Passionate Kisses

by Various

  “I like your father,” Cam said once George left the room.

  “Of course you would,” Elsie said. “You both think you’re the smartest man in the room.”

  “No, we both think you’re the most wonderful woman in the world. Well, that might be stretching it for your father—your mother likely wins—but aside from her, you take it.”

  “They’re photographers, not lip readers, you know,” she said, plucking a strange orange berry from the plate and dipping it in chocolate.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a bakeapple. Haven’t you tried the bakeapple jam since you’ve been here?”

  “I’m Scottish. The only thing I spread on my toast is marmalade.”

  “Well, you have to try one. They’re a delicacy. The first one must be pure. Nothing on it.” She searched around on the plate until she found what she was looking for. “Now, this will be good, but keep in mind that they’re best when you pick them on a warm summer day. They’ll be ripened from the sun, warm and juicy. These were just thawed today. But still, spectacular.” She leaned across the table and fed it to him.

  It was a blend of sweet and tart, unlike any berry he’d tasted before.

  “Well?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I need to have another.”

  She picked another of the berries off the platter and popped it in his mouth. He nipped at her fingers as she did so.

  “Maybe I’ll like it better with cream.”

  She continued feeding him berries, dressing them with chocolate, cream and finally popping them in his champagne glass.

  “The final verdict?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a berry.” Which led them into a whole new round of tasting when she boasted that she could tell any berry by taste, even with her eyes closed.

  “You’re just begging for me to feed you,” he said.

  She took a large gulp of her champagne. “No. I love berries. You can’t even begin to understand the way I feel about berries. In fact, I’m going to marry a berry picker. At least, I was going to marry a berry picker.”

  “Can’t you pick your own berries?”

  “Yea, but then I wouldn’t have a nice supply built up. My method of picking is one for me, one for the bucket, three for me, one for the bucket.” She was animated, acting out picking berries. “Oh look, there are two perfectly delicious berries in my bucket. I should eat them!” She looked at him earnestly. “I’m serious. That’s what happens when I go pick berries. And if you were to lay your bucket down, I’d eat yours too. I can’t be trusted. It’s a serious addiction.”

  “How much champagne have you had?” he asked, checking the bottle.

  “Not nearly enough,” she said.

  “Really? Not nearly enough for what?”

  “To get the nerve to kiss you for those vultures outside.”

  “Then we won’t give them the money shot. They’ll just have to speculate tonight,” he decided. If she wasn’t comfortable doing this, then there was no way he was forcing it on her. “Grab your berries, berry-addict. And let’s get out of here.”

  He grabbed the champagne in one hand, and took her hand in the other. “Ready?”

  “For what?”

  “To make them work for their money.”

  He opened the front door wide enough so they were silhouetted in the frame. “Give me your shoes, and get ready to run.”

  He pulled her along as they ran out the front door and around the side of the inn, on down the hill to his cottage. They nearly stumbled a time or two, and she laughed most of the way down, a loud, infectious sound of pure joy. When they reached the door he tossed her shoes inside, laid the bottle down and swept her into his arms, carrying her inside.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. The last time the fire was lit in the cabin was yesterday afternoon. It was a little damp inside.

  She jumped on the bed and wrapped a throw around her shoulders. “I won’t be once you get that fire going. If you know how.”

  “If I know how? Where do you think I come from, woman? A good Scotsman can start a fire with nothing but a twig and a stone.”

  “Well, I won’t tell anyone if you use a match. And those splits. And some of that birch.”

  “Bossy pants,” he said.

  “That’s right. Best get used to it if you’re going to marry me.”

  He knew she was joking. But it made him see how life could be if he could convince her to take his proposal seriously. Then again, he’d have to seriously propose in order for that to work.

  He piled up the kindling and wood and struck a match. It took a little shifting of the birch and a couple of encouraging puffs of air, but it didn’t take long for him to get a roaring fire going.

  “My wild, Highland ancestors would be proud,” he said, shifting his attention from the fire to Elsie—who was sound asleep on the bed. Not that he could blame her. In the past day they had made love more times that the total number of hours they had slept.

  It was a shame to disturb her. He gently pulled back the covers of the bed and tucked her in. She moaned.

  “Shhh, angel. Sleep.”

  He quickly undressed and slowly eased onto the soft mattress, wrapping his body around hers. With another little murmur she snuggled closer, tucking her head into the hollow space under his chin. Cam’s final thought before drifting off was that this was a fine way to end every night for the rest of his life.

  ELEVEN

  Elsie was not a patient woman when it came to waiting. She’d sent Cam up to the house almost a half hour ago to ask her mother to pack a small bag of clothes and toiletries for her. Cam thought there was nothing wrong with her wearing her dress back to the house. Good picture, he’d said. And that was exactly why she wasn’t leaving the cottage in the same clothing she’d worn the night before. Forget that the dress was wrinkled from neck to hem-line. This was her home, and her business. She wasn’t about to do a walk-of-shame in front of her guests, regardless of the photo op it might present.

  Despite how awkward she felt now, trapped in the cottage totally dependent on someone else, there was nothing awkward about how she felt when she woke in Cam’s arms this morning—snug, secure and sexy. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d had a better sleep. The man was like a human furnace, and for someone who loved being warm at night, that was a very good thing. She’d had a bit of a tussle trying to keep him from taking a good morning kiss to something much more sinful, and finally it was her argument that for all they knew, someone could be taking pictures of them through a window, that cooled him off. Well, that, and a promise to make it up to him later, when there were no snooping snap-happy folks around.

  Hearing the latch on the door lift, she expected to see Cam return. Instead, it was her aunt bringing her bag. Ida had a look of delight plastered across her face.

  “Now, that was a bit of fun,” she said.

  “Aunt Ida,” Elsie exclaimed. “What are you doing coming down that hill? You could have slipped and broken your other hip. Who let you come down here?”

  The elderly woman stomped her cane on the floor. “I just had this out with your father. I’m not an invalid, and as long as I can hold myself up, I’m going to go just where I want. Besides, I thought it was the best way to get to play my part in this crazy scheme you’ve got cooked up.”

  “You spoke to them? They’re still up there?”

  “Oh yes. I played my part well. One of them was leaning up against a car smoking, talking to another in the car.

  ‘Good morning, sirs,’ says I.

  ‘Good morning, missus,’ says he.

  ‘Fine day out.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he says.

  So I ask him ‘Why are ye fellers sleeping out here in your cars when there’s plenty of rooms inside to rent?’

  And he says, ‘Not in the budget.’

  Well now, that’s when I says that they can’t be sleeping in the parking lot. It’s not good for business and that they really should be moving on.
And then, I says, ‘You got the poor folks what runs the place in a fine tizzy.’

  He perked up at that, let me tell ya. ‘Can I ask you something, madam. There wouldn’t happen to be a lady in there by the name of Elsie Walsh, would there?’

  ‘Sure she’s the one that owns the house, and she’s not happy with you at all.’

  You should have seen the look of joy he got.

  ‘And is there a fellow in there named Asher Corbin?’

  ‘There’s a Corbin there, for sure. But his name is Ted, not that ridiculous name you said. Maybe they’re brothers.’

  Well now Elsie, next thing he shows me a picture of that upstart that caused all this fuss. ‘That’s Ted,’ says I.

  Oh, the look of glee he got.

  ‘He’s here for the weddin’.’

  Now the one in the car gets excited, right. ‘Excuse me, miss, did you say wedding?’

  ‘Yes, Elsie’s getting married. Or at least she was. She’s some mad now, let me tell you. Threatening to call it all off. Mr. Scott is working his best to convince her it’s okay, but he’s got his work cut out for him.’

  That’s about when they start to look confused.

  ‘Mr. Scott?’ says the smoker.

  ‘Oh, he’s a famous artist from England. He and Elsie have been going together for years now. They’re supposed to be getting married this week. We’re trying to get her to go on and marry him. What with his sister on her way from London, and Ted already here.’

  ‘Elsie Walsh is marrying this Scott fellow? And Asher Corbin is here too?’

  ‘Told you, his name is Ted. And ‘course he’s here. Him and Campbell are like brothers, they are. Ted is the best man.’

  About then I looked at my watch and realized the time, and remembered you were down here waiting for your bag, so I said my good-byes and left. I did promise to bring them out some coffee and buns though, next time I was out. It’s a sin them sitting out there in the cold, with nothing to eat.”

  Elsie groaned. “Auntie, we want them gone. You can’t go feeding them.”

  “No matter what brung them here, Elsie, they’re still people. And we can’t have them starving on our very doorsteps. It’s all bad enough them sleeping in the car. And have you stopped to think about where they’re doing their business?”

  Horrid visions of them running to the woods beyond the driveway to pee on a tree ran through Elsie’s head. They had to get rid of them. Today. If it took her marrying Cam for real to do it, she would.

  Marry Cam for real. There was a thought she was working very hard to keep out of her overactive imagination. She didn’t really know him. Had no idea what his favourite colour was. What type of music he preferred. If he was an avid reader. She didn’t even know where he lived, other than in London. She knew hardly anything. And yet, she felt as if she knew what was important about him. He was funny, and considerate. Honest. Gentle. Strong. He truly listened when she talked. He cared what his sister thought. And he stirred a passion in Elsie that she’d only fantasized about, but never thought possible in her own life.

  “Thinking about the handsome one, aren’t ya?” Her aunt laid a soft hand on Elsie’s head. “I imagine there’s a lot of thoughts running around in that head of yours. You’ve always been one to think before you do anything. But when you set your mind to it, look at the things you accomplish. No one thought it was possible to do anything with this old place, did they? And yet, you did it.”

  Elsie exhaled, trying to think of the right way to ask her aunt a question she’d always wanted an answer to.

  “What is it, my girl?” She made her way to the kitchen table and sat.

  “Why did you never get married?”

  “Who says I was never married?” Ida said, a wistful smile on her face.

  “But...”

  “We all have our secrets, don’t we. I was married once. For two months. It was1935. I was nineteen and he was thirty-one.”

  “What happened? Did he die?”

  “No. Well, he’s not here now. But he was alive for quite some time after. I used to get a postcard from him every year on what would have been our anniversary.”

  Ida’s eyes, yellowed with age and cataracts, and magnified behind bifocals, were wet.

  “Let it be a lesson, Elsie. If you love someone, don’t let them slip away. No matter what you think the obstacles are, they’re worth it if you truly love someone.”

  “But...”

  “And don’t say it takes a while to know. It doesn’t. I knew Harry was the one for me almost right away. We were wed the day after we met.”

  How to say this delicately? “But he left you.”

  “No. He didn’t leave me. I sent him away. Foolishest thing I ever did. He was a Yank, you know. I was working in St. John’s then, and he was up here doing some work with the railway. Met him on a Thursday. Married him on a Friday. A week later he went back to Maine to settle things. I was going to move down.”

  Her hands were trembling. “And then I got a letter from his mother. Well, there were reasons why Harry shouldn’t have married me. He was engaged for one thing. And to a girl with money. It was the Depression then, and no one had money. Harry was working for his father, and the business was in trouble. Marrying this girl would save the company. If he didn’t marry her, then a lot of good men were going to be out of work.”

  Elsie’s heart hurt. She’d never thought of her aunt as anything but an old spinster. Never thought to look to her for advice because what could she possibly know about men. About love. About loneliness.

  “What did you do?” Elsie asked.

  “I wrote him. Told him I’d made a mistake and that we should end it. Told him not to come back.”

  “And that was the last you saw of him?”

  “No. He was a fighter, that man. Came back a few weeks later... it took that long to get here then by boat. I’ll never forget what he said.

  ‘I’ll find another way to help Father. But you only love like this once. Only a fool walks away from his heart. And you’re my heart.’”

  “Auntie. How could you walk away?”

  “Oh, I was young and stupid, my dear girl. Didn’t realize how precious it all was. At the time I just knew poverty, and I couldn’t bear to think I would be responsible for so many other people losing what hope they had of surviving those hard times.”

  Elsie went to the bathroom and came back with a roll of toilet tissue. She blew her nose and tried to contain the tears. “Aunt Ida.”

  “Don’t you cry over your old Auntie,” Ida scolded, tearing off a piece of paper and wiping her own eyes. “You just learn from my mistakes. If you find something good, don’t let it slip away. You can find all kinds of reasons to justify why you don’t deserve to be happy, but it’s all bullshit.”

  “Auntie!”

  “It is,” she said with conviction. “So you just keep that in mind when you’re busy getting lost in your head.”

  ——

  Cam had just made arrangements with George Walsh to pick Daphne up at the airport when Elsie entered the kitchen and started preparing sandwiches and coffee. She looked like she was ready for a hike. The only place Cam wanted to take her on a hike was up over the stairs and into her bed. She seemed to have other ideas.

  “Mr. Scott,” she said playfully. “When is the last time you worked on that book of yours?”

  “I’m doing a book?”

  “That’s one of the many rumours about you running around this place.”

  “And the others?”

  “Not worth repeating.”

  George and Noreen Walsh were slowly making their way out of the kitchen.

  “No need to leave on our account,” Elsie said. “I’m abducting Cam for a while. He needs to get to work. And I have just the place for him to do it.”

  ——

  “Be honest,” Cam said as they headed down the driveway. “You just wanted to get away from the vultures.”

  “Not true. Although that
’s a great bonus. They can try and follow us all they want, but they’ll have a bit of a swim to do it.”

  “Where are you taking me?” He was curious. She’s told him he’d need rubber boots. In fact, she had him loaded down like a pack mule. Food, blankets, his sketchbook and leads. She’d demanded he dress warmly despite the bright sun, and he was breaking a sweat. Not that Elsie was empty handed. She was carrying a gas can.

  “You want to draw birds? I’m going to show you more birds that you can imagine. You’ll thank me for making you wear that hat before the day is out.”

  He knew he looked ridiculous, and had a sneaking suspicion she had made him wear the Cape Ann hat just so the paparazzi would have something amusing to take photos of. He could see the caption in the society pages now.

  PLAYBOY ARTIST FOUND WANDERING SMALL FISHING VILLAGE WITH FRESH CATCH

  That was one headline he didn’t want Elsie to see. Out of curiosity earlier in the day he had googled his name, just to see what she would find if she went searching him out. It wasn’t pretty. The only images associated with his name were either his art, or pictures of him with various women on his arm. He had to admit that it was going to be a hard sell for anyone to believe that a woman like Elsie had sat around for years while her “fiancé” ran wild through London. There was a lot about this plan of his that bothered him. And front and centre was the idea that he would ever cheat on Elsie, or find himself attracted to any other woman. Any man that stupid didn’t deserve her.

  “See that house there?” Elsie said, nodding to a quaint blue saltbox house. “That’s my parents’ house. My room was right there.” She pointed to a second floor window. “I spent a lot of time staring out that window at the water wishing for something exciting to happen around here.”

  As they walked through the community she pointed out various places that meant something to her. He learned where she had her first kiss—behind the bait depot—and where she read the letter from a prestigious university on the mainland letting her know she was accepted into their School of Business. She also showed him where she demolished her father’s truck when she was ten.