Unable to prevent her giddy happiness from shining through, she bubbled with laughter. “These are gorgeous; thank you. And you’re right on time. Wine?”
Taking the flowers, she led the way back to the kitchen and poured a matching glass for Rick. She arranged the flowers in a large white jar before joining him on the patio. Olive raced up the steps, excited to see Rick. He dropped down to a squat to pet her affectionately. He was dressed in dark tailored slacks and a black short-sleeve shirt. The material had a faint sheen and stretched across his back as he fawned over Olive. Martini slinked up the stairs and sat behind her, watching this new stranger pet his sister. He inched forward, sniffing in Rick’s direction.
“You must be Martini,” he said. “I’ve heard a bit about you. Can I pet you?” He held out his hand out for inspection and Martini obliged, sniffing and finding Rick up to par. He licked the back of Rick’s hand and rolled over to give him permission to rub his belly.
“Friendly boy, aren’t you?” Rick grinned, giving Martini a little extra loving.
Heart swelling, Rachael etched the scene into her memory.
Rick returned to claim the seat next to hers. “Olive looks great. She’s healed well.”
“Mhm. She had excellent care. I can refer you to the vet if you’re looking for one. Gil’s pretty good,” she teased.
He chuckled, his brown eyes dancing. He tilted his glass toward her, and she met him halfway, the glasses clinking happily. They sipped and watched the dogs run around the yard.
“Where are we going tonight?” she asked.
“I have reservations at the fondue place, if that sounds good?”
“Are we getting the chocolate course, too?”
“Isn’t that why everyone goes there?”
“Perfect! Of course it is.” She laughed. “How are we on time?”
“Always enough time for a glass of wine with a beautiful woman.”
Rachael blushed and felt butterfly kisses in her belly. This was a good start. Very good.
She cleared her throat. “How do you think they’ll do? With the fireworks?”
He shrugged. “Like people, every dog is different. Might want to stick close by just in case, but most dogs handle them fairly well, especially when they’re younger adults.”
Watching him from the corner of her eye, she saw the sun highlight his soft brown hair, lending the edges a golden hue. He looked relaxed and content, leaning back into the seat and drinking the cool white wine.
“I am glad you’re here, Rick. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.”
He studied her, draining the last of his wine. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said, stunning her into silence before disappearing into the house.
“You coming?” Rick called from the kitchen.
Calling Martini and Olive to follow, she finished her wine and rinsed out the glasses, leaving them in the sink. The simple joys of temporarily having her own place.
* * *
Their hands met as they ambled down the street together. His grip was warm and secure, his stride unhurried to accommodate her shorter, faster step. Rick held open the restaurant’s door, and she brushed against him as she entered. Maybe not unintentionally. They were ushered to a private table for two, a hotplate set into the table between them.
“Good evening,” greeted the server. She rattled on about the menu and specials while Rachael admired Rick’s good looks and comfortable demeanor. He was so calm and patient with everything.
“Do you like fireworks?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve always loved them. They’re kind of magical. You?”
“I enjoy them now, but I wasn’t always a fan. I used to be afraid of them.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said, a light flush on his neck. “My mother explained they were chemical explosions in the air. I was convinced they were going to catch the world on fire.”
This touched her unexpectedly. She wanted to hug the child he must have been. “And now?”
“Now I know better, but I still don’t like to be too close.” He winked.
“We can see fireworks from my parents’ backyard. Too far away to catch fire,” she teased. “Want to watch them?”
“When?”
“Monday night. The township always does them on the Fourth.”
“I’d like that.”
The waiter returned with the drinks, and they ordered salads and cheese and meat courses.
“These always make me feel like a kid,” she said, dipping an apple into the Wisconsin cheese dip. “Which is silly. It’s not like we did this when we were little. It’s just fun.”
He smiled and wiped the cheese off her chin. She made a face and he laughed. “I believe it’s the permission to be a little messy and play with your food. It brings out the child in all of us,” Rick said.
“What were you like as a child?” she asked, picturing a quiet, shy boy cuddling with kittens and puppies.
He took a bite of gooey, crisp cauliflower before answering. “I was a bit of an explorer, I suppose. I’d run through the woods with my friends, and we’d hunt for animal prints and snakeskins.”
“Really? I can’t see that.”
“Really. I was also into sports. Baseball, soccer, the usual. Until I found swimming. What about you?”
“I was every parent’s worst nightmare. A saucy little girl who would not take no for an answer.”
“A born negotiator?”
“Mhm. When I wasn’t negotiating, I was in dance or some other activity that I obsessed over briefly. I dabbled in sports throughout school, but was never gifted with the height or speed for most of them.”
They chatted and laughed through dinner, and the waitress cleared away the dinner mess. “Did you leave room for dessert?” she asked.
“Absolutely!” Rachael swooned dramatically.
Rick poured out the last of the second bottle of wine into their glasses and she sighed with pleasure.
“You are something, Rachael.”
“I can’t help it—I love food. And good wine.” She tilted her glass toward him.
“I mean it. You are full of life and laughter. You make me happy to sit at the same table with you. I find myself at the edge of my seat, wondering what you’ll say or do next.”
“Marshmallow,” she said emphatically.
Eyebrows raised, he stared at her in utter confusion.
“That’s what I decided to say next. Dessert on the brain, you know.”
Groaning, he leaned back, rolling his eyes playfully.
“Thank you, Rick. This is fun.” She reached her hand out to him. He enveloped it in his own, sending heat racing up her arm. “And I think you’re pretty wonderful, too.”
He squeezed her hand and they both fell silent, enjoying the quiet and relaxing atmosphere.
“Your chocolate,” presented the server, blending together the melting chocolate and toppings. Between them, she slid a plate of decadent treats to be dipped, and Rachael narrowly managed to suppress the impulse to squeal at the display of strawberries, marshmallows, pound cake, and brownies.
“This is heavenly,” she murmured, sliding a chocolate-crusted marshmallow onto her fondue fork and drowning it in the divine pool of chocolate. “A chocolate-coated, chocolate-covered marshmallow. Poetry on a fork.”
Rick was riveted as she twirled the treat to remove excess melted chocolate and brought it to her lips. She bit down on the confection, melted chocolate trailing down her chin. She giggled like a child and went after the remainder of the marshmallow. He watched intently and she paused in her enjoyment. “What?” she mumbled around the mouthful of sugar.
He shoved away from the table and towered over her. He slowly bent down to lick the chocolate from her lip and kissed her softly.
Oh.
Her silly grin split through the marshmallow and chocolate.
He pushed the dessert plate toward her. “I find it is quite enjoyable to watch yo
u eat this.”
Swallowing the rest of her treat, she nudged the plate back between them and laughed. “Nope! You don’t get off that easily. You have to eat this with me or I may just drop into a sugar coma.”
“The sacrifices I make for you, woman.”
“And you love it,” she teased.
“I do,” he said quietly.
She stared at him, heat traveling all the way to her toes. “Then eat up, Doc. You have some catching up to do. But hands off the marshmallows—those are mine!”
28
They strolled to Rick’s car after dinner, both full and happy. The sun had set and the cicadas were singing from the trees. Rick’s arm rested across her shoulders, his hand gently clasped her upper arm, and she looped her arm around his waist, enjoying the summer evening. A rapid succession of popping sounded from the next street over, and a flash of bright light filled the sky briefly. Bottle rockets and rogue amateur fireworks displays would be common all weekend. She grinned up at Rick and he slowed to drop a kiss on top of her head.
“Don’t worry about the fireworks,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I’ll protect you.”
He laughed and hugged her tightly to his side.
“Thank you for dinner. That was delicious,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Where to next?” she asked as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Mini golf,” he deadpanned.
She giggled as the door closed. “Really, where are we going?”
“I told you.”
“You can’t be serious. Dressed like this?”
He nodded. She went along, amused.
To her surprise, he turned into a miniature golf parking lot.
Huh.
They exited the car and Rick paid for a round from the painfully bored teenager at the front desk. Rachael surveyed the course. Giant artificial palm trees decked out a stone and plastic mountain with a shockingly bright blue waterfall trickling over it. She could smell the chlorine from the entrance. The water trailed through the rest of the course in narrow, open-topped plastic tubes, with large statues of jungle cats, giraffes, and other wildlife complementing the amoeba-shaped greens.
“What color do you want to be?” he asked, tossing an orange ball into the air.
“Blue.”
“Light or dark?”
“Light.”
He snagged the dimpled ball for her, then they collected clubs and waited for their turn. Around them, couples and small groups laughed and screeched, applauded and groaned as the low-stakes Putt-Putt playing continued. They were by far the best-dressed couple at the course. Or worst-dressed, depending on your point of view.
“Care to wager?” He smiled deviously, hand resting on the neck of a shiny gray plastic rhinoceros emerging from the shrubs at the lead up to the first hole.
She flicked the stained white horn on the animal. “On mini-golf?”
He nodded, spinning the brightly colored rubber-and-steel putter in his hand.
She forced her face to remain neutral. “I’m game. What do you have in mind?”
“Winner chooses the final destination on tonight’s itinerary.”
“You’re on,” she agreed, puzzled but intrigued.
He gestured for her to go first, so she set up her first shot. She would have to shoot it between the legs and under the body of a giant lizard. No problem. Slipping out of her high heels, she glanced back at him with a smirk, then stepped up, swung gently, and watched the blur of baby blue race up under the lizard and over the single bump in the green before charging directly to the hole. Plunk!
Take that, hot stuff.
“Okay, shorty. That was a lucky shot. My turn.”
Settling the orange ball where hers had been, he tapped and groaned as the ball slid to a stop inches from the hole.
“You can still shoot for par.” She smiled sweetly, straining to withhold her laughter.
His mouth firmed into a concentrated straight line and he knocked the ball home.
“One shot to your advantage. Shall we continue?”
Nodding, she ushered him ahead to the second green, where a pair of brown and black cartoonish monkey statues pointed to the tee area. Poor Rick had no idea who he was up against.
“You play golf?” he asked, watching her sink a long putt.
“All through high school and college. Though I don’t get out nearly as often as I’d like anymore,” she conceded. “Mostly I only get to play now when courting clients or at fundraising events. And those I frequently have to throw depending on the read I get from the group. A lot of men don’t like to lose to a woman.”
“Damn. I thought you said you didn’t play sports.”
“Not the usual stuff that required running or long limbs. But I’ve always loved golf. It’s a mental game, all about strategy and execution.”
Without her shoes, she felt the height difference between them acutely. “Plus,” she teased, tapping him on the shoulder with her putter, “when you’re this much closer to the ground, you have a clearer perspective of the lay of the land.”
Laughing, he dropped onto a zebra-striped bench as they joined the line waiting for the next hole. “Now I’m closer to the ground. Is that better?”
“Much.” She swung her heels from one hand, standing in front of him. “This is fun.”
“It is. Even if you’re kicking my butt.”
“Aww. Does it bother you?”
“Nah. If I’m going to lose to anyone, I’m glad it’s you. But I will definitely have to work on my game before the next round.”
The butterflies took flight hearing him talk about a possible rematch, a future. Rachael pressed a hand to her stomach, willing them to settle. She still had to wrap up this game. They maintained a steady stream of chatter, carefully avoiding discussing anything to do with the photo or what followed. She knew they needed to discuss it at some point, but she shoved that thought away, focused on relaxing and learning more about him. Hole after hole, she wowed Rick with her putting game, and hole after hole he wowed her with attention and humor, making her fall for him even more.
“Ready to cement your victory, Miss Eller?”
She laughed and waved toward the last hole, which ended at the mouth of a giant anaconda that swallowed the completed game balls and presumably returned them to the course’s front desk. “You first.”
He groaned and went to his fate.
After depositing the clubs and finishing her soft drink, she sat on a crocodile bench and scanned the score card while slipping her shoes back on. “You’re really not a golfer, are you?”
Rick’s crooked smile was adorable. “It’s hard to golf well when you’re standing next to the hottest woman around.”
“You’re not so bad yourself. Looking, that is. At golf, you kind of suck.” Laughing, she joined him on the walk back to the car.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Time to collect on your winnings.” He smirked. “Where to, Miss PGA?”
She considered him beneath her lashes, struck again by how handsome he was. His body shielded her from the street. Even with her heels on, she was only as tall as his chin. She took in those wide shoulders, perfect lips, and warm brown eyes. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she pulled him lower. “Home?” she whispered. He watched her eyes and she smiled, lifting onto her toes to kiss him softly.
His eyes widened briefly before he engulfed her in his arms and returned the kiss, chaste but unbearably sweet.
When they returned to Rick’s car, he unlocked the doors and ushered her in, closing the door and pausing on the sidewalk before coming around to the driver’s side.
He took a deep breath. “Your place? Mine? Other?”
“My place if you don’t mind. I need to let the dogs out.”
Moments later, they pulled into Rachael’s driveway and she unlocked the door. Martini and Olive were jumping around, wanting attention. She made baby talk to them, kicking her shoes off as she skipp
ed through the house to let them out to the backyard.
They sat on the patio chairs, watching the dogs play and run. The night air was pleasantly warm, the evening crickets serenaded them and lightning bugs dotted the lawn.
“How long are your parents out of town?”
“They return Tuesday. Does it bother you that I’m living with them?”
“No, I was just wondering. What did you think of my place?”
“It was nice. I especially liked the bedroom,” she added wickedly.
Rick chuckled and they let the conversation die off, both content and relaxed.
“Rachael,” he broke the quiet, a reluctant tone adding to the gravitas. “What happened?”
She nodded slowly, sorting through her thoughts. “Gabe?”
Silence.
Sighing, she pulled her legs up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. What to say, how to say it? He hadn’t moved.
“So, that night after we . . . at your house? I was supposed to have dinner with him. We had made plans beforehand and I didn’t want to break things off over the phone. That seemed rude, you know?”
He considered, then gestured for her to continue.
“We met and I was honest with him, right off the bat, that we could only be friends. I told him I met someone else, someone I wanted to explore things with. You. And he was pretty cool about it. We agreed to just be friends.”
She stopped talking, wondering how to continue. How much to say.
“The next morning, my sister called to tell me about the photo and story. You have to understand, when you grow up with a family like mine—or Gabe’s—people like to speculate. Make wild claims. Get the scoop. Earn a quick buck. But, Rick? Nothing happened.”
He swallowed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
“I know,” she groaned. “It crushed me to know what you must have thought. What most people would have assumed. Did assume.”
Taking a fortifying breath, she continued. “I’m going to be completely honest here. I don’t want to lie to you. Gabe and I, we did have a little history. And he became a good friend to me. He was there for me when I . . . when you . . .” She shook her head. “Anyways, one night, just once after you and I met, we did become intimate. It was after I saw you downtown.”
Animal Attraction Page 17
