Still, he’d managed to sweet-talk Holly into giving him my phone number, and he’d texted a few times. I tried to be nice without giving him any false hope. And maybe I’d give in and have that coffee with him. Even if I didn’t technically kiss him, I really needed a few nice guys to write about, to break up the jerks and weirdos. Kyle could offer hope that there were still some decent men around. Unless, of course, he turned out to be one of the aforementioned jerks or weirdos. Then he’d be just another sad chapter in the frog saga.
I thought about that possibility as I walked in the door. Aunt Gail was in pre-production for a new play, one she’d written, and she was gone more than home these days. Buster greeted me with an enthusiastic tail wag, and I promised him a walk as soon as I’d changed out of my jeans and T-shirt.
I shed the clothes, pulling on khaki cotton shorts and a comfortable loose tank top before I twisted up my hair into a clip. I glanced out the window at the lake, where a few ducks had gathered and were raising a cacophony of quacks.
Living on the lake was something I’d really come to enjoy. Unlike most Florida bodies of water, this lake had never been home to gators—although I had no desire to test the waters by swimming in it. But turtles, otters and all sorts of water fowl lived there. I’d become addicted to the joys of feeding the ducks.
Stopping at the pantry to pull out a few pieces of the stale bread I kept in a bag for such a purpose, I made my way through the back door and down the sloping lawn to the water’s edge. The ducks had come to recognize me, and they waddled forth on cue. I tore off chunks of bread and tossed them, giggling at their quiet whispered quacks each time they found a piece and gobbled it up.
“Okay, guys. That’s all I have.” I brushed my hands together. “See you tomorrow. Watch out for the neighborhood cats.”
The ducks shook their tail feathers at me and toddled away. I laughed at them, turned around to go back inside . . . and stopped dead in my tracks with a loud screech.
Lying across my path was a huge black snake. At the sound of my scream, it reared up, cobra-like, and swayed, its tongue flickering out at me.
I was stuck. The yard was wide, and I could have likely made it around the snake one way or the other, but then again, snakes were unpredictable. What if I darted to the right, and he did, too? Or what if I tried to run around him to the left, and he slithered toward me? Those suckers moved fast.
“Vivian?” Charlie appeared from the side of his grandfather’s house. “Was that you?”
I nodded, my eyes never leaving the snake. “Uh huh. There’s . . . there’s a snake. And I can’t get back into the house.”
He approached me slowly, and I noticed that he had a shovel in his hand. “Did it hurt you?”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “But it won’t let me get by. Look at it. Oh, my God, is it a water moccasin? It is, isn’t it? They’re so fucking aggressive that they’ll chase you down just to bite you. My dad used to tell us that every time we went tubing at the springs. Everyone freaks out about the gators, but they want to avoid you. It’s the moccasins you have to watch for.”
“That isn’t a water moccasin.” Charlie’s voice was mild and patient. “It looks like a basic black racer to me.”
“A racer, which means if I try to make a run for it, it’ll get me.”
He laughed. “A racer, which means it’s harmless.”
I chanced a quick glance Charlie’s way. “This snake doesn’t have teeth? It can’t bite me?”
He hesitated, and I pounced.
“Aha! So it might bite me. It does have teeth. Therefore, it’s not harmless.”
“Vivian, don’t be such a wuss. Even if it did bite you, it’s not poisonous.” He rested the shovel on the grass and leaned on the handle.
“But it would hurt.”
He lifted one shoulder and heaved a breath of exasperation. “Okay, yes, it might hurt for a minute. But my point is that it’s not life-threatening.”
“When that snake hooks into me with his little snakey teeth and dangles from my body as I run screaming, I have a feeling it will be life-threatening. To both of us.” I eyed Charlie balefully. “Possibly to all of us.”
“Vivian. How about this—you stay right here. Don’t move. I’m going to pick up my shovel and go remove Mr. Snake, and I’ll relocate him to a place that’s better—for both of you. And then I’ll come back, and we’ll walk inside. Okay? Can we do that?”
I was back to staring at my adversary. “All I have to do is stand here? And you’re sure he won’t charge me when he sees you coming at him?”
“Baby, I’m going to move so fast, there’s no way he can get to you before I get to him.”
Baby. He’d called me baby. That was possibly enough to distract me from snake terror. “Um, okay. I can do that.”
“All right, then.” Charlie squeezed my arm. “Be right back.”
Before I could say another word, he was gone, moving with speed and precision across the grass with the shovel extended. He leaned forward, hooked the blade of the shovel behind the snake and scooped him up. With a few long strides, he took off in the opposite direction from me, disappearing around the house.
I stayed very still, just as he’d told me. When he came loping back into sight a few minutes later, he carried the shovel but no snake.
“All clear.” He offered me a hand. “Want to check it out? Make sure your friend didn’t leave any little snakelets?”
My eyes widened in terror. “Did he? She? It?”
“No.” Laughing again, Charlie skimmed the shovel over the grass, proving it was all clear and snake-free. “I promise. It probably was just slithering through here from one garden to the next when you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I shuddered. “You know, I’ve lived in Florida forever. I’m not fazed by alligators or lizards or even those nasty huge cockroaches. But snakes . . . I can’t deal with them. It’s just how they move. They slink. They look devious.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “They’ve gotten bad press, but they’re actually helpful, you know. They eat mice. They’re all part of the great circle of life.”
“I’d prefer them to stay out of my circle of life, thanks.” I ventured one toe forward. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. Did I really scream that loud? What were you doing?”
He grinned. “I was transplanting a bush I picked up at work today over to the side of Grampy’s house. I’d seen you out here feeding the ducks, so when I heard you holler, I thought maybe you’d fallen in or gotten attacked by a gator.” He shifted his weight to one foot and stood looking at me, one hand on his hip and the other on the shovel. God, he really was insanely attractive. I thought of Mrs. Feeny’s grandson and the photo I’d seen of him. I knew it was an older picture, but the guy had a long way to improve before he’d even get close to looking as good as Charlie Mitford.
“Vivian?” He cocked his head, his expression quizzical. “You’re not going into post-traumatic shock or something, are you?”
I gave myself a little shake. “No, of course not. Why?”
One of his eyebrows quirked up. “You were staring at me and not answering when I talked to you.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I sucked in a deep, cleansing breath and blew it out. “I guess I’m just decompressing. Care to come inside and have a beer with me? It might calm my shattered nerves.”
“Sure.”
I let him walk ahead of me to the house, just to make sure there were no lingering reptiles in the grass. When we reached the back door, Charlie rested his shovel against the stucco wall and brushed off his shoes before following me inside.
Pulling two Coronas out of the refrigerator, I popped open the tops, found some lime slices in the crisper drawer, and tucked one into the mouth of each beer.
Charlie lifted his and clinked the neck against my bottle. “Cheers. Here’s to snakes and turtles and other creatures that seem to bring us together.”
I grimaced. “That’s tru
e, isn’t it? Maybe I need to branch out to mammals. The next time I want to get your attention, I’ll tell you there’s a kitten up the tree.”
His mouth curved into a smile that was reflected in his eyes. “You want to get my attention, huh?”
I could’ve happily bitten off my tongue. “Figure of speech.”
“Okay.” He winked at me. “But if you want to be technical, you already did use a mammal, the other day when your pup attacked my sweet Angel.”
“Hey, Buster didn’t really attack her . . .” I broke off when I realized he was teasing me. “Okay, you got me. So no more mammals. How about birds? Ducks? Egrets? Sandhill cranes?”
Charlie held up one hand. “Dude, those things are scary as shit. The way they walk and the sounds they make? No way. You might have to rescue me from those buggers.”
I laughed. “Seriously? You’re freaked out by the cranes? But they’re so friendly. And they mate for life, you know. You almost never see just one Sandhill crane. Usually, you see it with its mate and at least one baby or adolescent.”
“That’s supposed to be comforting to me? It means they have a whole team to rip the flesh from my bones.” He took a long drink of his beer. “They’re freaky as hell, the way they just walk through the neighborhood. The first time Angel saw three of them strolling down the sidewalk out in front of Grampy’s house, she yelped and ran to hide under the bed. I was tempted to join her.”
“I can’t believe you’re afraid of a few birds.” I shook my head. “And here I thought you were my hero.”
He paused with the bottle halfway to his lips. “Am I? Your hero?”
I stood still. “Um . . . yes. I mean, you saved the turtle with us, and then you rescued me from the snake just now. And from the rain the other day.”
“Ah.” Charlie took another swig. “True. Well, even heroes have their weak spots, you know. Superman has his kryptonite, and I have Sandhill cranes.”
“Wait a minute . . . we have to talk about this.” I set my beer back onto the counter with a clank. “Are you a DC fan? Do you like DC over Marvel? Because that’s a deal breaker, buddy.”
His eyes lit up. “Okay, this really matters to you? You care about DC versus Marvel? That’s it. I think I might be in love.”
Something deep within me buzzed and . . . all right, I’ll admit it. There was a tingle. It was a tingle that started in a very special spot of my body and spread outward. I cleared my throat.
“Of course, I care. I’m a Marvel girl from way back.”
“Excellent. We’re on the same side, then. I only used the Superman reference because it’s more widely known. And if you haven’t noticed, the Marvel heroes tend to have weaknesses that are less pedestrian than just a rock from a home planet.”
“Ahhhh.” I nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right. Like, Thor’s arrogance at the start of his story, before he learns a little bit of humility. And Ironman’s recklessness. And Captain America’s devotion to doing the right thing, no matter what.”
“Exactly.” Charlie leaned a little closer to me, and I caught a whiff of some kind of soap mixed with the scent of freshly turned soil and grass clippings. He smelled like the outside and pure man, a combo I found nearly irresistible. I inched a little closer and breathed deep.
“Are you sniffing me?” He sounded curious and maybe a little . . . intrigued?
I decided denial wasn’t an option. “You smell good. Like gardening and plants.”
He reached down and touched the side of my neck, twisting a loose strand of my hair around his finger. “It’s not a cologne every guy can pull off. That’s why I went into landscaping, you know. The scent drives women crazy.”
I lifted my face, surprised when I found that I was so near him that I could feel his breath over my lips. “Really? Does it?”
His eyes flickered down to my mouth, and for a moment, it was as though I could feel the weight of his gaze there. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Maybe . . . at least one woman.”
My heart was thudding so hard against my chest that I was sure he had to hear it. “Maybe.”
Charlie moved a fraction closer. “Vivian—”
“Hi, ho, I’m home.” Aunt Gail’s voice carried into the kitchen just ahead of the front door slamming shut and Buster barking madly “Hello, sweet boy. Yes, yes, Mama’s home. Viv, are you here?”
Charlie took a step backward and tipped his beer up, drinking long and deep. I was tempted to do the same.
“In the kitchen.” I turned around to face the doorway, my back toward Charlie. My hand shook just a little bit as I lifted my bottle of beer.
“What a day. This new producer is just . . .” Aunt Gail’s words trailed off when she realized we weren’t alone. “Oh. Hello. You’re Charlie, right? Henry’s grandson? Savior of turtles who would be road kill?”
“That’s me.” He sketched a wave. “Good to see you again.”
“It sure is.” Aunt Gail’s eyes shifted to me. “I’m happy you’re making friends in the neighborhood, Viv.”
Ignoring that arch observation, I opened the cabinet. “I was feeding the ducks and a snake got between me and the door to the house. Charlie heard me, ah, objecting loudly and saved the day by removing the snake.” I lifted a wine goblet from the shelf. “Do you want a glass of wine?”
“Sure. I think there’s some merlot.” She set down her briefcase. “That was nice of you, Charlie. Thanks for coming to Vivian’s rescue. Otherwise, she’d probably still be out there, cowering from the snake.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me.” I poured the wine and handed it to Aunt Gail. “Hey, isn’t it about time for Buster’s walk?”
“It is. Are you offering to take him or trying to get rid of me?”
“I’ll walk him. You can sit down, put up your feet and enjoy your wine.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Care to join me? We can stop to pick up Angel along the way. They seemed to settle down and get along the other day.”
“The other day?” Aunt Gail’s eyebrows shot up. I pretended not to notice.
“That’s a great idea.” Charlie finished his beer. “Good to see you again, Ms. Livingstone.”
“Please, call me Gail. Happy to see you, too, Charlie. Don’t be a stranger.”
He paused next to me as I helped Buster into his harness. “I won’t be. I hope to see you again . . . soon.”
“OKAY. WE’VE RUN FOR FIFTEEN minutes. That’s as long as I can hold out.” Teddi slowed her jog to a walk. “Now I need a frog update, and that can only be done when I can actually breathe.”
“You need to be able to breathe to hear me?” I teased, matching my steps to hers.
“I need to be able to breathe to swat you when you’re a smartass.” She swung at me, but I ducked out of the way, avoiding the smack. “I want to know what happened between the disastrous church kiss and this morning. Who else have you kissed . . . and does the list include the neighbor you’re lusting after?”
“Oh, sweetie, I wish there was a list. And I’m not lusting after Charlie. We’re friends. Well, friends in the sense that he saves me from peril in the form of snakes and pouring rain, and he’s nice and funny and smart and passionate about what he does . . .” I heard myself and realized I was playing right into Teddi’s hand. “Ah, but I do have a new potential frog. I haven’t actually met him yet, but I’ve met his grandmother.”
Teddi wrinkled her nose and pushed up her sunglasses. “How does that work?”
“It’s a long story, but basically, Grandma came in to get her dog groomed, decided I would be a perfect match for her single grandson, proceeded to take a surprise picture of me and then made me talk to him on the phone. He sounded kind of nice, and he looked cute in his college graduation picture—which she carries around with her, by the way—an eight by ten, no less—so we’ve been texting ever since. We’re meeting for drinks tonight.”
“Oooooh.” She waggled her eyebrows—or at least I assumed she did, as I could see them moving ab
ove her shades. “That does sound promising. The texting and the drinks part, I mean. Not the grandma part. That sounds a little icky.”
“It was,” I admitted. “I was mortified when it happened. The woman was relentless. But hey, if her grandson is even a decent guy, at least I’ll get to cross off another kiss. And I think the story of how we met is going to make good copy when the article finally hits the website.”
“Hmmmm.” Teddi sounded non-committal, and I slid her a sideways look.
“What? What are you not saying?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed and pulled her tank top away from her chest, fanning herself. “Good God, it’s hot out here. I’m dying.”
“Now you’re trying to distract me. Seriously—tell me what you’re thinking.” I tucked a stray bit of hair back into my headband.
“It’s just . . . I have to wonder, Vivi. How much of this are you doing for the article you’re going to write, and how much of it is for your own good? To find the right guy for you? Because I hear you talk about finding frogs—umm, guys—to kiss, but you don’t seem to be looking for ones who have potential beyond the story you want to tell. The man you met at the church mixer—you kissed him even though you knew it wasn’t going anywhere. And now grandma’s boy might not end up being a decent prospect, but you’re all right with that if he comes with a funny background about how you met.”
I frowned. “I said he might end up to be okay. He seems nice over text.”
“Sure, I understand, but I don’t get the feeling that you’ll be that disappointed if he isn’t. It makes me worry that you’re doing all of this for the wrong reasons. And what about Charlie? Why don’t you give him a shot?”
“Charlie’s . . . different.” I didn’t want to go into detail about him. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but whatever it was between the two of us fell into a different category. I wasn’t willing to share it even with Teddi. Not yet, at least. I’d managed to dodge Aunt Gail’s pointed remarks and probing questions about what might be going on between the neighbor and me after she’d walked in and caught us almost kissing earlier in the week. I couldn’t explain why I was more than happy to spill all the particulars about any guy other than Charlie. Maybe I didn’t want to think about the reasons too closely.
Fifty Frogs Page 13
