“What do you think?” he asked.
“Five minutes ago, she was so anxious that the whole room had to feel it.”
She looked twice when she found Arnie gaping at her with a curious light in his eyes.
“You felt it?” His voice had a husky thrum that made her giddy.
“Felt, perceived, something like that. Anyway, she was putting off a vibe. Then all of a sudden, she opened her laptop and found a laugh. Now she’s texting a friend to announce her writer’s block is over.”
“Have you ever thought about being a detective? I hear there are lots of jobs.”
“Detective?” She snorted. “Good lord, no. I like people too much. Digging around looking for compromising information wouldn’t be good for me. That stuff gets inside my head. I’m happy as a Goody Two-shoes.”
His deep voice was teasing. “The world could use more goody shoes.”
A smile of genuine happiness spread on her face. He grinned when she smirked. “Doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I was napping when they handed out street smarts.”
With no idea whatsoever why she took such a stern approach, she blushed some more and fiddled with her hair. In a rush, she asked the elephant in the room question so the answer would be in the open, and they could move on.
“How old are you, Arnie?”
“Old enough to know why you asked. Old enough to know better.”
She cringed. “That bad?”
He nodded.
In a small voice, she said, “I’ll be twenty in the spring,” then watched the color drain from his face.
Summer was glad to see proof he had a conscience.
“Just kidding. I’ll be twenty-five in May. Perfectly legal,” she teased.
“Well,” he drawled, “for that impressive display of heart attack-inducing insolence, you just lost your half of the Danish.” He plucked the cheesy treat out of the pile and stuffed most of it in his mouth. His crystal blue eyes twinkled with laughter.
While nibbling on a cake pop, Summer made no effort to hide her interest as she studied him. Looking for flaws seemed silly since he had to be one of the most classically handsome men she’d ever seen.
His head of tousled yet creatively styled blond hair was natural, and she knew this because he had the blondish eyebrows and light scruff of a true golden boy. There was a faint scar on his chin partially hidden in the lazy beard.
His mouth fascinated her. Maybe too much because she couldn’t drag her eyes away from watching him polish off the Danish.
A shiver caught her unaware. She looked away and hid her eyes in case he could read her thoughts and see the X-rated slideshow flashing in her head.
“Fair lady, I don’t know why you’re blushing but please, don’t stop.”
She made a face. “It’s the curse of being a blond.” She motioned at his face. “Something I wager you know full well.”
“Which is why I said, please don’t stop. I know a dirty thought when I see one happening.”
“You’re very direct, aren’t you?”
He shrugged with a smile. “Playing things safe just doesn’t make sense to me.”
The conversation was straying into personal territory way too quickly, so she applied the brakes and took a detour.
Tilting her head to indicate the other side of the room, she finished off the cake pop, and said, “See the guy by the bookcase? What do you think his story is?”
“You mean the dude in the cowboy hat?”
“Yeah, him. What’s his deal?”
Arnie ripped a blueberry muffin in half with his big fingers and handed her a piece. He looked at the cowboy a few times with an assessing expression. She rather liked how willing he was to people watch with her.
“He’s a pretend cowboy,” he stated in a throaty chuckle.
“How do you know?”
“The hat is new, and it doesn’t fit right. When he takes it off, there’s a welt on his temple. No real cowboy would put up with an ill-fitting hat.”
After licking her fingers and following up with a napkin, she wiped her mouth and sipped the latte. “Very observant.”
“Shall I continue?”
“Oh my, please do!” She laughed.
“Okay, so I think he’s either foreign or playing a part. He’s not sure of himself or the surroundings.”
She looked at the faux cowboy. He seemed jumpy and nervous and kept touching the top button of his shirt.
“Maybe he’s a spy,” she whispered.
“Doubtful,” he murmured. “Too high-strung.”
“Hmm. You’re right.” She paused to consider the options. Smacking him on the arm, she grabbed hold, and murmured so only he could hear, “I have it! Cowboy is his Tinder game. He’s here waiting for a hookup.”
His chuckled snort made her laugh. “Tinder cowboy, you say?” He smirk-nodded. “I bet you’re right.”
When an attempt to split a cookie crumbled along with the treat, they resorted to rock, paper, scissors to decide who got custody of the pieces.
It was after ten o’clock, but the late hour didn’t stop more and more people from crowding the busy coffee shop. The noise level increased, and their available space narrowed until the only thing to do was head for the exit.
Before they made it to the door, she wisely did a quick bladder check and excused herself to dash into the ladies’ room.
Arnie considered taking out his phone to ask Siri how long it took to fall in love until he realized how pathetic it was to ask a computer program to explain the biggest mystery in human emotion.
Leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, he waited for the pale-skinned Goldilocks to reappear. His heart thumped with anticipation and lower, a pleasurable ache pulsed in his groin.
The pleasure was nearly wiped out though when he did the math on the thirteen-year difference in their ages. Goddammit. Was she too young? Was he too old? Where was the go, no-go zone?
He performed a quick fact check. She was old enough to vote and legally able to drink. If called to serve, she was also old enough to defend her country.
In his case, he wasn’t a shameless womanizer, had never been named in a paternity case, and could look forward to decades before retirement came knocking. Surely, he was in the clear, right?
“Whew,” Goldilocks exclaimed with a laugh as she marched from the bathroom slinging the long strap of a purse across her body. “That was a close call.”
They faced each other, each of them grinning sheepishly, and for the first time in his adult life, Arnie was tongue-tied.
The burgundy dress she wore for their coffee date clung to her curves, but it was the valley between her boobs made by the purse strap bisecting her chest that emptied his brain.
He was a big guy with big hands and if he got to design the perfect female, she’d have big boobs. Summer had a spectacular rack. He mentally imagined enjoying the soft mounds and gave them pretty nipples he could play with.
“Oof,” she grunted when a rude motherfucker shoved her out of the way in their haste to get to the bathroom.
Colliding with a solid thud, she pushed against his chest trying to right herself. The heart-pounding, groin-tightening physical reaction he had to her small hands on his body came as a huge surprise.
“I slipped that guy twenty bucks to shove you out of the way so you’d slam into me.”
Summer blinked her pretty smoky eyes, and for a brief second, her brows bumped together in a frown of confusion. Then she got it, laughed, and gave him a half-smirk. Adjusting the purse strap across her body, she suddenly launched toward him, and they chest bumped like she was one of the NIGHTWIND crew scoring basketball points.
“All you had to do was ask.” She giggled.
She. Was. Perfect. With a bold, capital P.
“Warn me next time,” he drawled. “So I can grab your ass in surprise.”
She threw her head back and laughed up a storm. “You are a bold one
, Arnie.”
“And you, golden girl, take my breath away.”
“Okay, cut the charm offensive.” She sniggered.
Grabbing his hand, she took charge and dragged him toward the exit. On the sidewalk outside she pulled him away from the door and whirled around.
“You had me at rock, paper, scissors,” she told him with an adorable hair flip and sniff of shyness.
A lightning bolt of rose gold sparkles shot into his soul and filled him until it felt like the edges of his physical being melted into the universe. He’d never known anything like it. She terrified and excited him in the same breath. A sensation of finding home after a long search coupled with the fear of losing everything rattled him.
The reason his mom’s face drifted through his thoughts didn’t require soul searching. Losing her right after he was born shaped his emotions. He’d never known what it was like to have a real home. A home full of heart and love. When looking at Summer gave him a feeling of homecoming, things shifted inside.
Stepping closer, he feathered his fingers along her cheek, and murmured, “And you had me with wisecracks about my Gucci shoes and the size of my feet.”
Tilting her head to look up at him, she smiled slowly. “Is this going to get complicated?”
He heard the teasing lilt in her voice and did a mental happy dance. With a snicker, he caught her gaze and held it. “It got complicated when you called me out over a twenty-percent tip.”
“Oh, pfft.” She laughed and shoved him back a step. “You’re just annoyed because I wasn’t impressed by your wallet.”
She sashayed down the street without looking back. He raced to catch up, pulled her hand through the crook he made with his arm, and brought her to a full stop.
“Look”—she gasped—“the moon is almost full.”
He glanced up. “Snow moon,” he murmured before realizing he spoke.
Her face lit up. “Yes! And this one is a supermoon. Let’s go down to the water and see if there’s a moon river.”
Captivated by her joyful spontaneity, Arnie looked around and noted their location. “Fastest route?”
“This way,” she told him and tugged at his arm until he followed where she led.
“Now I’m glad I wore flats,” she exclaimed as they hurriedly marched along. “The dress looks killer with a nice pair of strappy wedges, but most truly great footwear isn’t designed for walking.”
He never thought of it that way and chuckle-snorted.
“It’s true,” she insisted.
“Are you a shoe lover?”
“Oh god, yes. But not just hooker heels.”
Hooker heels. Good one.
“I have a cute pair of Wellies and more sneakers than any one person should have. Oh, and boots. I love boots. Not the practical kind,” she told him with a wrinkled nose and fast head shake. “I’m talking rock and roll boots, and pirate boots, and cute little Mary Poppins boots.”
“Your sigh sounded slightly orgasmic,” he teased.
She laughed, punched his arm, and dragged him through a crosswalk. They picked up steam, and in less than three short blocks, they made their way through a mound of sand and rocks to arrive at the ocean’s edge. Off in the distance, a pier with twinkling lights jutted into the water. The sound of the moving ocean and a full moon sky made an enchanting setting.
“I love it here,” she murmured after they ditched their shoes and walked closer to the water.
He studied her and caught something flickering in her energy field. “Is it the ocean you love or nature in general?”
“Good question.” She looked out at the huge expanse of water. “When I graduated from high school, I went to New Orleans with a group of friends. It was hot and so freakin’ humid my bra was wet the whole time. But it was colorful and had tons of history going on, and I thought it was the most wonderful place on earth.”
Summer’s cheery disposition and general vibe suggested the golden girl would radiate happiness and make wherever she lived special.
She shrugged. “I haven’t traveled much, and I’m a native Californian, or as my friends call it, hashtag-weather-spoiled.” Her self-deprecating smirk hit him in the heart. “So you sort of have to keep the curve in mind when you’re grading me.”
“I don’t think there are many places I haven’t been,” he admitted.
She didn’t ask for clarification. After staring at the ocean for a moment, her eyes met his. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“Uh, no,” he stammered. “I’m here for a, uh, business thing.”
The disappointment in her expression moved him beyond words. Without knowing his name or how heavy his wallet was, she was drawn to him. He could see it, not just in her eyes but also in how she moved, laughed, and touched him without reservation. From the moment she audaciously razzed him about the god-awful shoes his Aunt Lou forced on him, they had a connection.
“What do you do?”
He wanted to confess everything. Tell her all about the super-classified existence he once led and how his jokester-of-all-trades persona was how he dealt with the mountain of bad shit he’d seen over the years.
Instead, he puffed slightly and enunciated his NIGHTWIND job specs, something he totally made up on the spot.
“I work with a security firm based out of New York. Recruitment mostly with some side stuff. You know, business,” he drawled.
“Like human resources?” she asked.
“Oh god, no.” He chuckled. “I have a loose relationship with rules. My talents fall more on the assessment and development side of things.”
Her smoky eyes studied him. Arnie relaxed when her gaze softened.
“How long are you in town?”
“Till the weekend, but my schedule is fluid.”
“I knew this would end up being complicated.” Her body language suggested conflict.
What could he say? It was already complicated.
She slipped the crossbody purse over her head and pushed it into his hands. “Hold this, please. I have to do something.”
It was a pleasure to watch her move. She was graceful and free-spirited, unconcerned with, well, he wasn’t sure exactly what, but it was there.
Prancing across the sand, she leaped and twirled. When she suddenly ran at high speed and vaulted through two somersaults, he nearly dropped her purse in the water to applaud.
She was laughing and fussing with her hair as she came back to him. “I just thought of an addendum to my review for this dress.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She giggled. “Stays put in a somersault. No panty flashes.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he drawled satirically. “The dress stayed put, but I’m pretty sure your panties are white.”
She gasped as her eyes shone with merriment. “How could you possibly see anything?”
“X-ray vision,” he dryly teased.
“Oh, so you have Superman delusions, do you?”
“Superman?” His eyebrows rose. “Hmph. I like that.” Posing like the Man of Steel with his hands at his waist, Arnie stuck his chin into the air and sucked in his gut.
“Are you leaping over buildings in your imagination?”
Laughter broke his posing, and he slung an arm around Summer’s shoulders. “I don’t suppose your middle name is Lois, is it?”
The ease with which they laughed and joked around was truly astonishing. They were strangers, acting on an impulse, yet the way they interacted spoke of a longer relationship. Perhaps unfolding over lifetimes. Viewing this through the lens of eternity made their meeting important.
For an hour or more, they sat on the sand and talked. She was an amateur gardener with a reserved plot of ground in a community garden. Last fall, her efforts produced a pumpkin large enough to use at Halloween.
He told her about the knitting workshop he took last year, went so far as to search for the picture he kept in the cloud, and proudly showed her the scarf he made.
&nb
sp; “I collect crystals,” she confessed. “Rocks and things.”
“Makes sense,” he teased. “California girl and all.”
She laughed. “I bought a big decorative bowl. HomeGoods,” she drawled. “Stupid store pulls me in like a magnet.” She laughed. “Anyway, I filled it with crystals and put it in the sun on a wide windowsill. It’s overkill, but I like the way it looks and the energy it puts off.”
She liked the energy. Arnie didn’t know what to make of her obvious sensitivities. It turned him on in surprising ways.
“I have a problem area, too,” he told her gravely. “Yankees memorabilia. And I don’t just mean the collector’s stuff. If McDonald’s gave away Yankee junk, I’d be in line every day.”
“Plastic crap,” she said with wide eyes and a knowing growl. “It’s an addiction.”
They fist-bumped and moved on.
“I’m a lousy cook.” She said the words with strong conviction and then snorted. “I think it’s a generational thing. Not a lot of hearty homecooked meals growing up in the age of convenience.”
“One of the guys I work with has mad kitchen talent. Mostly Cajun stuff. We all pretend to be clueless, so he picks up the slack.”
“So, you can’t or don’t cook?”
He shrugged and took a deep breath. “My childhood was also bereft of home-style anything. It’s complicated,” he mumbled.
“My dad did the best he could, but he had to work, so my brother and I learned to make do.”
He hesitated to ask but couldn’t help it. “And your mother?”
Her face tightened, and red-gray pulsed in her energy field. “I can’t say I actually knew her. She stayed long enough for potty training and then took off when I was three.”
“Oh, shit. That bites,” he grumbled. “Did you do the divorced kid shuffle?”
“No. I didn’t get the shuffle. I got a Christmas card. Every couple of years, she swooped in for a visit, but I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”
“My mother died when I was born. A couple of days after. My childhood is a page ripped from the cold-hearted stepmother playbook. I don’t blame my dad,” he assured her when she groaned. “Like yours, my dad did the best he could but with a shattered heart. He was easy pickins if you know what I mean.”
Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3) Page 3
