Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (18 page)

I said, my voice still soft with shyness at speaking my thoughts so openly, “I think about you all the time too.”

“You do? What parts of me?” he teased, with so much eagerness that I giggled again.

“Your hands,” I said at once. “You have such strong hands. They drive me crazy.”

“Really?” he marveled, caressing the back of my hand with his thumb. I shivered.

“And your dimple,” I whispered and then couldn't believe that I had spoken the thought aloud. And then, because I had already dug myself into a hole and also because I wanted to really badly, I added, “I was hoping I might kiss it later.”

He said, “Hold on,” and then braked the truck so that it skidded to a stop on the shoulder, before throwing it into neutral. He started to ask, “How about—”

But I was one step ahead and had already unbuckled. I slid across the seat and before I lost my nerve, caught his jaws in my hands, my right still clad in its mitten, and kissed his right cheek, soft as the brush of a bird's wing. I was shaking with the contact, shocked at how much I wanted to straddle his lap and keep right on kissing him, though my intent had been to dart back to my own side of the cab.

“Oh no,” he said then, as I made as though to move away. He caught me around the waist and whispered, “I get to kiss you back now, it's only fair.”

“Fair's fair,” I tried to whisper, aiming for flippant though my blood was pounding so fiercely that I could hardly speak coherently at all.

“Come here,” he whispered back, and I could smell his breath and feel his hands against my body. Everything within me was sensitized, responding to him; I could see the blue of his eyes in the lights from the dashboard. He said softly, “Right here,” and leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, just lightly, scarcely touching my skin. “And then right here,” doing the same thing to the other side, and I made a small sound, I couldn't help it, as he touched a final kiss to my bottom lip.

Oh my God
.

“Camille,” he whispered and there was so much heat flaring between us that I felt a trickle of sweat between my breasts.

Headlights beamed at us then, from the opposite direction, and the driver of the other car honked the horn with two angry beeps, as though we were doing something illegal. Mathias blinked and then refocused his attention to the road. He said, “Shit, we better move.”

Once we were driving again, I asked, “So you made a picnic?”

“I did. A winter picnic,” he said, catching my left hand back into his right, linking our fingers. He added, “I stole the idea from my sister Glenna's husband, I admit it. But it's a really great idea. I brought all sorts of good stuff. I have hot chocolate and another thermos of chicken noodle soup, and a whole Tupperware of those sandwich cookies you make with Ritz crackers. And I thought we could eat in the truck and watch the northern lights. They've been really amazing the past few nights. I saw them last night before I talked to you, and all I could think of was how I wish you'd been with me. And now you are.” He paused and then said in a rush, “Shit, it's probably silly—”

“Not at all,” I assured him, interrupting him neatly. “Honestly, I think it's the most romantic thing I've ever heard of.”

He looked over at me as though unsure I was serious. He said, his voice teasing me again, “I even have a box of mint chocolate truffles.”

I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed the back of it, as he was so fond of doing to mine. Then I tucked our joined hands on my left thigh. I said, “I'm so glad to be here now.”

He squeezed my fingers again.

“What's your middle name?” I asked him then. “And when is your birthday?”

“James and May 12th. Taurus is my sign. Stubborn, bull-headed, quick-tempered.”

I was smiling long before he ordered, “Now you.”

“Anne, like my mom's, and December 27th. Capricorn. I don't know much other than that.”

“The archer,” he said assuredly. And then, “As you know, Elaine reads horoscopes for people, which is how I know this. Cool, calm, collected. Slow to anger. We're both earth signs. Wait, so your birthday is in just two days.”

“It is,” I affirmed, before asking him, “What's your favorite song?”

“I honestly couldn't pick just one. I love country music, always have. When I was little I had a huge crush on Dolly Parton.”

“I like her too,” I said, even though I was laughing at his words. “I love that one movie she's in with Burt Reynolds…you know…”

He was already laughing, filling in with, “
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
you mean,” and then broke into the first lines of ‘A Lil' Ole Bitty Pissant Country Place.'

“How do you…have that memorized?” I was laughing so hard I could hardly ask the question, bending forward over my lap. I was so happy to be here with him that my heart was about to burst apart, nearly unable to contain such joy.

“I grew up in a house with sisters, might I remind you?” he said in response. “So there was a lot of watching of musicals and singing of dumb songs. And there was always make-up and curling irons and talk about boyfriends. And periods. Jesus, I know all about PMS. Don't get me started.”

I couldn't reply, as I was laughing too hard, and he continued the song, totally off-key, taking Dolly's part. I was breathless, rocking back and forth like a drunk following along with a song in a pub.

“So what's your favorite song?” he asked me when he'd finished singing and I had caught my breath.

“I liked when my dad would play his old Journey records,” I said. “I like a lot of classic rock, like Boston and Led Zeppelin and those guys. But I love country music too. It's always on at our house.”

“Do you like living with Joan and Ellen?” he asked.

I nodded. “I don't live with Mom since I wanted my own space, and we still see each other all the time anyway. I really miss seeing my sisters at night though. I was so used to talking about stuff after we went to bed, with Tish especially.”

“That's hard to get used to,” he agreed. “When I lived in Minneapolis I missed my sisters so much I couldn't stand it. Even though they used to baby me and treat me like the little shit I was.”

“They love you like crazy,” I told him. “As you well know. You should hear them worry over you.”

“Glenna told me the first night I was back that I should date someone more like you,” he informed me. “They all like you and that's some pretty heavy-duty praise. They can be real bitches.”

I giggled again. I said, “I'm glad they approve.”

“So you're close with your sisters then?”

“It was really hard on Tish when I got pregnant,” I said, studying the snowy road as it appeared in the headlights. Mathias tightened his fingers around mine as he listened. I went on, “She felt betrayed, like I was leaving her behind. She couldn't believe that I had been so stupid and told me so. She didn't like Noah from the first, to be fair.”

“Yeah, I pretty much hate him too,” Mathias said. “I was ready to snap his neck on Friday.”

“
You
were?” I scoffed. “But then I remembered that I don't give a crap what he thinks, or what he does. It's embarrassing that I ever cared. Now I just hate that he won't be part of his daughter's life. What will I tell her when she's older?”

“Does she ask about him?” I could tell he was keeping his voice neutral with effort.

“Never yet,” I said. “She knows her grandparents. And they're good to her, I can't say they aren't.”

“God, I could just kill him,” Mathias said heatedly. “For hurting you and for lying to you and for being such a shitty father to your little girl. And mostly because—and this is so selfish, I'm sorry, Camille—mostly because you loved him once.”

My heart stuttered in my chest at that and for a second I didn't know exactly how to respond. Finally I said, “I thought I did.”

Mathias turned to look at me for an instant before his gaze went back out the windshield. He said softly, “But you said that to him and he used it and I hate him for it.”

“Don't waste one second hating Noah, please don't,” I told him, holding tightly to his hand. “He's not worth it, and I already wasted too much time on him.” I considered a moment before saying, “You know, Mom told me once that she had the best part of our dad in us, Tish and Ruthie and me. And I finally understand that. Millie is the best thing that ever happened to me, no matter how hard it's been to be a mom. But I haven't been single, not truly. I have Grandma and Aunt Ellen, Mom and Aunt Jilly. They all help me so much. I've always had help.”

“I'm glad,” he said. “I'm so glad. You deserve that.” And then he added, “I'm sorry that Tess even showed up on Friday.”

“It's not your fault,” I assured him. “I'm sorry I was so unreasonable.”

“Camille, you weren't unreasonable. Shit, you don't think all this caught me off guard too? I'm reeling. But all I know is that being apart from you is wrong. It's just wrong.” And then, “We're here.”

Mathias slowed and turned right, over a wide, smooth field that appeared frosted with creamy snow. He drove us to the center and then put the truck in neutral, leaving it running. I unbuckled and scooted over to him at once, my shyness burning away in a flame of need and tenderness and pure, simple wanting. I got my arms around his neck from the side and hugged him hard, and his arms locked around my waist, pulling me over his lap. He pressed his face against my neck and held me like I had never known I needed to be held, until him. I hadn't realized a great number of things until Mathias.

I whispered, “Thank you for bringing me out here. It's perfect.”

“Because you're here,” he said back, his voice slightly hoarse. He added, “I've imagined you with me so many times. Even before I knew who you were.”

“How do you mean?” I whispered.

He kept his face near my neck and explained, “Do you know that old Travis Tritt song, you know the one where he talks about how there's a hunger in her eyes that…” he stopped and drew a breath, before continuing in a low voice, “That he would recognize the moment he saw her.”

“I do,” I said and my heart pumped even more fiercely. “The one where he hasn't met her yet…something about the porch swing…”

“That's the one,” he whispered. “That started playing in my head the moment I saw you.”

“Mathias,” I whispered, holding tightly to him. I asked softly, “You come out here alone?” It seemed so lonely and I kissed his jaw, smoothing my hands over his thick black hair, delighting in the curls on his neck.

“It's peaceful out here,” he said, shivering at my touch. He whispered, “I don't mind being alone, not usually. But these days all I think about is you.”

I drew back enough to see his eyes, my hands resting on his wide shoulders, his curved around my waist. My heart was beating furiously as I regarded him. He was so serious, after all of our laughter on the way here, and it almost undid me completely.

I said softly, “I think about you all the time too. In case you hadn't realized that.”

He grinned at my words, his dimple deep on his cheek. Unable to resist, I leaned forward to kiss it and then said, “I'm starving, where's that picnic?”

He laughed and replied, “Your wish is my command.”

Behind the seat was an insulated food bag, resembling a cooler covered in canvas and with a shoulder strap, from which Mathias pulled two plates, two thermoses, and two containers of food, creating a makeshift little table on the bench seat between us.

“Wait,” he said, as I watched in fascination. He arranged things like a server at a ritzy restaurant, at last producing a single plastic poinsettia with a long stem, which he tucked under the edge of my plate. He lifted his eyes and smiled at me and with my whole heart I smiled back. We were facing one another, each with one knee bent atop the seat. He reached over the food and the flower and tucked hair behind my right ear, and I felt tears spring into my eyes.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “This is so beautiful.”

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered back. “So beautiful that it almost hurts me. Let me serve you.”

He opened the Tupperware to reveal sliced cheese, summer sausage and crackers. The other contained the cookies he had promised, which he arranged artfully on my plate.

“We'll have to share the soup and the hot chocolate,” he said.

“This is so romantic,” I said again. “You are such a love.”

His eyes lit at my words. He said, “I love that, call me that again.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment?” I teased, stacking cheese and sausage onto crackers and getting crumbs all over as I ate. It was warm enough in the cab of the truck to take off our jackets, which Mathias tucked behind the seat. He was wearing his faded jeans that fit him like a cowboy's and a gray wool sweater that made his shoulders look more powerful and imposing than ever. His black hair fell over his forehead as he narrowed his eyes in teasing speculation.

“Say it again or I'll start singing,” he warned, humming the first few lines of ‘Twenty-Four Hours of Lovin',' again from
Best Little Whorehouse
.

“I like when you sing,” I told him, giggling, marveling that someone who made me ache to touch him could also have a sense of humor that so totally matched my own. He was goofy, truly, just like me, the way I acted around Clint and Tish, people who really knew me.

“You should hear me in the shower,” he said, stacking a cracker triple-high with cheese.

“Is that an invitation?” I teased back, outright flirting.

He paused with the cracker halfway to his mouth and warned, “You better watch what you ask for.”