This particular vehicle was an automatic, which left his right hand free. Suddenly he rested his arm faceup on the center console between them. Hand open, he tapped his palm with his two middle fingers, a clear invitation for her to rest her hand in his, and the simple intimacy of it made Anne’s heart flutter. Refusing would have been rude, and of course she didn’t want to be rude, not to mention she wanted to touch any part of him she could. She lifted her hand and laid it against his, their inner arms warm against each other. He instantly threaded his fingers with hers and squeezed. Simultaneously it felt like a vise clamped down on her chest.
If she had been alone, she would’ve cried. Not including the birth of her daughter, nothing in Anne’s life had felt as right as this moment, skin touching, driving fast, beautiful country, and bright-blue sky. Every time she was in his presence another layer of Mike exposed itself, each one sweeter and softer than the last.
What was the saying—Better to have lusted and lost than never lusted at all? Or had she just made that up. Either way it didn’t matter, because that’s all this was, right?
Fifteen
Nearly forty-five minutes in the car and Mike hadn’t let go of Anne’s hand the entire time. He couldn’t break the connection because he felt like some kind of energy had been passing through their fingertips, like their heartbeats had begun to pulse in perfect rhythm. He also hadn’t been able to stop glancing at her thighs in those little shorts. Against the black seats they looked so smooth and inviting, and he knew part of the reason he’d gripped her hand was to keep from touching her anywhere else. There would be plenty of time for other things, and he intended to show her that this was more than sexual chemistry. Although it was so definitely a lot of that.
The last few times they’d been together had involved heavy petting and even heavier breathing, which had been amazing, but he wanted her to know that he could also be a gentleman. There was more to him than a hot time, and while he was damn good at hot times, he wanted more with her. He’d been on plenty of dates of the normal variety. Normal for him usually included food, movies, and an awkward morning after. However, he wanted his morning with Anne to include another round of lovemaking and then breakfast in bed. He wanted this date to be perfect.
On the drive they’d discussed Claire and Bailey, sharing silly stories of things the girls had said and done. He loved how animated her voice had gotten as she’d discussed her daughter; he would have brought anything up to hear her keep talking like that.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far south of the metro,” Anne said as he pulled into the small town of Green Mound.
“Well, then you’re in for a treat, Perfect. Small towns may lack in some things, but Green Mound puts on a fantastic Pie Days Festival.”
“Pie Days? Did we drive all this way to eat pie? Not that I’m complaining, I love pie.”
He grinned at her as he steered the car toward the town square. “Me, too. There will inevitably be some serious pie eating, but that’s not all. You’ll see.”
They drove slowly as families walked the streets, probably coming to and from the center of town where all the action was. Mike had been to Pie Days for the first time last year, drawn for the same reason, the car show. Two of his clients had mentioned how big it was in the region and he’d dragged Derek with him. Eating pie with Anne would be much more entertaining than doing so with his friend.
“Wow, there are tons of people. The town isn’t even that big, it must draw quite a crowd.” Anne slowly pulled her hand from his and turned to look out the window. His palm was damp from holding on for so long. He missed the feel of her against him.
The cars on display were lined in several lots off to the side of the square. He pulled into the final one and rolled down his window to talk to the man in charge of registration. Mike had agreed to drive his client Dave’s Chevelle down to meet him even though he was still waiting on one minor part before he could call it done. The man in charge of the car show motioned to where Mike should park, and he backed into a spot next to Dave’s red ’69 Chevelle, which Mike had worked on last year. He didn’t see him standing around, so Mike assumed he must be off wandering the rows of cars.
“All right, Perfect, you ready?” Mike said as he parked and exited the vehicle.
Anne stepped from the car with her purse, her head turning and taking in the rows and rows of cars. “Wow, this is quite a sight. I can see why you like this. All these cars … it’s totally your thing. Do you come to shows like this often?” They began to walk down the aisle, checking out the cars on display.
“No, not really. I enjoy working on the cars and driving them, but I don’t get to do these things often. It’s basically a lot of old guys for the most part.” He teased, but the truth was, car shows were a little painful. He used to go to a lot of them with his father, and these men and their conversations about horsepower and renovation projects reminded him of what he was missing with his dad. He would give anything to spend an afternoon at a car show with his father, but that would never happen again. “I used to, though, with my dad, when I was young and even into high school. We’d try to find an event every weekend in the summer. We’d walk around checking out everyone’s work, talk about how we would have done it better.” He laughed, a subtle ache shooting through his chest. He hadn’t thought of those moments in a long time. Damn, he missed his father. He missed his mother, too, but he was so much younger when he’d lost her that the pain of her loss wasn’t as acute. His dad had become his everything.
“That sounds nice. I can’t wait to share some of my hobbies with Claire.”
“And what would those be?” He reached out and laid his hand on her lower back. He loved touching her. He’d once again just shared something personal with her, without really thinking about it, and he was hoping she’d open up a little more about her life. Preferably her blog.
“Oh, you know, making things pretty, parties, decorating. I like taking pictures, too. I even brought my camera today. I’m pretty much always taking pictures.”
Mike knew that she took a lot of photos for her site, but unfortunately she didn’t say that and he wasn’t going to push. For some reason she was choosing not to tell him about it, and he wondered why.
They continued down the row they’d parked in, cars lining each side, some with their hoods open, some fancy, some in early stages of renovation. There were hot rods from the 1930s and ’40s all the way to the beefy muscle cars of the 1960s and ’70s. Each one held a different appeal and had its own fan base. Mike could appreciate them all, but had always loved the look of muscle cars of the ’60s and ’70s, the roar of the engines and the sturdiness of the long steel front ends.
“If you like old cars,” Anne said, interrupting his thoughts, “how come you drive a new one?”
“Well, the main reason is that I want to know for sure my car will start when I get in it,” he joked. But it was the truth. “Old cars come with their own quirks, and they require a lot of maintenance—which I love, don’t get me wrong. I’ve owned quite a few, but my enjoyment comes from finding something that needs a little love and attention, fixing it up, and then selling it. Making a profit is fun, too.”
“I bet,” Anne said with a smirk.
“Someday I’ll find a ’69 Nova to trick out just the way I want it and keep it. Maybe someday I’ll have a kid to work on it with. Who knows?”
He felt Anne’s eyes on him, and he wondered what she was thinking.
“Mike Everett?” a man’s voice called out. Mike turned to find a middle-aged man walking toward them. He wore a Hawaiian-style button-up shirt, but instead of flowers it was covered in multicolored Mustangs. He was the typical guy you found at these things. Mike stuck out his hand.
“I’m Mike. Have we met?” The man grinned and took Mike’s hand in a firm grip. His body smelled of alcohol and aftershave, and his bulbous nose was sprinkled with broken blood vessels, letting Mike know exactly what kind of guy he was dealing with.<
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“Not yet, but I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Keith Meyers, friend of Dave’s. He said you’re amazing. I’ve got a GTO that needs an overhaulin’ and Dave said you’re the only guy I should consider.”
“Well, that’s nice of Dave. He’s been bringing me his rides for a few years now. I’d love to take a look at your GTO, but unfortunately I couldn’t get to it for another few months or so.”
“That busy, huh? Well, good for you. I’m in no hurry. Used to do the work myself, but these days my arthritis gets in the way.” He leaned back and patted his giant beer belly, a chuckle rumbling from his open mouth.
Anne laughed quietly beside Mike, and the sound drew both men’s attention. Keith’s gaze roamed over Anne a little too long, and Mike felt his blood pressure rise. This jackass might find that a few months could turn into forever if he wasn’t careful.
“This your lady, Mike? You scored yourself quite a looker. I’m jealous.” Keith laughed at his wit and gave Mike a slap on the back. Mike managed not to budge and not to smile.
Keith sensed that his humor wasn’t going over well and reached for the pocket on his shirt. “Well, shoot, I don’t have a card on me. Why don’t you give me yours?”
“No problem,” Mike said as he grabbed Anne’s hand and backed up a step; thankfully she followed. “I don’t have a card on me, either, so I’ll just get your info from Dave tonight.”
“Oh, oh yeah, good idea.”
Mike gave a half wave then turned and pulled Anne close to him as they joined the throng of people wandering the square. She didn’t mention the interaction and he didn’t, either. For a moment he’d felt proud to have his work talked up in front of Anne like that; then the guy had to be a dumb-ass and fuck it up by ogling her and making ridiculous comments.
Dealing with men and cars inevitably involved men behaving like men, some worse than others, but he didn’t want any of that macho bullshit directed at Anne, especially from the men who did business with him. There was already a stigma connected to blue collar work, he knew that. Just like he knew he would never be in her league, but damn, he wanted to show her that he could be worthy of her.
The late-afternoon air was heavy and filled with the scent of funnel cakes and kettle corn. Children ran through the green, which was dotted with tented booths and food trucks, teenagers loitered, and Mike enjoyed that the crowd pushed Anne’s body closer to his. After a while he bought them a beer at a booth from the small local pub and then walked across the street into a parking lot full of carnival rides.
“Claire would love this.” Anne looked around as she held her beer out to Mike. “Will you hold this a minute.”
“Sure.” He had to drop her hand to take the bottle, and he stood there watching as she fished through her purse and pulled out her camera.
“This way I can show her what I did while we were apart,” she said with a smile. She turned back and forth, snapping photos of the Ferris wheel and the colorfully lit ticket booth.
Mike didn’t doubt that she would share many of these photos with Claire, but she’d also taken a photo of the little beer stand, even an up-close shot of the rows of vintage-looking beer bottles. He knew she wouldn’t be bragging to Claire about all the alcohol she drank. She was taking photos to share on her blog, he was certain. For some reason she didn’t want to discuss it with him. Why? It didn’t make sense. Her blog was a large part of her life, he could tell. Would she tell her blog readers who she’d been with at this small-town carnival? He wanted to think she would, or at the very least say she’d been on a date, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t.
He wished the thought didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to be Anne’s secret, although he wasn’t sure what he did want. To date her for sure, but more? He hadn’t processed that yet. Was she ashamed of him? Mike knew he was no wealthy catch; he didn’t wear a suit or have a corner office. But he had a job, he did well, and he knew Anne was attracted to him. Maybe she just didn’t want to share more of herself with him. That thought just plain sucked.
She stuffed her camera in her purse and grabbed her beer. “Thanks.”
“So you plan parties, right? Is that all you do?” He was officially probing. Great, his man card was now in jeopardy of being revoked.
“Ummm, pretty much.”
Mike’s jaw tensed. Although they were walking again they hadn’t rejoined hands. “So how do you generate business? Word of mouth, or do you have a website?”
She was silent for a moment but he didn’t turn and face her; he only looked ahead as they headed back toward the rows of pie booths. Don’t lie to me, Anne.
“Um, yeah, I do have a website where I share party ideas and such on a blog. It’s not a big deal, and most of my parties are referrals.”
“Well that’s good. Word of mouth is the way to go,” he countered. She hadn’t lied, but she sure as hell wasn’t offering anything more, and he didn’t quite know what to think about it. She clearly wanted to keep that part of her life private, which was ironic because that part of her life was also so public. Obviously he was right, and she wanted to keep it private from him. “So a blog, huh. That’s cool, you must put a lot of work into keeping that up.”
He didn’t miss the way her body tensed at his words.
“No, not too much work. Like I said, it’s no big deal. Just another tool for business, I guess.” Quickly she regrouped and reached out to grab his hand. Damn, he loved her doing that on her own, and her smile … it was enough to let her avoidance of the blog thing go for a little while. He wanted her to touch him, wanted her to want him, and he wanted her to reveal herself to him. For once in his adult life the tables were turned on him. He was offering himself up, and the person he wanted was keeping him at a distance.
* * *
The hours went by too quickly as they rode the Ferris wheel, played ridiculous games, and checked out lots of cars. She didn’t even mind that part. She loved hearing him talk about it, and he never hesitated, knowing the answer to every one of her questions, even managing to make it interesting. She had no idea that varying headlight styles, vinyl tops versus metal, and engine parts could be so interesting. It was very possible, though, that she just loved the sound of his voice, the sparkle of his eyes, and how much he genuinely seemed to enjoy telling her about it all.
Dusk was now falling, the pinks and purples of the sky blending with the carnival lights. The sound of the carousel was nearly overpowered by the song of crickets and the laughter of happy people. The atmosphere was perfect as she stared down at the pie smorgasbord resting beside her on a bale of hay. Mike had bought the sample plate, which included small pieces of cherry, apple, French silk, and Dixie—a pie she’d never heard of. It looked delicious.
The only thing that was killing her mood was the thought that she hadn’t been completely honest with Mike when he’d asked about her site earlier. It had been right on the tip of her tongue to tell him all about MPLL, but she’d held back, fearful. His comment about how much work she must put into it was what shut her down completely. She loved her work on that site, was proud of it even, but in some ways it had led to the demise of her first marriage.
Scott had accused her of caring more about her image as the perfect homemaker than about her real home, more specifically, about him. He’d blamed her for the lack of intimacy in their relationship, which he said was why he’d resorted to cheating. She wasn’t stupid, her brain knew that was crap; plenty of marriages lacked intimacy—even happiness—and that didn’t mean spouses always cheated. But in retrospect she knew she carried part of the blame. She had pulled away from him in many ways. All of it had been … painful.
What she couldn’t reconcile was why she felt the need to hide it now, from this man. She knew he was not like Scott. But it wouldn’t be long before he realized that a ready-made family was a lot to handle. What if her busy life—her party planning, her newspaper column, her blog—was the final straw, and he’d decide that none of her baggage was worth the h
assle? Pretty soon he’d see that she was not as perfect as he imagined her to be.
Another part of her hesitation was that she was sort of embarrassed for him to read it. She wrote about parts of herself she wasn’t always capable of sharing face-to-face, said silly things, told funny stories about her life. The pitiful thing was that the deeper part of her, the one she tried to push down, wanted to share it with him. Wanted to know what he thought. Besides Claire and her mother, and of course Callie and Lindsey, the blog was what Anne loved more than anything in the world. It had saved her, given her purpose, an identity, and a way to provide for her daughter. It was a part of her that felt special, and she wanted him to be impressed by it.
He returned with a stack of napkins and large soda and sat down straddling the hay bale, his knee pushing against her thigh, the plate between his legs.
“I wasn’t really thinking if it would be okay to share, do you mind?” He lifted the Styrofoam cup in question.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said. He handed her a fork and lifted the plate, holding it between them.
“Which one you trying first?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Let’s see.” She lifted her fork and scanned the plate. They all looked heavenly, and if she was alone she could probably put a good dent in each one. Not really something she wanted to brag about it. “I think I’ll try the Dixie, because I’m curious.”
“Good choice, me too, but ladies first.” He waited for her to fill her fork with a bite and then watched as she lifted it to her mouth, his eyes darted back and forth between her lips and her eyes. She chewed slowly, unexpected flavors exploding on her taste buds.
“Mmmm, there’s chocolate in there. Almost like pecan pie with chocolate.”
Mike responded by filling his own fork and taking a bite. His eyes widened and he spoke around the pie. “Oh yeah, that is good.”
She smiled and took a bite of the apple. It was delicious, the crust flaky and the filling gooey and cinnamony. “Oh gosh, that’s good, too.”
Start Me Up Page 13
