Kiss a Girl in the Rain

by Nancy Warren

  “Would you care for a caramel apple?” he asked his date.

  “No thank you.”

  “Perhaps a corn husk doll?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “All right then, straight to the maze.”

  He paid the admission fee to a cheerful teenager in jeans and a T-shirt advertising the farm.

  “Do you want a map?” she asked. “In case you get lost in there?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Yes,” Caitlyn said. And she took the printed map from the girl.

  “The entire point of a maze is to get lost,” he said to her as they plunged into the green-walled corridors, the floor lined with bark mulch and what looked like old corn husks.

  “I have to work tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  Three stalks went by. “I think you have control issues.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I think you have controls issues.”

  Her hair flicked his shoulder she turned her head so fast. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my natural life trying to get out of a corn maze?”

  “And because your kitchen is so organized it’s scary.”

  They walked on. She didn’t hit him or march back to the entrance so he continued. “And you don’t have any personal souvenirs around your house. The dumb little things you collect or that people give you. Souvenirs from places you wouldn’t be caught dead in.” He thought of some of the things in his apartment. “Gifts from loved ones that embarrass you but you display them anyway so they don’t get their feelings hurt when they come visit.”

  They were walking faster. The corn was going by in a green blur. He could hear the stuff on the ground shushing and crunching under their feet. Finally, she snapped, “What kind of people have control issues?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Sure you do. Think about it. Why would an adult need order and control?”

  He remembered something his father once said about foster kids. How they would protect and treasure their few possessions. “Because they never felt like they had any control when they were young?”

  “Bingo.”

  He reached out and took her hand, because he wanted to feel her skin against his. Because he’d heard a note of pain in her voice that reached right into him and squeezed. “It occurs to me that we messed up. Our dinner conversation was supposed to be a little about me, a little about you, a little about me again and it ended up being me boring you all night with my history.” He squeezed her hand. “We never got to you, did we?”

  “No. We didn’t.”

  “So, now you know all about me and I know nothing about you.” He grinned at her to take the sting out of his words. “And there are those control issues again.”

  To his relief, she laughed. “I guess fair’s fair. Ask me anything.”

  “Why did you feel like you didn’t have any control when you were a kid?”

  She let out a sigh. “I was hoping you’d start with something easy and work up to that one.”

  “No dice. Spill.”

  “I felt like I didn’t have any control when I was a child because I could never be good enough. I could never be perfect.”

  Her words were so sad he wanted to take her into his arms. But he didn’t. He waited and he listened.

  A fork in the road came and she led them right. He doubted she even realized what she was doing. Certainly she wasn’t consulting the map. She was merely taking them deeper into the mess of paths. Ahead he heard kids laughing. An adult voice said, “No, I told you we should have turned left back there.”

  “Honey, I’m sure it’s this way. See, if you took a picture of the maze from the air it would be a pirate ship. And I think we’re at the first sail.”

  “We’re not at the first sail. We’re here, at the stern.”

  Caitlyn said, “My parents aren’t bad people. Not really. But they truly thought the way to bring up exceptional children was to demand perfection.”

  “What a shitty thing to do to a kid,” he exclaimed because he couldn’t stop himself.

  She smiled at that. “Yeah. I think so too. If I got an A it should have been an A plus. If I ever had a date, the boy wasn’t good enough for our family. Athletics, music, you name it. Whatever we did, we had to excel.” She blew out a breath. They were walking so fast now that he was starting to pant. Soon they’d be jogging. She led the way, turning here and there, passing families and groups of teens and a couple of gossiping women who’d clearly ditched their loved ones for a good bitch session.

  “I went the classic overachiever route. I studied harder than anyone else and my grades were excellent. I practiced piano until my fingers blistered. I was the first one in the pool for swim practice and the last one out. And always, always, always it wasn't enough. Someone was smarter or more musically gifted or athletic.” Her voice went soft. “So I tried harder.”

  “That’s emotional abuse.” He felt the anger low in his gut. He’d like to have a few minutes with Caitlyn’s precious parents and tell them exactly what he thought of them.

  “Yes. Yes it is. I know that now. At the time, I only knew that maybe if I tried harder, I’d finally get what I wanted. Praise. Approval.” She pressed her lips together. Then she said “My brother figured out it was a no win situation long before I did. He rebelled. When they couldn’t make him conform, they sent him to boarding school. He’d been the only one who was in hell with me, and he got out. After that it was even worse.”

  “I can’t believe you stayed sane.”

  “I had my grandparents. They were and are the most wonderful people I know. I came here every summer for a few weeks and it was like getting out of jail. I could be a kid. Or a teenager. I could be normal. They didn’t expect perfection. It always felt safe here. I helped my grandfather in his practice, filing and stuff, but I saw how – I don’t know, how respected he was I guess. It really stuck with me. He loved what he did and the people in Miller’s Pond loved him.”

  “So you decided to be a country doctor?”

  Her laugh was low and bitter. “Not a chance would that be allowed. I got a scholarship to a prestigious medical school. I was destined for great things. I ended up as a trauma surgeon. Oh, and I was good.” She blew out a breath. “You know what they say about hamsters and wheels?”

  He nodded.

  “I always figure at some point, if the wheel keeps going without the hamster pushing it that he’s just going to stop running and then he’d get tossed around. I think that’s what happened to me. I simply couldn’t be perfect. I was sick of losing people who did stupid things. I was sick of the smell of blood and death. And you have to realize that for a serious overachiever, losing a patient wasn’t only a tragedy. It was failure.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am. I’d blame myself. Even knowing how crazy it was, I’d think, if only I’d tried harder, maybe I could have saved them. My hands started to shake. Only a little at first, then it because noticeable. I thought maybe I had Parkinson’s or MS. I had all kinds of tests done. I took some time off. Came to Miller’s Pond. Talked with my grandfather. All those tests couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.

  “My granddad diagnosed me right away. He said, ‘Caitlyn, it’s stress. This isn’t what you want to do with your life.’ And of course he was right.”

  “I’m guessing your parents were pissed.”

  “They tried everything they could to get me back there. Trauma surgeon in New York is so much more acceptable than country GP. I was part of a team that was quoted in medical journals. I was making serious money. I dated the right men. It was hard for them to believe I wasn’t ever going back.”

  “And your brother? What happened to him?”

  “After getting kicked out of three boarding schools, he hit the road. We didn't hear from him for four years.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it would have been hard for her.

  “Thanks. He’s do
ing okay, though. He’s a musician.” She grinned. “Those awful music lessons did some good at least. He’s married and has three kids. He never has much money but he’s happy.”

  “And you? Are you happy?”

  She turned to him and in the greenish light he wanted to kiss her. “I’m doing the best I can. But I’m getting there.”

  They walked on a few steps and she looked around, only now realizing that they’d walked aimlessly into the center of the maze. “Are we lost?”

  And then he couldn't stop himself. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  “Yep,” he said. “Totally lost.” He pushed her gently back down the blind alley they’d already explored.

  “What are you doing?” she squealed.

  “I’m feeling you up.”

  “This is a family corn maze.”

  He kissed her, enjoying the feel of her breasts in his hands. She might giggle and protest, but her nipples were hard against his palms and when he toyed with her, she pressed closer.

  “If anyone comes, we can hear them from miles away.”

  And so they played. He didn’t push it, knowing the only thing worse than being caught in flagrante delicto by a bunch of kids and their parents would be the discomfort of finding corn stalks where corn stalks had no business being. But he could feel a girl up in a corn maze. And, it turned out, she could do the same with him. Feeling him both up. And down.

  She had him hard and groaning when he finally grabbed the foolish map out of her hands. “Come on,” he said. “We are getting out of here.”

  “I thought you liked being lost?”

  “Not when you've got your hands down my pants.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thanks to the map, they found their way out of the maze with only a couple of wrong turns. Then, of course there was no way to get back to the car without going through the gift shop and produce stands. The gift shop sold everything from home made jams and local honey and pottery to the junkiest crap. Felt mice in gingham dresses with wire-framed glasses, corn cob pipes, jars of popping corn. He insisted on buying her a corn husk doll. She looked as though she had no idea what to do with it, which was probably true. “Thank you, I think,” she said when he presented it to her.

  “It was the corniest thing I could find,” he said with a grin.

  She groaned at his terrible pun, but tucked the brown paper bag containing her doll carefully in her straw carry bag.

  “You have to display it somewhere prominent so that when I come over, my feelings won’t get hurt.”

  “Tell you what,” she said, “I’ll put it in my bedroom.”

  “Perfect. Besides, you only have to have it out for a few days.”

  The reminder that he’d be gone before the week was out sobered them both for a second.

  They also bought apples and when she wasn’t looking, Evan bought a mass-produced coffee mug in red that said, Oregon is for Lovers. He figured she needed a few trashy souvenirs in her perfect cupboards.

  “Well, that was surprisingly fun,” she said as he pulled out of the gravel lot and headed back to the main road.

  “It was. Do you want to go for a drive?”

  She glanced at her watch.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Look at your watch. It’s Sunday. Your day off. Who cares what time it is? We’ll go for a drive if you feel like it.”

  “I—I like to know what time it is.”

  “When do you next have to be somewhere?”

  She pondered. “Tomorrow. I start clinic hours at ten. Technically, I’m free until then. Unless there’s an emergency.”

  “For which you have a cell phone.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to go for a drive with you.”

  He slowed for a stop sign. Then, when they’d come to a complete stop, he turned to her. His face was full of sexy devilry. He dropped his voice low, “Is there anything you’d like to do with me?”

  She felt her blood start to pound and her breath hitch. What on earth was the matter with her? Just because she hadn’t had sex in a while didn’t mean that the first presentable (okay, gorgeous) guy who wanted her (okay, took her to the moon and back in bed) should turn her into mush simply by sending her lustful glances.

  But. He. Did.

  Outside the open window she heard the corn swish as a breeze blew through the fields. Somewhere a truck was rumbling along a back road. And Evan was looking at her, his eyes alight with promises. They’d spent one night together. One action-packed, glorious night. She definitely wanted more where that came from. “There might be some things I’d like to do with you,” she conceded.

  His hand slipped to her knee, warm and slightly rough, probably from handling a motorcycle for hundreds of miles.

  “My friend Google also advised me that there’s a very nice lodge not too far from here. It sits on a river and contains a spa and a highly-rated restaurant among other things.”

  She looked down at her outfit. “I’m not dressed for a fancy dinner.”

  His hand smoothed slowly up her thigh, warm and sure. “I believe they offer room service.”

  She bit her lower lip. She was so seriously tempted. He saw the gesture and leaned forward, kissing her soft and slow.

  “You don’t have to be back until ten a.m. tomorrow morning,” he reminded her.

  “I haven’t even got a toothbrush.”

  “Bet they stock essentials at the hotel.” He kissed her again and she put her arms around him, pulling him closer.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Thank you for saving me from another night in the Mill Pond Motel.”

  Her eyes narrowed suddenly as suspicion hit her. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

  “Planned what?”

  “The dog sitter offers overnight service. You made sure Cleo had lots of food and water.” She leaned closer. “I bet you even have a reservation.”

  He put his hands back on the wheel and pulled away from the stop sign. “I neither confirm nor deny.”

  Maybe she wasn’t as unprepared as she’d let him believe. In her bag she’d tucked her traveling make up bag, which did, in fact, contain a toothbrush and other essentials. She’d also slipped in clean underwear because something about a drive in the country had suggested to her right away that Evan had more in mind than traipsing through a maze of corn.

  She’d heard of the lodge, of course, but for one reason or another had never been. She was excited to try the food and enjoy a spontaneous mini-break.

  They drove for another hour, talking a little, touching a little, all of it a subtle kind of foreplay.

  When they arrived, a smiling clerk greeted Evan by name and as she checked them in, said, “Your romance package is all set.” And she gave them directions to their room.

  “Romance package?” she muttered as she followed him down stone-paved hallways butting up to natural cedar walls.

  “You get a discount,” he whispered back.

  Which she very much doubted.

  When she entered the room she fell a little bit in love. Champagne was cooling in a bucket. A fruit and cheese plate sat by a window that looked out on natural gardens and beyond them the river. A king sized bed dominated one half of the room under soaring ceilings, on the other side of the room was a sitting area with a chaise lounge that invited a person to settle by the window and read.

  Everything about the room was eco-chic and definitely high end. When she peeked into the bathroom she almost cooed. A huge spa tub begged to be shared, granite and cedar dominated the room which was bigger than her third bedroom at home.

  “This is gorgeous,” she cried, throwing her arms around him and kissing him. “I don’t know what to do first. Walk by the river, settle into that oversized tub, or drag you straight into bed.”

  “There’s another option.”

  “What?”

  “The romance package includes a massage for two.”

  She l
aughed in delight. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “I’ve never had a massage for two. Have you?”

  “I have not and can’t think of anyone I’d rather try it with.”

  They booked the massage to begin in thirty minutes and then took that walk. He held her hand as they strolled on the crushed gravel path by the river. The sun was low and heavy in the sky and it glinted off the water that rushed by. She felt the warmth of Evan’s palm against hers while the promise of what was to come hovered around them like the light mist in the air.

  For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have a man like this in her life all the time. Someone surprising and spontaneous who was fun to be around and great in bed. But, she reminded herself, he was also a man on the run. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was running from or if he’d figured that out for himself. He could talk about bucket lists and boyhood dreams all he liked. She knew when a man was running. This one was going so fast he barely had time to glance over his shoulder and see if his demons were in pursuit.

  She could have told him they weren’t pursuing him, that his demons lived inside him and wherever he ran they’d tag along for the ride. But she didn’t. She was a general practitioner not a psychiatrist or a therapist. He’d have to figure it out on his own.

  “White water rafting,” he said so suddenly he yanked her out of her thoughts.

  “Hmm?”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t put white water rafting on my list when I was a kid. Who puts kiss girl in the rain on the list and doesn’t include white water rafting?”

  “The same guy who books the romance package in a hotel,” she said, teasing him but not really. She thought his list suggested a serious boy, somebody who was destined to go places but who’d never take the easiest route to get there, which had clearly turned out to be the case.

  “You’re saying I was a romantic at twelve?” He sounded disgusted.

  She leaned in, took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Yeah, I do. At twelve and at thirty-five.” She patted his cheeks. “You’re the kind of man who takes flowers into the nursing home for his old wife. And I bet you cry when your grandchildren get married.”