Kiss Me If You Dare

by Nicole Young

  “Thought you might want to take the truck for a ride.”

  I smiled. “I like the way you think. Thank you.”

  I checked my wispy black wig in the rearview mirror as I drove toward Valentine’s Bay and my pilfered lodge. I figured I needed Sam and Joel’s support if I were ever going to wake my sleeping prince.

  I slowed coming around the final corner, frowning. Cars were everywhere, cramming the drive and the extra lot that now stood where my shed used to be. What on earth?

  I parked behind a yellow Volkswagen, not surprised that one of Samantha’s retro friends would drive the throwback.

  I snuck between cars to the entry deck. My hand hovered a moment before I gave an insistent knock on the door. Guilt sparked when I realized I was probably about to crash a Bible study or a praise group or something.

  But I stifled the feeling and reminded myself that the lodge was really mine. It wasn’t as if Sam could throw me out.

  Nobody answered. I gave the handle a turn and pushed the door open a crack.

  “Hello?” I called softly.

  Through the slim opening, I saw Sam stirring something at the stove. Her white apron did nothing to hide the bulge in her belly, giving her the amazing glow of a mother-to-be. How could I have been so rude and unfeeling toward her yesterday? She was as much a victim as I was in the whole situation.

  I pushed in and stood near the door.

  A young woman came alongside me. “Hi. I’ll be right with you.” The same white apron as Sam’s draped the woman’s slim form. The tray in her hand bore an assortment of tall mugs, the kind you drink root beer from, like she’d just bussed a table at a restaurant.

  The woman dropped the tray off on the counter, the noisy clink of glass adding to the cacophony of voices and clatter of silverware that drifted through the arch from the great room. A round of laughter floated in.

  “Just one today?” the young brunette asked, returning to my side.

  A group of three or four people came through the arch, smiling as they filtered past the counter toward the door behind me.

  “Thank you, Sam. It was delicious again today,” one said.

  “I want the recipe for that chili,” another called, moving my direction.

  “Sorry, family secret,” Samantha teased, wooden spoon held high in a goodbye gesture.

  They passed through the door and were gone.

  “Follow me,” my hostess said with a smile.

  Samantha turned back to her task, oblivious to my presence as she scooped sauce onto Coney dogs lined up on the counter.

  “Order up,” Sam said as we passed.

  My hackles rose-again-at the sight in my great room. I’d obviously gotten here before the lunch rush yesterday, before the folding tables and chairs, packed with talking, laughing people, crowded the area. The young woman sat me at a table for two. A dark green napkin was folded like a tent in front of me, the merry color standing out against a crisp white tablecloth. Water from a carafe was poured into a stemmed glass to my right. A menu appeared in my hand.

  “Would you care for a beverage to get started?” the voice beside me asked.

  I shook my head, dazed at the title on the menu. Sam and Joel’s on the Bay. My house was now Samantha Walters’ latest food service establishment. Why’d she have to bring her stupid diner to the U.P.? Why didn’t she just get out of my house and go back downstate where she came from?

  I opened the booklet and perused the list of selections. Lunch choices ranged from traditional coneys, to reubens on rye. For supper, guests could choose from a variety of fresh fish, prime rib, and even chicken parmigiana. Served, of course, with fresh-baked homemade rolls and spinach salad drizzled with bacon dressing. A separate insert announced the festive Christmas buffet that would be served from noon to six just two days from now. And all for just $19.99 per person.

  I curled an edge of the laminated menu, ruining the seal. Right now I hated Sam. Was there anything she couldn’t do? Did she have any ideas that were lame instead of brilliant? Was there anything she owned that she hadn’t stolen from me?

  I glanced through the dark tint of my sunglasses at the others in the room. I supposed she knew each of her customers by name and they were all completely taken in by her charm.

  Christmas lights twinkled around the perimeter. I glared at the tree crammed in the corner, picturing the room as it had been before Sam got a hold of it: tatty furniture, dim lighting, no decorations… I seethed inwardly. What had she done with my stuff, anyway? The couch that once sat in the same place as this table had been a family heirloom. It was the same one I’d bounced on when I was a kid. I closed my eyes.

  Boing, boing, boing.

  “Patricia Louise Amble!” my mother would yell from the kitchen. “Get off that sofa!”

  “Have you decided?” The woman had returned, order pad in hand.

  I jerked my mind from the past. “I’ll take two Coney Deluxes to go, please.”

  “Fries or chips?” she asked.

  “Chili-cheese fries. Thanks.”

  She was gone. I stared past the crowd to the lake. A slash of gray water ran between slabs of white ice.

  If Doomsday hadn’t happened last May, how far would I have gotten on this place? I looked up at the cedar beams that crossed the ceiling. Someone had given the whole soaring room a coat of glossy polyurethane, allowing the light to gleam off each surface. That colossal project hadn’t even been in my plans. And after my excitement in Del Gloria, I was almost ready to swear off ladders. The most I would have done to improve the great room was duct tape a dust mop to an extension pole and sweep down the cobwebs. But this… this was awe-inspiring.

  The burgundy, green, and cream accents Sam had splashed throughout the room made the space feel elegant, yet still like a woodsy lodge. And her idea to have every piece of décor for sale, tied with a tiny white price tag, made me want to retch. On the wall above me, a clock chimed the hour to the tune of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Without knowing why, I craned for a look at the tag.

  A few minutes later, the waitress brought my order, bagged in paper and fastened with a red raffia bow.

  She laid the bill upside down on the table. “I can take that when you’re ready.”

  “How about right now? And,” I gestured at the wall clock, “I’ll take that too.”

  She disappeared with the clock and a few minutes later returned it wrapped in recycled paper and tied with green ribbon. I counted out enough bills to cover the check and tip and hightailed it out of my own house.

  Sam caught a glimpse of me halfway across the kitchen.

  “Oh, my gosh. Tish?” She slapped a hand over her mouth and checked for spies. “I mean Sasha.”

  “It’s Tasha.”

  She looked at my excess baggage. “So you’re the one who bought the clock.”

  I nodded, sidestepping toward the door.

  “Is that a Christmas present for your grandfather?”

  I shook my head, mute.

  She stared at me, her eyes turning hard. “Listen. Stay away from Brad. I heard about that stunt you pulled yesterday. He’s not ready to see you. I’ll let you know when he is.”

  I was sorry she couldn’t see the scorn in my eyes. With a spin, I took off out the back door.

  Packages safe on the passenger seat next to me, I made the drive to Manistique. No former sister-in-law-to-be was going to scare me away from Brad.

  26

  Brad’s personal bodyguard opened the door.

  “Hi, Austin,” I said, praying Brad hadn’t told him about the kiss yesterday.

  “The crazy college chick. What do you want?” Austin kept his fit and trim physique between me and my goal as he looked into the hall behind me. “No Mr. Russo today?”

  I shook my head, struggling with my box and bag. “I’m about to drop this stuff. Can you get the door for me?” “No can do. You can’t come in.”

  Sighing, I put on a weary voice. “Look. I know I upset
Brad yesterday. I brought him lunch to make it up.”

  Austin sniffed the air. “Sam’s Coney Deluxe. That’s Mr. Walters’ favorite.”

  “I know.” I took a step forward, edging into the opening. He cut me off at the pass. “Sorry, no visitors.”

  “Come on. I’d like another chance to talk to Mr. Walters.” I rocked the aromatic bag of Coneys under his nose and spoke in a singsong voice. “I brought him food.”

  Austin grabbed the bag off my larger package. “I’ll tell him it’s from you.” He started to close the door.

  “Give that back.” I slapped at the paper, missing. “That’s my lunch too.”

  “Sorry, no visitors.” The bag disappeared and the door was almost closed.

  “Who’s here, Austin?” a voice boomed from the bedroom. “Hey!” I yelled through the crack. “Brad! It’s me! I brought you a Coney Deluxe.”

  Austin slammed the door in my face.

  I stood there, the toe of one shoe wedged against the threshold. Brad had to realize it was me, Tish, come back to life. Any moment Austin would open the door and usher me inside. I waited, listening. When Austin didn’t return, I rested the clock on one hip and stuck an ear to the door.

  The rustling of a paper bag.

  I jiggled the doorknob. Locked.

  My fists hit the wood. “Hey! Open up! That’s my lunch! Hey!” I kept pounding, determined not to stop until Austin opened the door.

  Down the hall, a head poked out of a doorway.

  “Excuse me, miss,” an elderly gentleman said with a missing-denture lisp. “M*A*S*H is on. I can’t watch it with all that racket. Makes a rumble in my hearing aid.”

  I held my hand suspended mid-thud. What was I doing? Standing in an old folks’ home pounding on doors was definitely low-class.

  “Sorry.” I gave a little wave. The head disappeared.

  I turned back to my task. I was not leaving here without seeing Brad.

  Tapping a finger softly on the door, I spoke through the wood. “Come on. I promise I won’t upset him today. Anyway, you have to open up. I have a present for him.”

  Silence. He probably couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of that special sauce with meat and beans and topped with onions… My stomach growled.

  “Fine. Give me back my lunch and I’ll go away.”

  Still no answer. Maybe he was back sharing the spoils with Brad.

  A building attendant passed by in the narrow hall. “Can I help you with something?” the man asked.

  “Ahhh…” I wiped the guilty look off my face. I had every right to be here. More than every right. “I seem to have been locked out. Could you show me where I can find a phone?”

  The man in navy coveralls walked me to the lounge and pointed to a phone on a decorative desk. “Local calls only unless you have a calling card.”

  “Thanks.” I put the clock down and sat in the straightback chair. I opened the long top drawer of the desk. A phone book. Just the thing.

  I flipped through the Ws. No Brad Walters. But one listing read Walters-Russo, Samantha. Instead of a Port Silvan prefix, it had the Manistique exchange. That had to be Brad’s number at River’s Edge.

  I dialed it.

  “This is Austin,” came the voice.

  “Austin. Hi. It’s the crazy college chick. Open the door, okay? I really need to talk to Brad.”

  Click.

  I dialed the number again. It rang once, picked up, and slammed in my ear.

  I dialed again-and this time got a busy signal.

  The receiver dangled from my hand, its beep beep beep audible throughout the lounge.

  “What’s the matter, dear, he’s not taking your call?”

  I looked toward the gentle voice. A woman with a wizened face sat in a corner by a window, the various shades of pink in her clothing allowing her to blend with the general décor. No wonder I hadn’t noticed her earlier. Gray hair swirled in perfectly round curls atop her head. It had to be a wig. I touched my own masterpiece, suddenly conscious of how foolish I must look.

  I smiled and turned away, avoiding conversation. The pages of the phone book fluttered under my fingers as I delved for the secret to visiting Brad.

  The voice interrupted my thoughts again. “Perhaps I could help.”

  The sweet old lady apparently couldn’t take a hint.

  I waved a hand and nodded. “I’m fine, really. Thanks anyway.”

  Back to the pages of phone numbers. I could call Puppa and get him to come out. Or call Sam and bawl her out. No. There had to be a better, faster way of getting in there.

  Movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced up. The old gal had moved to the chair closest to me.

  She leaned forward and spoke in a scheming voice. “I happen to know Austin runs errands for that Walters fellow between two and three o’clock.”

  My brows shot up. “Really.” How did the spry old gal know what I was up to?

  She gave my leg a firm pat. “They keep him locked up in there like a prisoner. No visitors outside of family, they tell us. And he never comes out. Never.” She tsked her show of disapproval. “Not even for Bingo. I say that poor young man needs some excitement.” She looked me up and down. “And you seem like the exciting type.”

  Good heavens. Was the old woman trying to set Brad up on a date? As Brad’s onetime almost-bride-to-be, I was mortified that Ms. Matchmaker was on the job in the lobby. Brad did not need excitement. He needed me.

  That being the case, how could I pass up this opportunity to see Brad? All I needed was a way to get inside once Austin left.

  Another pat on the leg. “I have a plan,” the old gal whispered and crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

  The clock in the box chimed and sang its soulful melody from its place on the table in the woman’s apartment, two doors down from Brad’s.

  “Patience,” my cohort advised. “Give Austin a few minutes to get out the door.”

  The saucy gal’s name was Ruby Callahan and she’d been a resident of the building for some time, she’d told me.

  “Not often we get youngsters like that Mr. Walters in here. Shame about him, isn’t it?” She leaned toward me on the plain ivory sofa and checked her watch. “It’s time.” She gave a nod toward her adjoining bedroom.

  I snuck into the room and hid behind the door, listening for my cue.

  The sound of humming… the main door to the hallway opening… Ruby’s voice of fake surprise.

  “Why, Austin. Just the man I’m looking for. Remember that magazine I lent you? With the article about finding the perfect mate? I have someone else in need of it and I must have it back, please. Snip snap.”

  “Just heading out, Mrs. C. How about I grab that for you when I get back and drop it by?”

  “That’ll never do. You promised to return it last week.”

  A sigh. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll come with you.”

  A few minutes passed with no voices. Then a perky, “Thank you, thank you. The young woman will be thrilled. Thirty-four and she’s never been married, poor dear.”

  “You’re welcome. Talk to you later.” Austin’s exasperated voice disappeared down the hall.

  “Coast is clear,” Ruby said a moment later.

  I stepped into the hall. “Now what?”

  “Door’s unlocked,” she said with a sly grin. “Just make sure you fasten it when you leave.”

  “Thanks.” My heart fluttered with excitement as I headed down the corridor, clock in hand, to Brad’s apartment.

  I gripped the knob, half expecting it wouldn’t turn. It did. Tiptoeing, I closed the door behind me and locked it against the meddling Ruby Callahan.

  The air inside felt oppressive. Through the partially open bedroom door came the canned laughter of a television show.

  In my hand, the package ticked like a bomb as I stood, hesitating. Austin could return at any moment. If I was going to do this thing, I’d better get to it.

/>   I set the clock down on the counter, the paper scraping softly on the surface, and steeled myself.

  “Austin? Is that you?” Brad’s voice spoke tentatively from the direction of the bed.

  I cleared my throat. “No, Brad. It’s me. Tish.”

  The door swung back under my fingertips. I stepped into his sight, taking off my wig and sunglasses, holding them in one hand while I smoothed my snarled hair with the other.

  His eyes were huge, as if he were seeing a ghost.

  “Hey,” I tossed my disguise on the coverlet over his feet and circled to the head of the bed. “It’s okay. It’s really me.”

  I touched his hand, which lay on top of the sheet, holding its warmth in my fingers as if holding a lost pearl, now found.

  “You’re… They told me you were dead.” His voice tore from his chest.

  I nodded, squeezing back tears from my smile. “I know. I heard. But turns out I’m still around to haunt you.”

  He looked up at the ceiling a moment, as if searching for an explanation. Then he shot a hard glance at me. “Who let you in here? I told them I didn’t want to see anyone.” The words burned. I pulled my hand away. “I’m not just anyone.”

  He strained to look down over his body. “Look at me.”

  I crossed my arms, running my eyes from his face to his feet. “I heard most of this is your own doing.”

  “What?” His voice rumbled. “I was shot and almost killed. Nothing works anymore. You think I wouldn’t change that if I could?”

  “Puppa told me you won’t even try.”

  His face turned red and I could see rage build in his heaving chest. I welcomed the thought of him leaping from the bed and chasing me from the room. My mission would certainly be accomplished.

  But no such miracle.

  “Get out and don’t come back!” His roar almost peeled the hair off my head.

  I stood my ground. “Come on,” I said in a soothing voice. “Don’t chase me away. Do you know how much I love you? How much I’ve missed you?”

  “I’m not that man. He’s… dead. Gone.” He turned his face away from me. “Nothing means anything to me anymore. Including you. Leave me alone.”