by Jane Josephs
Alison could hardly breathe his kiss had been so unexpected. And perfect, leaving her tingling. She could only stare at him. He glanced at the pan and back at her, waiting. “Oh! Right. You can put it here on this placemat.” She tapped the spot. “Right beside the antipasto squares.”
Nick set the dish on the island and pulled off the mitten. He looked her up and down, his slow perusal of her body causing heat to race to Alison’s cheeks. “I . . . I’m having trouble getting the words out, Alison. I mean, you’re just so beautiful.” He reached for her hand and pulled her to one of the places at the island she’d set out with silverware and plates. “You’ve been cooking all day, haven’t you?” He held the back of the bar stool while she got seated. “Everything looks amazing and smells even better. Do you want me to open the wine?” He crossed to the counter and picked up the corkscrew. “Which one do you want to start with?”
Alison swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off him. She’d dated a lot of guys, some even seriously, but none had ever felt so right; so intoxicating to her senses. He had to be the sexiest guy she’d ever known, his broad shoulders filling out his suit coat perfectly, his nonchalant, easy manner doing crazy things to her heart. He had kissed her! That had to mean he felt something for her, didn’t it? Nick wasn’t the kind of guy to just kiss a woman for the sake of kissing her. Was he? She shook her head, trying to clear it and recall Nick’s question. But all she could think about was his kiss. “Uh, what?”
“The cabernet it is. Good call.” Nick laughed, lifting the cork out of the bottle. At the island, he poured them each a glass. “A toast to a woman who is not only beautiful but plays a mean game of horseshoes . . . and . . .” He cocked his head toward her.
“And . . . to playing again sometime soon with the most handsome man I know,” she finished the toast and tapped her goblet to his. “Thank you for coming, Nick. Really. I know the Symphony probably isn’t your thing.”
“It is tonight,” he said, moving to sit on the bar stool next to her. “Now, tell me about this food you’ve cooked up. It looks amazing and I’m starving.”
~ ~ ~
Standing at the mirror in Alison’s guest bathroom, Nick leaned in and shook his head.
What were you thinking, man, kissing her like that? I thought we agreed that maybe, just maybe you’d give her a goodnight kiss. Depending on how the evening went.
He ran the water and washed his hands, unable to stop himself from grinning. That kiss, right or not, had been coming since the horseshoe game. He was tired of resisting Alison’s charms. “I’m not made of stone, you know,” he mumbled under his breath and dried his hands.
~ ~ ~
The final movement of Dvorak’s “New World Symphony” filled Copley Hall. Alison’s eyes filled with tears as the trombones picked up the theme, their rich tones reverberating through the hall and giving her goosebumps. Seated beside her, Nick moved his arm off the armrest. Alison glanced at him and was rewarded with a smile. A tear spilled, and she hastily wiped it away and sniffed.
Nick’s hand covered hers, his rough palm rubbing against her tender skin. No other man’s hand had ever given her such a feeling of connection. She wove her fingers in between his, contentment flooding through her.
In minutes, the movement finished, and the applause began. Coming to her feet and clapping with the rest of the audience, Alison stole a glance at Nick beside her. He was smiling.
He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear. “You win, Dvorak wrote some amazing music!”
“Told you!”
The applause continued until Alison’s hands hurt from clapping so hard. Finally, the house lights came up.
“What’s next?” Nick asked, helping her with her coat.
“I have dinner waiting. Well, almost waiting. I hope you saved some room.”
“I can always eat.” Taking her hand, he led her out of their row and up the aisle.
In the lobby, she pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped the Uber app. “It will probably be a little wait with so many people having the same idea. We can stay in the lobby or go outside, if you’d rather.” She glanced at the crowd exiting through the front doors. “Outside there are usually a few homeless people who want money.”
Nick nodded. “The poor you will always have with you, Jesus said.”
Alison inwardly cringed, resisting the urge to point out the obvious: If Jesus really was God, like Kayla and Nick seemed to believe, why didn’t he do something about the plight of the poor? Alison licked her lips. No way was she going to spoil the evening by talking about Jesus. Instead, she gave Nick her best smile and changed the subject.
“You know, I’ve been curious about something. Why is it that I’d never heard of SWCCs before meeting you and the other guys at the CrossFit competition? I mean, everyone knows about the SEALs and the Green Berets. It sounds like the work you boat guys do is just as dangerous. And the training just as tough.”
“You’ve never heard of SWCCs because we don’t want the attention. We like to keep quiet about what we do. We’re a small community compared to the SEALs, maybe a fourth of the number of guys they have. Boat Teams 12 and 20 handle coastal water missions; Team 22 is in Mississippi. They’re called Riverine SWCC.” He shrugged. “Dirty Boat Guys are stationed all over the world. Any place we’re needed to support the SEALs . . . and whatever.”
“Whatever. Meaning . . .?” Alison’s phone dinged. “Oh, Uber’s here.” Turning with Nick, Alison went out the door and found their Uber driver, the same man who’d driven her to the Gaslamp District when Richie was in the city with Emma. Alison glanced at Nick. Had Richie told him about that evening?
Nick opened the car door for Alison and waited while she got in. Then, skirting around the front of the car, he got in beside her. In five minutes, they were back at her building and in the elevator. Alison slipped her hand in Nick’s, smiling when his hand closed around hers. Her stomach fluttered. They had the rest of the evening to kick back, enjoy dinner, and who knows what else? Nearly giddy with anticipation, she walked with him to her door. What would it take for him to kiss her again?
Chapter 15
Nick closed the door and turned to see Alison unbuttoning her coat. “Here, let me help you.” He slid the coat off her shoulders and down her arms, his fingers brushing her soft skin. Alison shivered.
“Are you cold?”
Alison’s breath hitched. “No, no. I’m fine.” She opened the closet, found a hanger and turned to him. “Please, make yourself comfortable, feel free to take off your tie and jacket. Shoes, too, if you like.” She took her coat from him. “I have plenty of room to hang up your jacket.”
He glanced at the closet. “You’re very neat. I’m impressed.” He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his tie loose.
Alison handed him a hanger for his coat. “Thanks. My grandmother’s influence again. She left the heavy cleaning to Alma, her cleaning lady, but she didn’t like clutter. So.” She grinned. “I don’t like it either.”
His coat hung up, Nick unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up. “I want to hear more about her, but first I need your bathroom again.” He turned away, then back again abruptly. “Oh, by the way, did you decide not to keep Rufus?”
“Oh, no. I’m keeping him. He’s with Sally again. She agreed to keep him until tomorrow after my riding lesson, in return for all our leftovers. She’s been a lifesaver. And, she hasn’t had to cook all week.”
Nick smiled. “Glad to hear it’s working out for you two.”
“Me, too. The little guy has wiggled his way right into my heart.” She laughed. “I’ll just get a few things started in the kitchen. After I get out of these shoes.” She sat in an upholstered armless chair beside the console table in the foyer and reached down to slip off her heels.
In the bathroom, Nic
k reached for the guest towel, and this time noticed the monogram on it—‘A-D-G.’ What did the ‘G’ stand for? He sucked in a deep breath. Just one of the many things he didn’t know about Alison but wanted to find out. So much about her was still a mystery to him.
A niggling little voice in his head murmured a warning. The last time he’d been in Alison’s condo for any length of time, besides the hour before the Symphony, he’d been livid with anger about the blog she’d written about him. Had it only been five weeks ago? So much had happened since then. Like a game of horseshoes. And a kiss. Nick sighed, his nerves spiking. He hadn’t been on Alison’s website since that day, except once—to make sure she’d taken down the post. Why? Nick dried his hands, the answer condemning him. He didn’t want to know what she wrote. Not really. Not if it meant she wasn’t the woman he wanted her to be. Help me, Lord. Help me stay on the ancient path, the narrow way.
He hung up the towel, careful to fold it so the monogram showed, and left the bathroom.
“What can I do to help?” Nick asked, coming into the kitchen. Determined to keep the conversation light, he leaned on the island.
Barefoot, Alison turned to him, grinning as she looked down at his feet. “You didn’t take off your shoes.”
“Too much trouble to put them back on.”
“Well, that eliminates playing footsies under the table, spoilsport.”
He looked down at her feet. And just as quickly back at her face. “Spoilsport, huh?” He advanced toward her.
“Yeah, you know, someone who squelches another person’s pleasure by . . .”
Nick interrupted her, his eyes flashing mischief, the toes of his shoes up against her bare feet. “Oh, I know exactly what it means.” His eyes dropped to her lips a second before he stepped back and grinned. “And believe me, I’ve been called a lot worse.” He picked up the bottle of red wine and pulled out the cork. “Do you want some?” He poured half a glass for himself.
Alison shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Scotch. That’s what I need.”
Nick started. “Scotch, huh? I don’t think I would have ever guessed that about you.”
“Good. Those days weren’t pretty.” A shadow of pain flashed in her eyes before she shook it off. “I’ll have a glass of wine, about the same amount as you, please.” She turned back to the pork, scooping a generous amount on a large bun. “I made my Grandma Kate’s Never Fail Salad to go with the pork. She used to say, ‘It’s good as long as it lasts.’ Can you pull the container out of the fridge for me, please?”
“Sure.” Nick opened the refrigerator, his mind teeming with curiosity. When had Alison been a fan of scotch, and what did she mean about it not being pretty? “What’s the container look like?”
“It’s blue on the bottom.” She filled a second bun with pulled pork.
“Got it.” He closed the fridge door with his elbow, pried open the lid of the container and looked inside. “Hmmm.”
“It’s a sweet coleslaw, made with vinegar and sugar.” She took the container from him and scooped a generous portion into a cup on each plate. “Dinner is served.” She put down the plates and sat down before Nick could react.
Left with no choice but to sit at the head of the table, Nick sat down and waited. Alison shook out her napkin and slid it onto her lap. Following her lead, Nick settled his.
“I suppose you want to say a prayer.”
Nick studied her face, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Only if you want me to.”
“Forget I said anything about scotch, okay? You can pray.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
More curious than ever, Nick took a deep breath. “Lord God.” A sense of awe came over him, an awareness of God’s presence he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for being here with us. Thank you for Alison . . . and for her servant’s heart. Thank you . . .”
“Amen,” Alison said, her voice strained, effectively stopping him from saying more.
Nick’s head jerked up. He met her gaze, and barely stopped himself from reaching out to touch her hand, her arm. To somehow ease the tension written on her face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Alison looked away, momentarily closing her eyes. She huffed out a shaky breath and turned to him with a smile that didn’t begin to negate the pain in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Really. I just . . . let’s eat, okay?”
Caught between wanting to press her for an answer and good manners, Nick nodded and smiled. But his gut churned with the need to know what had caused her distress. Had it been his prayer? Had she sensed the presence of the Lord, too? He picked up his fork and made a show of trying the coleslaw. “Mmmm. This is good. Your grandmother’s recipe, did you say?” He searched her face, relieved to see the tension fading. Why did she want him to forget her remark about scotch?
“Yes. I’m glad you like it. Grandma Kate always made it to eat with pulled pork.” Alison cut her sandwich in half, picked one side up, and nibbled on one end.
Nick studied her face, the eyes that wouldn’t meet his. What was she hiding, and why?
She cleared her throat and put down her sandwich. “I made her write out the coleslaw recipe finally. She knew it so well that she never measured anything. But I couldn’t ever get it to taste quite the same until I forced her to measure the ingredients and write them down for me. Now, I love seeing her handwriting. It brings her close, sort-of.”
Reaching out, Nick captured her hand and met her gaze. “I know exactly what you mean. I have a couple of letters my dad wrote me when I was in boot camp. Saved them for some reason. Now they’re really special to me. They bring him close, just like you said.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
Alison smiled and reached for her glass of wine. “Yes. Yes, it does. Handwriting is so personal, don’t you think? So unique, even though there are standards for making each letter. It’s art, really. And each of us, the artist. I think it’s crazy that it’s hardly taught anymore in school. Learning to use a keyboard has totally replaced learning to write legibly. It’s just not right!”
“For a person who makes a career of using a keyboard, you’re pretty opinionated about this, aren’t you?”
“No fair. You’re comparing apples to oranges. But you agree with me, don’t you?”
Nick chuckled. “I can see that you care. Makes me want to see your handwriting.” He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed while Alison stared at him.
“Okay, mister.” She jumped up and patted his shoulder. “I’ll get some paper while you clear the dishes.” She strode off toward her office on the other side of the living room.
Nick looked from Alison’s retreating back to her plate. She’d barely eaten a fourth of her sandwich and not even half of her coleslaw. No wonder she stayed so thin. But CrossFit was working for her, he decided. The muscles in her arms and legs were beginning to show promise. And she knew just how to show them off in that short dress, didn’t she? Nick silently admonished himself to keep focused and got up. He wanted to get to know her intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. But first, he had to keep his hands off what she offered physically. Nick shook his head as he brought their plates to the sink, unsure what to do with Alison’s leftovers. Would she want to save them for later?
Before he could reach a decision, Alison returned and crossed behind him to the coffee pot. Flipping the switch, she pivoted and grinned. “This is decaf. I assume you don’t want to be up all night. Am I right?”
“Yeah. See,” Nick said, his eyes piercing hers, “I’ve got this girl who’s been up in my face every week about learning to ride a horse and . . .” He hesitated, fighting—and losing—the battle to keep his feelings to himself. “. . . and I, well, it turns out . . . I’m more interested in learning about her than seeing that she l
earns to ride.” Before he could give in and kiss her again, he took her hand and pulled her out of the kitchen. “Like . . . what’s her handwriting look like? And why doesn’t she want to talk about a certain kind of alcohol?”
Alison dug in her heels and tugged at Nick to let her go.
He pulled her to him instead. “Just talk. That’s all. Please.”
She stopped fighting him, but he could feel her reluctance. Her chin came up. “I should get the coffee.”
“It’s not ready yet.” Nick took ahold of both of her arms, his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin above her elbows. He met her turbulent expression with calm determination. “What are you afraid of? That you’ll let me see the real Alison?”
She jerked out of his hold and paced away before turning back, her voice strident, her fists clenched. She glared at him. “I’m not afraid. Just cautious. And I don’t have a clue about what you mean by the real Alison. What you see is what you get. If you don’t like it, you can always leave.”
The intensity of her anger shocked him. He hadn’t meant to challenge her. Had he? Ignoring the warning bells in his head, Nick ran his hand around his neck and gave his head a shake. “That’s just it, Alison. What I see is what I like. Very much.” He stepped cautiously toward her. “It’s what I can’t see, and what I don’t know about you that makes me wonder if we can have something more than just this crazy chemistry that keeps me tossing in my bed at night. Thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering if you’re God’s plan for my life.” He stopped a foot short of her, his voice soft and low. “But I’ll tell you this one thing I’m sure about: I don’t have any interest in a relationship that’s going nowhere. And I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Or get my own heart broken again.
