Third Time Lucky: Volume 1 (The Coxwells)

by Deborah Cooke

  “So you don’t pass out on me,” he said with a smile as he slid the plate onto the table. I nibbled dutifully and decided that I could get used to this.

  “Where did you learn to cook?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere.”

  A typical Nick answer. His brow furrowed as he surveyed the array of goodies on the counter and I understood that conversation was not welcome at this time.

  It was surprisingly okay.

  He cleaned the red snapper with the expert strokes of someone who has done that job before. He had it stuffed and ready for the oven before I could whistle Dixie. He chopped a lot of stuff and put it on to simmer in a saucepan before I managed to identify it all, then diced a mountain of vegetables.

  Eventually he served up a mixed green salad dressed with a vinaigrette that looked deceptively easy to make—but I wasn’t fooled. He joined me to have the salad, one eye on the pot.

  “Think you’ve got enough plants?” he asked drily as some of my babies were nudged further across the table to make room for two settings. It’s true that the window is full of them and the tabletop is half covered.

  Maybe more than half.

  “It’s not usually an issue. There’s lots of room and the kitchen gets good light.” I moved my avocado to the floor, silently promising to put it back where it would get sunlight before the morning.

  “Where do you get them all?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “People leave them on your doorstep? Like kittens needing a home?”

  “No. I grow them. This is from an avocado that had a split pit. And that one’s a mango and that’s a peach tree, though it’ll be a while before it bears any peaches.”

  His expression was incredulous. “All from pits?”

  “Um hmm. I haven’t had much luck with apple seeds though. They’re probably mostly hybrids.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Hybrids are more resistant to bugs and diseases or adverse conditions, but the seeds are sterile as a result.”

  “Hmm. So what happens when the hybrid trees die? It’s not so easy to start over again, is it?” He looked really interested, which was all I needed to warm to my theme.

  “No. That’s a problem. And there’s also the problem of what are called heritage varieties of plants disappearing.”

  He looked up. “How so?”

  “People stop growing the original varieties, because the hybrids are easier to grow. So, over time, the originals disappear. Seed isn’t good forever—and if no one saves any, then it’s all lost.” I leaned forward because this was one of my dearly beloved issues and his eyes hadn’t glazed over yet. “We’ve started a non-profit organization to catalogue and preserve heritage varieties, especially those typically grown in New England.”

  He nodded approval. “Who’s we?”

  It was a real treat to be able to talk about something I cared about, without being told that I was wasting my time, or that it was foolish.

  “Well, I’m the only garden designer, though Joel donates a couple of Saturdays every spring to play Roto-tiller man. There are some avid gardeners around here who are members, as well as a woman from the historical society and one botanist from the university. And there are a few people from seed companies too. We’re trying to figure out a good way to keep track of who’s growing what and who’s got what, and who’s harvested fresh seeds.”

  “You plant stuff every year?”

  “Well, sure. People give us seeds, or we grow some of the ones we’ve saved. The great thing about plants is that they’re always willing to make more seeds. Gradually, we’re building up a repository, but we could use some more garden space too. Maybe a database.”

  “What’s needed always comes to good causes.”

  “Knock wood.” I rapped on the tabletop and got more than I bargained for.

  “If I’m in town when you plant this year, I’d like to help.”

  I blinked at Nick before I remembered that he was the king of bio-sustainability. That explained his interest. “Well, thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  But he probably would be gone.

  I decided to find out. “We don’t plant until the end of May.”

  Nick grimaced. “Too bad. I thought it might be sooner.” He turned his attention to his salad.

  How many times did I need to confirm that he was just stopping by? It’s not as though the man made a secret of it. I opted for avoiding any further elucidation, returning to the plants at hand. “And that’s a lemon tree and that’s the orange that started it all.”

  “How so?”

  “The seed had a little root when I ate the orange. I couldn’t just dump it in the trash. It was alive already!”

  A smile played over his lips. “So you planted it.”

  “And it grew.” We looked at the four foot tall shrubby plant with the glossy orange leaves. It was undeniably vigorous.

  “Who would have guessed it could be so happy in Massachusetts? You must have a special touch, Phil.” He pointed to the monster in the corner. “And what’s that one?”

  “An oleander. A pink one. The blooms smell like heaven. It’s sulking right now, but will perk up once I put it outside next month. It blooms every summer out in the sunshine even though it’s not a fan of Massachusetts winters. I guess it gets temporarily faked out in the sun.”

  He chuckled, collected the salad plates and went back to work. It wasn’t long afterward that he served up the red snapper, now grilled to perfection and dotted with lemon slices. The pot proved to hold a mango and lime salsa that smelled too yummy to be believed. There were steamed veggies and wild rice, the whole thing looking so artful that it seemed a shame to gobble it up.

  “Don’t worry, Phil,” he said as he sat down, obviously mistaking the reason for my hesitation. “There’s hardly any fat in it. Eat what you want, and don’t worry about waste.”

  “Because there won’t be any?” I eyed his much more generous serving.

  He just grinned.

  “To Freddie,” I said as we clinked our glasses.

  The fish melted in my mouth. Not only was it the most divine meal I’d had in a long time, it had been cooked especially for me by a man who made for good rear views in my kitchen. And he had made an effort to ensure that it didn’t break my diet. The thoughtfulness of that could have made a lesser meal stick in my throat.

  I wondered then what it would take to keep Nick around. He was a bit big to chain to the stove and probably wily enough to escape.

  But it might seriously be worth a try.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t stage a break up on Saturday,” I suggested casually.

  He looked up in evident surprise.

  “Saturday is only two days away, and I could go for at least a month of eating like this.”

  He choked on his dinner and had to take a swig of mineral water.

  I clicked my tongue and feigned disapproval. “You’re losing your edge, Sullivan. I don’t remember you ever being so easily surprised.”

  He chuckled then. “Eat up,” he instructed. “There’s no dessert and it’s a long time ‘til breakfast.”

  We exchanged a smile that should have been harnessed for its electrical voltage, then dug in.

  * * *

  He wouldn’t even let me help wash up.

  I sat in the living room, nursed my mineral water and alternatively pondered two questions:

  1/ where did one buy manacles?; and 2/ would hitting Nick over the head with that shiny new skillet stun him enough to me to get those manacles on without causing long term neurological damage?

  I was so lost in my ruminations that I jumped slightly when Nick dropped onto the other end of the couch.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

  “You look exhausted. You should have let me help with the dishes.”

  “It’s not that.” He spoke without opening his eyes. “Two nights without sleep is about my limit.�
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  “I hope the couch is okay.”

  He slanted me a look through half-opened eyes. The expression made him look sleepy but wary, a bit dangerous. Dragon time. “I could sleep on concrete tonight.”

  Without even having moved, he seemed suddenly very close, and I swore I could feel a little fan of steam on the back of my neck. I started to move plants out of the way, purportedly so he wouldn’t have to worry about impaling himself whenever he got up. There were a lot of cacti in the living room, an inspired choice to my thinking, since it was hot and dry in there. The landlord wasted a fortune on heating, but my plants adored it.

  “And tomorrow?”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Don’t get cute with me. We have a deal.”

  I scooped up the Christmas cactus, which either didn’t have a clue or felt as though it had been deprived of late. It was in full bud, irregardless of the fact that it was spring. But then, most plants will rush to make seeds one last time if they think they’re going to die. I fingered the soil and decided I’d been stingy with the water.

  “And you’re going to waste one of the three on a question like that?”

  “You’re right. Forget I asked.”

  He yawned elaborately and stretched out. I might have thought his eyes were closed except for a telling green gleam. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  I gave him a perky smile, enjoying that I could throw his words back at him. “What difference does it make?”

  “Are you seeing anyone, Phil?”

  I perched on the edge of the couch. “I get to ask the questions around here.”

  “Are you?”

  I decided it was time he had a measure of his own medicine. “I’ll take the Fifth on that.”

  He did one of those quick moves that could make me jump out of my skin and was suddenly right beside me. He looked down at me as though my mind was an archeological site he intended to unearth, labeling each revelation as he went. Short of leaping over the coffee table and its array of spiky plants, there was no escape.

  And he knew it. “But you’re a romantic by your own admission. Just between great loves at the moment?”

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that my mother is setting me up with eligible young men, who are gainfully employed, well connected and suitably attired.”

  He didn’t smile. “But no one said you tell her everything.”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  His smile was smug. “If my presence on the couch is going to have repercussions, don’t you think I deserve a warning?”

  I heaved a sigh, hating that he had some small point and wishing that he had been curious for another reason. “There haven’t been any great romances for a while, so you don’t have to worry about a spurned lover charging through the door and bludgeoning you to death. Happy?”

  “Because Sean hurt you?”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it. “Nick, I just had a crush on him. It lasted all of a month. I was hardly scarred for life.”

  “Not pining for him?”

  “No, not for him.” I realized my slip too late to make a save. I met his gaze and realized he hadn’t missed a thing.

  Uh oh.

  Nick lifted one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then tipped my chin up with his fingertips. I knew I wasn’t going to squirm out of this easily and I didn’t really want to.

  It was time to lay it all out.

  I silently hoped it might turn out for the best.

  “Then for who, Phil?”

  But, you know, I couldn’t say it. I just looked at him, no doubt with the truth shining in my eyes, so I might as well have spit it out. But I seemed to have been struck dumb. My heart was pounding and my mouth went dry. He studied me and shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe what he saw.

  His voice was hoarse when he whispered my name. He eased closer, giving me lots of room, but I wasn’t running anywhere. Then his lips closed over mine. I couldn’t decide why his kiss was so gentle, whether he was trying to let me down easy or whether he thought I was fragile, but I didn’t care. He might be holding back, but I had no reason to, now that he knew my secret.

  I’ve only ever had one.

  I twined my arms around his neck and opened my mouth to him. He made a sound deep in his throat but I was ready to be gobbled up by this particular dragon. His arms closed around me and his kiss deepened, giving me a taste of that volcano fire. I wanted more. I was ready to be the sacrifice that leapt over the edge. I felt his heartbeat and the heat of his skin through his T-shirt for exactly three beats before he pushed me away and stood up.

  He paced across the room and shoved one hand through his hair. He didn’t turn around. “Go, Phil.” His voice was uneven. “Go now and lock the door.”

  I was shaking as I got to my feet. I swallowed as I linked my hands together. “I’ll have one of those answers now.” I hated how my voice was shaking. “What exactly would be the problem here? I thought things were beginning rather well.”

  He turned around, his expression grim. “I won’t be your fantasy, Phil. As tempting as it is, I can’t be whoever it is that you’ve decided I am. It’s been fifteen years. Everything’s changed, we’ve both changed.”

  I felt my tears rising, but I wouldn’t plead with him.

  He heaved a ragged sigh and flung out one hand. “Don’t you see, Phil? Do you think I don’t see what you want? But I don’t do commitment. I don’t stay anywhere for long. I don’t get involved—because every time I have, things have gone straight to hell. If you knew anything about me, you wouldn’t want what you think you want.”

  “There you go, knowing all again.”

  “It matters to me that we’re friends,” he said hoarsely. “This would change everything, and almost certainly end badly.”

  “I thought you were the risk-taker.”

  “Not when the stakes are this high.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. It was hard to be angry with him, even though lust was short-circuiting my wiring. “Our friendship is important to me, too, Nick. I just wonder whether it’s something more.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and eyed me grimly. “I’m trying to do you a favor, Phil. We’re not the same kind of people. Our families are as different as can be.”

  “You’re the one who told me to buck expectations.”

  “But Phil...”

  He looked so apologetic that I couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything worked in the hormonal department for him, I’d tripped all his switches but he wasn’t really interested in me.

  So, now I knew. I guess I should have been glad he didn’t take what I offered, that he had done the noble thing. I might have regretted it in the morning.

  On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t have.

  “It’s okay. No means no. Message received. Goodnight, Nick.” His eyes flashed, but I marched into the bathroom, locked the door and made a lot of noise brushing my teeth. I opted for the flannel granny gown, knowing that it was about as sexy as a burlap bag.

  Just in case you’re not sure, I’m not casual about intimacy. The guy who eventually slips between my sheets will be planning to hang around for a lifetime.

  Or so I’ve always maintained. There are these moments though—like the one when I came out of the bathroom to find Nick peeling off his shirt in the living room—when it seems as though the love of my life is taking a long time to show.

  I was starting to think that chastity was seriously over-rated. Chances were pretty good that one day—say, Sunday—I would hate myself for not jumping Nick’s bones at least once before he disappeared.

  But he wasn’t gone yet. I had two days.

  I decided to make them count.

  So, yes, I looked, then disguised healthy feminine curiosity with a rummage in the linen closet when he turned around. He was completely untroubled by partial nu
dity or proximity, appearing suddenly in my peripheral vision in nothing but his jeans.

  But Nick wasn’t even looking at me, so the nightgown must have evoked its spinsterhood charm. “What is that?” he asked, pointing into my bedroom and not indicating the bed.

  I thought he meant the flats of seedlings perched willy-nilly under the window, and half-heartedly started my heritage seeds explanation again. He laid one warm finger across my lips to silence me.

  Oh, it worked.

  He watched my throat work for an instant before meeting my gaze once more. “No, Phil,” he whispered. “That.”

  To my mortification, he pointed to the corner of the ceiling.

  “Oh, well, it’s my star.” I forced a smile and tried to rush past him, foolishly assuming that he wouldn’t follow me into my haven. He didn’t quite. He sauntered after me and leaned in the door frame as I should have guessed he would until he had an answer that suited him.

  It was absolutely the worst confession I could have to make under the circumstances. He’d think I was still some heartsick adolescent who never grew up. I fussed with the linens and tried to ignore him.

  “That’s a stick-on phosphorescent star.”

  If he wanted a medal for naming that toy, he wasn’t going to get it from me. “So?”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “I begged it off my nephew when he got an entire constellation for his bedroom ceiling.” I checked my babies with more concern than they really needed. “Goodnight already.”

  “Why?”

  I threw him a look that should have been a warning. “You ask a lot of questions, you know.”

  “Maybe I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

  “There’s an understatement.”

  He watched and waited, probably knowing that he was the only male to have gotten this close to my bed—at least in this apartment—who wasn’t blood related.

  And knowing damn well why I had that star.

  Which meant there wasn’t a lot of point in being coy.

  I turned to face him, betting he could outwait me. “Okay, I like to wish on the brightest star before I go to sleep. This way, I don’t have to go looking for the star every night. It’s right here, the last thing I see before I close my eyes. There, end of story hour.” I propped my hands on my hips. “I thought you were exhausted.”