Nearly Wild

by Linda Seed

  Rose had a lot of opportunities to ask her mother for the college money, it turned out, because Pamela called her repeatedly with questions about the wedding.

  “It’s black tie, I assume,” Pamela said one evening over the phone as Rose talked to her during her drive home from work. “It didn’t say on the invitation, God knows why. You’d think the Delaneys would know how important it is to indicate a dress code.”

  “No, Mom, it’s not black tie. It’s … you know. Not casual, but not dressy. Nice, but not too nice.”

  Rose’s car wasn’t a recent enough model to have Bluetooth, so Rose had her iPhone on the passenger seat, on the speaker setting.

  “Well, that doesn’t clarify things at all,” Pamela pouted. “Nice but not too nice? Dressy but not too dressy? Could you be any less helpful, Rosemary?”

  Rose scowled at the phone. “Mom, this isn’t like the East Coast. This is California. It’s casual here. Just wear a dress. Not formalwear, just … you know. A dress.”

  Pamela sighed. “I should have known you were not the person to ask about fashion.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “At least I won’t have to worry about what you’ll be wearing,” Pamela went on. “I assume Genevieve is choosing your dress, since you’re in the bridal party.”

  “You can rest easy on that account,” Rose assured her.

  “But your hair. For a wedding, surely you plan to—”

  “Uh-oh, Mom. I’ve got to hang up. I’m heading into the hills and there’s no cell coverage!”

  “Rosemary, I—”

  Rose reached over to the passenger seat and ended the call while Pamela was in midsentence. Apparently she wouldn’t be asking about the money today.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  It might have been purely by chance that Will was assigned to work with Rose to select the wines for the reception. It might have been, but it wasn’t. Will had asked Ryan to put him on the job so he could spend more time with Rose.

  Rose thought they were being set up by their well-meaning friends; she said as much when she let Will in the door of De-Vine after closing one night.

  “Do you know anything about wine, Will?” she asked him, her arms crossed, leaning her hip against the doorframe after she unlocked the shop for him.

  “Uh, no. Not particularly. Why?”

  “Because Jackson does. Why wasn’t he given this job?”

  “Well, I … Maybe because he’s coordinating the food?”

  “Maybe.” She raised one eyebrow at him. “And maybe it’s because you and I are being set up.”

  He cleared his throat. “Set up?”

  “Yeah.” She backed out of the doorway so he could enter. “Gen thinks we should be dating.”

  “Ah.” He moved into the empty shop carrying two manila folders in his hands. He took a seat at the bar and put the folders on the polished dark wood. “The guys might have said something about that, too. They think we’d be good together.”

  She locked the door behind him and went behind the bar. “We probably would, if I were still dating, which I’m not, and probably never will again.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Why?” She pulled a wineglass from under the bar, poured some chardonnay, and passed it to Will.

  He shrugged. “Because you’re a really good person. And if you don’t want to date now—which, believe me, I get that—you still should be open to it someday. You’ve got too much to offer not to … you know. Offer it. To somebody.” He rearranged his glasses, which he knew would make him look nervous, but he couldn’t help that. He was nervous.

  She looked at him in a way that made him feel warm all over.

  “That’s sweet.” She nodded toward the folders. “What did you bring?”

  He held up one folder for her to see. “Menu for the reception, including appetizers, and including all of the ingredients for each dish.”

  “Great. And the other one?”

  “That’s … ah.” He paused and took a sip of the wine she’d given him. It was good—very good. “It’s some information I compiled on scholarship opportunities in viticulture. And some others for returning college students.” He pushed the folder toward her.

  Wordlessly, she picked up the folder and opened it. She leafed through the pages Will had printed from his computer, and then she looked at him with wide eyes.

  “You researched scholarships.”

  “Well … yeah. I had some time, and I thought—”

  She leaned over the bar, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

  The kiss was different than the ones they’d shared before. The first had been intended to display her passion for him in front of Melanie, and, accordingly, it had been lusty and decidedly PG-13. The second one, the one outside her cottage, had been more tentative, but still infused with a heat that had seared him to his very core. This one, though, had something else behind it, something more genuine and pure. This was a kiss of sweetness and affection, a kiss that acknowledged that he saw her, and she knew it, and she was grateful.

  Still, regardless of the nature of the kiss, he felt as though his body were alight with heightened sensation, as though the touch of her mouth on his was bringing his every nerve to glorious life.

  “Will. Thank you,” she said as she pulled away from him.

  “Anytime.” He straightened up on his bar stool. “And I mean that. Anytime.”

  She grinned at him, and he knew he had to change her mind about this reckless determination to give up on men. He needed to be with her, and even if that were not in the cards, even if she remained set on her decision to shut him out, this woman needed to be with someone. She was simply too lovely, too interesting, too everything not to share her glory with a man.

  But he really wanted to be that man.

  “Look,” he began, trying to regain his composure. “There are some good opportunities in there. Lots of stuff available to older students. Not that you’re older, just … older than eighteen. And there are fewer things available in viticulture specifically, but there are some. I know you’ll have to supplement with loans, probably, but this will give you a start.”

  She nodded. “Okay. This is … thank you.”

  “And if you need any help with your applications, I’ve done about a thousand of them myself over the years. I can help. I’d really like to help.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. She tucked the folder under the bar and propped her elbows on the bar top, leaning toward him. “Now, what’s say we look at that menu?”

  She knew she shouldn’t have kissed him again. She knew it would give him the wrong idea, because she really wasn’t interested in a relationship, and she didn’t intend to let one fabulous kiss—or three—derail her from her chosen course. But she’d been so surprised, so touched, when he’d shown her the information on the scholarships. He’d put thought into this—real thought. He’d actually gone home and pondered how he could help her make her dream happen.

  And how sweet was that?

  Even though she wasn’t going to date him, she had to admit that he was increasingly becoming a friend—someone she could talk to, someone whose company she enjoyed. Someone who would support her in the things she wanted to do. And if kissing him made her feel as though her insides had turned hot and liquid, well, that was something she’d just have to live with.

  “You two certainly do kiss a lot for people who aren’t dating,” Kate told Rose over coffee the next day at Jitters.

  “How do you know about the kiss? The last one, I mean.”

  “Will told Jackson, and Jackson told me.” Kate peered at Rose innocently over the rim of her cup.

  “Well, why is Will talking to Jackson about kissing me?” Rose demanded.

  “You talk to me about kissing him,” Kate pointed out.

  “True.”

  “Maybe he needed advice.”

  “Men don’t ask other men for rel
ationship advice.” Rose scowled. “Do they?”

  “I don’t know.” Kate shrugged. “Probably. But I imagine it goes something like this: ‘What the hell was she upset about this time? What did I do?’ ‘How should I know? Women are crazy.’ ” She’d made her voice low, first in an uncanny imitation of Jackson, and then Ryan. She’d also put a wide-eyed look on her face that could only be described as “clueless male.” Rose laughed.

  “Anyway,” Kate said, “Will tells Jackson, Jackson tells me, you tell me, I tell Jackson”—she waved a hand around airily—“It’s what people do. No harm, no foul. Let’s get back to the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “You and Will kissing,” Lacy called from behind the counter, where she was steaming milk for a cappuccino. “I’m all the way over here, and even I know. Keep up.”

  Rose sighed. “It was nothing. It was an appreciation kiss. It was … ” She grasped for a word. “Polite! I was being polite.”

  “Oh, honey,” Kate said. “When my high school counselor gave me a list of available scholarships, I said thank you. I didn’t give him tongue.” She shuddered slightly. “He was eighty-three.”

  “Now there’s an image,” Rose said.

  It was midmorning, and both De-Vine and Swept Away, the bookstore Kate owned, were scheduled to open in an hour. The coffee place was half full, with people chatting, working on laptops, and enjoying lattes and baked goods. The shop smelled like fresh ground French roast and mildew from the damp ocean air.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Gen rushed in the front door, looking harried. The slim black dress she wore for a day of work at the gallery was pristine as ever, but her hair was askew and she hadn’t applied her lipstick yet. “I’m here! I’m here! Don’t talk about the kissing without me!”

  Rose turned to Kate. “Gen knows, too?”

  Kate shrugged. “Ryan must have told her.”

  “I can fill you in,” Lacy said from behind the counter as Gen scurried in and took a seat at the small café table. “Rose says she was just being polite.”

  Gen raised her eyebrows. “What, like ‘How was your day?’ and ‘Nice weather we’re having’?”

  “No,” Rose said. “More like, ‘Thank you for being a very sweet and thoughtful person.’ I thought the moment called for something.”

  “It called for you to buy him a cup of coffee or maybe send a nice card.” Lacy brought Gen’s coffee—black—and set it on the table in front of her. “It didn’t call for an exchange of body fluids.”

  “Why are you guys harassing me?” Rose demanded. “I came here for coffee, and, you know … companionship. And girl talk. I didn’t come here to be harassed.”

  “This is girl talk,” Kate said, stirring her cappuccino with a long wooden stir stick. She licked the foam off the stick thoughtfully. “Girls, talking about kissing. What could be more companionable than that?”

  Gen shifted in her seat to turn toward Rose. “Even though I missed the first part, I have to jump in here and say that if we’re harassing you, it’s because you’re being stupid. I’m sorry, sweetie. I love you. But you are.”

  “Stupid? How am I stupid?” Rose demanded.

  “Because you’re sticking with this whole ‘I’m done with men’ thing when you should just drop the act and date Will. Then you can kiss him whenever you want to without having to make excuses about it,” Lacy said as she bagged up a muffin for a middle-aged man in a Cambria shirt and madras shorts.

  “She’s right,” Kate said.

  “Yeah. She is,” Gen added.

  “It’s not an act. And I don’t want to date Will.”

  “Well, he wants to date you,” Kate added. “And not these ridiculous fake dates, either. He wants to date you legitimately, with actual feelings and kisses that you both can acknowledge are real kisses.”

  “He does?” Rose looked at Kate, stunned.

  “Of course he does.” Kate scoffed at her.

  “He … I …” Rose shook her head. “He does not. What even makes you think that?”

  “What, are you new to this conversation?” Kate demanded irritably. “Will told Jackson, and Jackson told me. Jeez. We’ve been over this.”

  “Wait, he … did he … are you sure?” Rose found that processing this new information was surprisingly difficult. She knew that he liked her, of course. And she knew that she liked him. But when they’d gone out to Neptune, he’d made it clear that they were pretending for the sake of Chris and Melinda. Hadn’t he?

  Rose wasn’t sure what it all meant. She’d found Will to be safe and uncomplicated, but if he was genuinely interested in her for something more than friendship and the occasional we’re just pals kiss, then that meant he wasn’t safe or uncomplicated at all. Now, he represented potential heartbreak. She tried to tell herself that didn’t matter, but it did. There was a reason she’d instituted her no-men policy.

  She shook her head to clear it. “Well, I’m going to have to nix that. That’s just … no.” She almost felt as if she meant it.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Kate said. “He’s nice. And he’s smart. And he’s cute as hell. He’s way better than Jeremy was.”

  “I know he is!” Rose said.

  “Then what’s the issue?” Gen wanted to know.

  “He’s better than Jeremy!” Rose wailed. “He’s so much better than Jeremy! And if Jeremy ripped my heart out and stomped on it—which he did—how much worse do you think it’s going to be if Will does that? Because Jeremy was nothing! He was nobody! And Will …”

  “He’s somebody,” Gen said, a sigh in her voice.

  “Yeah. He’s somebody.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Will knew he shouldn’t have told Jackson about his desire to date Rose—or about kissing her again and how that had made him feel—because guys didn’t talk about those things, except in terms of actions. Who did what, and who should do what next. Guys didn’t talk about things like crushes and feelings and longing.

  Except that Will didn’t know what to do next in response to his feelings. So, it had seemed to fit.

  He’d told Jackson that he seemed to keep kissing Rose somehow, even though Rose didn’t want a relationship and had repeatedly said as much. And he’d asked Jackson for advice on how to change Rose’s mind about him.

  That was the guy part, right there. What should I do? What action should I take? Guys specialized in doing, not feeling.

  So they’d talked about actions, and which ones Will should take.

  The vague, niggling feeling that it had been a mistake was grandly, vividly confirmed when Will looked up from where he was sitting on the beach to see Rose crunching toward him over the sand, her fists balled up, looking seriously angry.

  She was a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight.

  “Uh … hi.” He scrambled to his feet and brushed sand off the rear of his jeans.

  “You told Jackson you wanted to date me.” Her hands were on her hips, and she said the words as though she were accusing him of abusing kittens.

  “Well, I—”

  “We are not going there, no matter what you told Jackson,” she demanded, her eyes fiery, her colorful hair blowing in the ocean breeze. She was magnificent. He’d never wanted to kiss her more than he did right now. But under the circumstances, he thought it would be ill-advised.

  “Okay. How did you know I’d be here?” he asked. The beach was mostly deserted today, with just a few people strolling along the waterline as the gulls wheeled noisily overhead.

  “I called Ryan, and he told me this is one of your places.”

  “My places.”

  “So I drove past the parking lot, and I saw your car.”

  “Ah.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” she said. She was wearing some kind of perfume, something spicy and delicious, and the combination of that and the smell of the ocean almost made his knees weak.

  “I wasn’t trying to. I—”

  “Is this where you study the birds?”<
br />
  Now she was the one changing the subject, and he was glad about it, since the original subject had involved her being angry with him.

  “Ah, no. The birds are up the coast a ways. I was just out here thinking.” It was a good thing he hadn’t been here studying birds, or she’d have inadvertently stomped on a nesting area, the way she’d come barging over here. And even if that hadn’t happened, she’d have scared them so badly they’d have flown off in a panic.

  “What were you thinking about?” she wanted to know.

  Interestingly, she didn’t seem mad anymore. This was one of the endlessly fascinating things about Rose. She could be spitting fire one moment and cheerfully curious the next.

  “You want to hear about it?” he said.

  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.”

  “Then come over and pull up a blanket.”

  He’d spread out a blue cotton blanket on the sand, and that’s where he’d been sitting to do his thinking. Now, he brushed some sand off the blanket and smoothed it out for her.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “If I do, it doesn’t change anything. Sitting on the beach talking about your thoughts is just … well, it’s just what it is. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I understand that.” He pushed his glasses back up on his nose.

  “And there’s not going to be any more kissing.”

  “Okay.”

  Still side-eyeing him, she gathered up her skirt and sat down on the blanket. He settled in beside her, leaving some room between them so she wouldn’t go off on him about his intentions in relation to her no-men vow.

  “So,” she said once she was comfortable. “Your big thoughts.”

  “I didn’t say they were big,” he corrected. “Just that they were … thoughts.”

  “Hmph.”

  She took off her shoes—some kind of sandal with thick platforms that put Will in mind of something Herman Munster might wear—stretched out her feet, and wiggled her toes in the sand. Her toenails were painted deep green, the color of pine trees and summer grass. She wore a thin silver ring around the second toe of her right foot, and the sight of it distracted him so much he forgot what they were talking about.