be recounting his latest drama.

I wanted to kiss him. I now understood how an addict must feel, physically, mentally, and emotionally craving something, like a cigarette, wanting to so bad, yet knowing intellectually it was bad for you. Might kill you, in fact. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, his arms around me in a very unfriendly way. I wanted those dark, dark eyes to be looking into mine with that Nick McDermott intensity.

He stood up, and again the room got too small.

“I won’t cheat on Tom,” I said. “Not even a kiss, Nick. I won’t do that to him. If I want to be with you, if I want to even just kiss you, I need to break up with Tom.”

I tried to read his face, tried to remember everything Stella had told me about the pupils dilating—or was it the opposite? But Nick didn’t start sweating or pale or visibly tremble at the mention of my breaking up with Tom before I’d even consider a kiss.

That would be heavy, a lot to take on. Let us see if McDreamy was up for it.

He stared at me, then took a deep breath and said, “That’s why I want you. Because of who you are.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Now what?

Now you lay down in bed—after brushing your teeth twice and changing into comfortable yet not sexy pajamas—and see if you can actually keep your hands to yourself.

I headed back into the bathroom with my nonclingy sweats and a T-shirt. Washed my face. Brushed my teeth. Twice. I was as fresh scrubbed and unsexy as I could get. Though Tom always told me he found me incredibly sexy like that. I stared at myself in the mirror for a good long time, trying to find some answer in my reflection, in my eyes.

Get out there.

I opened the door and Nick McDermott lay there on the bed, his hands crossed behind his head. The green T-shirt had risen up to reveal his rock-hard stomach. I had the urge to trail kisses across it, slip my hand up under his shirt. Down below the snap of his jeans.

I took a deep breath and lay down next to him. He turned on his side and looked at me with those eyes. To kiss him, to make out with Nick McDermott, who was mine for the taking, all I had to do was lift my chin and kiss him. Just press my lips to his.

I’d told him I wouldn’t cheat on Tom, so I knew he wouldn’t make the first move. That was Nick being a gentleman.

I will not cheat on Tom. I will not cheat on Tom. I will not cheat on Tom.

You will not cheat yourself,
I heard Stella’s voice say in my head.
If you don’t find out how you feel, if you don’t go for it, whatever it is, you can’t possibly make a decision.

Was I rationalizing my desire to kiss Nick? To sleep with him? Maybe.

He touched the ends of my hair. “Ruby, I want you right now more than anything in the world. But, I’m not going to pressure you. If you need me to find another room, I’ll go.”

I leaned forward and kissed him, a soft kiss on his lips.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked.

Maybe the sex will be awful, I told myself. We’ll have no chemistry. Kissing Nick will feel like kissing the brother I never had. His hands will feel clammy on me. We’ll be awkward and knock our heads together. The fantasy and the reality will not meet.

But I knew that wouldn’t be the case. Every bit of my body was pulsating. I nodded, then kissed him again. I felt his restraint; he was giving me one more second to change my mind. And then he took over. His hands slid under my tank top, and in seconds we were both naked.

“I’ve wanted to do this from the moment I saw you,” I whispered.

“Me, too,” he breathed into my ear, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of me.

And then just like that, the guy of my dreams was doing things to me that I had fantasized about over and over. And the reality was even better.

He was still asleep when I woke up. Sun streamed through the window, lighting the sheer panels against the peach velvet drapes, lighting his dark hair. Nick was on his stomach, facing me, and I was mesmerized by how his eyelashes lay on his cheek. He was so beautiful.

I could still feel the imprint of his lips on mine, on my body. And, yes, the earth had moved. Over and over.

There was a light tap on the door. Stella. I opened the door a crack and she poked her head through.

“Ooh!” she whispered. “Ooh! I am so proud of you!”

“Shush!” I hissed.

She tried to read my face, then burst into a smile. “Guess I should tell Maxine and Charlotte that we’ll be staying one more night?”

I shook my head. “He’ll have to get back today for school tomorrow. And we need to be in Denver by sundown if we want to stay on track.”

“There is no ‘on track,’ Rubes,” she said and blew a kiss at me before disappearing into her room.

I shut the door and tiptoed into the bathroom with my toiletries and clothes. One quick, hot shower later, and I was ready to face him. I stared at myself in the round mirror over the sink and had to admit I was glowing. I added a little mascara, fluffed my hair a bit more than normally, and put on the pretty cotton little dress that Stella had bought. It was perfect for a hot Sunday morning.

I stared at myself in the mirror to see if I looked different, if I looked like a woman who had cheated on her fiancé, on the man she professed to love and had promised to marry. I didn’t look different. I didn’t even look guilty. And strangest of all, I didn’t
feel
guilty. Because being with Nick was right? Or because being with Nick was the right thing to do under the circumstances? The circumstances being utter and complete confusion.

I am sorry, Tom,
I whispered to the air, then closed my eyes and sat down on the rim of the tub.
The earth moves with you a lot, too.

When I came out of the bathroom, Nick was sitting up and grinning at me.

“You look very pretty,” he said. “But I wish you were still naked.”

I smiled. “The bright light of day and all…”

“Gotcha. Give me five minutes in the shower and then maybe we could go for a walk or sit somewhere. A cornfield, a coffee bar, whatever.”

I nodded and he walked past me into the bathroom with his backpack. I immediately pictured him naked. Felt every part of him on me and in me.

I had to get out of there. I had to breathe, to think. I wrote a quick note for him to meet me in the parlor, then I tiptoed out of the room so that Stella wouldn’t hear me and attack me in the hallway. I ducked into the utility closet with a few brooms and breathed in and out.

Why wasn’t it clear? Had I chosen Nick by sleeping with him? Is that what it meant? Is that why I’d done it? I closed my eyes and breathed in and out twenty-five times. I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, then footsteps. Nick. I waited a moment, then headed into the parlor.

We had the room to ourselves. Stella had either gone back to sleep or was giving us space. I could hear the Holcomb sisters in the kitchen, preparing for the breakfast hour.

Nick sat across from me at a round table near the window. “I like Tom,” he said. “I feel like a jerk for trying to steal his woman away from him. But, Ruby, I’m dead serious. I think I’m in love with you.”

Oh, God. If Maxine hadn’t come in just then with a basket of minimuffins and a plate of various jams and jellies, I might have fainted. She set down our coffees and our orange juices.

“Well, hello,” Maxine said to Nick. “Any friend of Ruby’s is a friend of The Double Sisters Inn. What can I get you?”

Nick asked for the house special, whatever that was, and I said make it two. Naturally charmed, Maxine flitted off through the swinging door into the kitchen.

“You think you’re in love with me?” I repeated. “Just like that.”

“Not just like that. I know I’ve always had feelings for you, Ruby. But there’s something very true-blue about you. I wasn’t willing to mess with you.”

“Yet you’re willing now? When I’m engaged? When you could destroy my future with Tom? When you could decide next week that you’re not in love after all?”

“I’m sure I want to try a relationship with you, Ruby. That’s what I know for sure. I couldn’t just let you go without saying something. Without telling you how I feel. Of course I don’t know if it’ll work, if we’ll work as anything other than best friends. And if it doesn’t work, maybe it will destroy the friendship. But how can I not be willing to try?”

If I was truly in love with Nick, wouldn’t I be jumping into his arms, telling him I loved him, too, dragging him back to my room to make mad, passionate love all day? Why was I sitting there, holding a container of strawberry jam and feeling so suddenly numb?

Because I was scared? Because what I’d always wanted was being offered to me? A be careful what you wish for?

Or because I loved Tom?

I didn’t know through the muffin course, or the eggs and bacon course or the fruit course. Or the second or third cup of coffee. I didn’t know when Stella came in, in the white version of my dress, and sat at a different table and asked Maxine if she could whip up chocolate chip scrambled eggs, which sounded revolting.

“Nick, did you know Stella is a sought-after face reader?” I asked him.

He looked confused. “Did you say a face reader?”

“I would love to read your face,” Stella said, coming over. She pulled up a chair and stared at him before he could say a word.

He started to get uncomfortable after twenty seconds. Still, she stared, without letting up. “What is it saying?” he asked.

She glanced from him to me and back to him again. “For the first time in my career, I am stumped. I can’t read you.”

What? The one time I actually could use her mumbo jumbo and she “couldn’t read him”?

“Try harder,” I told her.

The first time I saw Nick McDermott, he was tutoring a student, a small-for-his-age nervous seventh grader who appeared on the verge of tears. Apparently, the boy had spent forty minutes of class time not writing a word of his essay test, only his name and then three words:
Johnny Tremain was

“What happened after you wrote
was?
” Nick asked him.

The thin shoulders slumped, then shrugged, then the boy burst into tears.

I stood outside the door, unable to walk away.

Nick got the boy a chair and pulled his own around to sit beside him. “You froze up?” he asked. “Forgot every word of
Johnny Tremain?
Forgot all the good points you wanted to make?”

The boy stopped crying and looked up at Nick and nodded, and I knew right then that Nick was special, that McDreamy aside, he was more than just a good teacher. He was magic.

“I even liked the book,” the boy said. “I liked how Johnny was kind of a jerk in the beginning, but then his life got ruined, and he stopped being a jerk.” He stared down at his sneakers. “I wish that would happen to some kids I know. Like if a dog bit off Jeff Clarkson’s pitching hand, he wouldn’t think he ruled BLA anymore.”