by Trisha Telep
Zoe felt the warmth of satisfaction sink down all the way to her bones.
Maybe the storm had finally done something right.
Zoe didn’t want to open her eyes, not when she was so warm and comfortable in bed. She heard purring in stereo and sleepily realized the kittens were perched on her stomach. But it was the aroma of coffee that woke her up.
“Is madam ready for her breakfast?”
She dislodged the kittens and shot up in bed. She clutched the covers against her breasts as she stared at Jon at the end of the bed. He held a mug of heavenly smelling coffee in one hand, using the other to waft the lovely aroma in her direction.
She blushed and kept the comforter tight against her. While she knew he’d seen everything there was to be seen, she still felt a bit shy.
“Here.” He handed her the mug then walked over to the closet. He returned with her robe and laid it across the bed. “I can’t make fancy omelets like you, but I can scramble up some mean eggs.” He leaned over to kiss her. What started out as a light kiss quickly deepened. He plucked the mug out of her hand and set it on the nightstand, while she shooed the kittens off the bed.
“You’re right,” Jon muttered, following her under the covers and shedding his clothes. “Breakfast can wait.”
“I didn’t say that.” She kissed him again.
“I can read your thoughts.” This time he rolled onto his back and drew her over him. “Umm, I like this.” He raised his head to kiss her again. “I could do this for ever.”
Zoe couldn’t control the laugh that escaped. “If I remember my basic sex education, you require some downtime, so to speak,” she snickered.
“OK, that’s it!’
She shrieked as Jon started tickling her ribs.
“No!” She wailed and laughed at the same time as she tried to avoid him, but he cut her off each time. Then her laughter drifted off to soft moans as his tickling fingers turned to sensual strokes.
Zoe couldn’t remember a time when sex included mirth; when she looked at her partner and felt as if they were on the same wavelength. And like before, she felt as though she were being shot out into the universe, with Jon right there beside her.
“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were a dream come true,” she said, collapsing back against the pillows, Jon cradling her in his arms.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been rubbing old lamps or wishing on a star,” he teased, pulling up the comforter a second before Tic and Toe pounced on him. Tac was playing with strands of Zoe’s hair.
“No.” She wondered if it was a good idea to tell him that there were days she felt as if she’d turn into one of the cranky, lonely old ladies the local kids made fun of. “But I woke up the other day wishing I had someone here with me. And that night, you showed up.” She idly ran her fingertips down his arms, relishing the warmth of his body around her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this protected.
“Do you believe in destiny?” Jon asked quietly.
“I do now.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
She stilled, not daring to hope he was serious. “I never did before.”
“But now you do.” He shifted until she faced him. “I stumbled in here like some kind of drowned rat. Or maybe a horror-movie idea of a serial killer. But you weren’t afraid.”
Zoe touched his face, relishing the roughness of his skin. “Maybe I instinctively knew the storm brought you to me.”
They were silent as they listened to the rain drumming on the roof.
“Do you mind that we’re doing things backward?” he asked. “What I mean is, once the rain’s over, I want you to come into town with me, we’ll go out to dinner, maybe a movie. And later, when you feel you know me better . . .” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t dare voice the words that rang loud and clear inside their heads.
Zoe felt a burst of happiness. “I already know you better and, yes, I do believe in love at first sight. But only where you’re concerned.”
Jon settled back against the pillows. “Once the rain has tapered off and the road is passable, I’ll call for a tow truck.” He studied her face. “You can do your work anywhere, right?” He looked hopeful. “We’ll pack up whatever you need, kittens included, and I’ll introduce you to town life.”
She nodded, not daring to hope he meant what he said, but she saw the sincerity written on his face. Jon loved her. And she had to admit she loved him.
“Yes, when the rain stops. But for now . . .” She reached under the covers. “Hmm, I’d say you’ve had plenty of recovery time.”
Moments later, they were so involved with each other they didn’t hear the rain sheeting the windows or the thunder rumbling overhead. They knew they wouldn’t be bored waiting for the storm to end.
Epilogue
“Poor guy. Between the wet road and all the rocks in this ditch, he didn’t have a chance.” The patrol officer peered through the broken truck window at the man slumped over the steering wheel. “Looks like his neck broke when the truck hit the bottom.” He shook his head and pulled open the door to dig for the man’s identification. “These winter storms always take victims. Remember last month when we found Zoe Daniels in her backyard? She was struck by lightning. A real shame. She was a nice lady. She shouldn’t have died alone. Do you know that the kids around here claim they see her ghost inside the house sometimes? And the candles flickering? We even found pet food dishes in the kitchen, but she never had any pets.” He rolled his eyes as he studied the contents of the wallet. “His ID says he’s Jon Reynolds out of Crescent Hollow.”
“Look at his face,” his partner commented. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’s smiling.”
The officer spoke into his shoulder mic and requested a tow truck and a coroner’s wagon.
“Maybe he found something to make a senseless death worthwhile then.”
>>>--4EVR--->
Holly Lisle
Mike looked out into the sea of faces staring up at him, took a deep breath and turned to the newlyweds. Time to wrap up his toast. “So, for you, my best friend, and your beautiful bride, I wish long life, great joy, and every day better than the day before.” He looked straight at Brandon, added, “You’ve earned it,” and tipped his glass.
Against the background of applause, the clinking of glasses all around the estate’s reception hall, and the shouts of “Cheers!”, the groom managed a weak smile. Mike watched his friend link arms with Lauren – truly one of the most beautiful women Mike had ever seen – and drank from his glass like it was the ocean that would rescue him from a terrifying shore.
Four years earlier, Brandon had weathered the tragedy of his first wife’s death only weeks after they were married, and two years after that, the humiliation of abandonment by his second wife (along with her theft of more than $50,000) while they were on their honeymoon. Mike hoped with all his heart that Lauren would give Brandon happiness and love.
But he had grave doubts. Lauren seemed to him like a classic gold-digger, and Brandon, ever the hopeful romantic, had refused a prenup. Brandon had had no doubts – or at least he hadn’t before the wedding.
So Mike kept his mouth shut. His own track record with love was a nightmare. He would have bet his life, his honor and everything he owned that TJ, the only woman he’d ever loved, had been the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.
Five years ago, he’d been proven wrong. He was still trying to understand what had happened.
At least Brandon had made it as far as marriage – and Brandon’s first wife had really loved him. Maybe Lauren would, too.
But the past was the last place Mike wanted to revisit on what was supposed to be a happy occasion for his friend and, as the best man, he had work to do. After the dinner, filled with laughter and loud stories all along the wedding party’s table, he watched bride and groom step out onto the dance floor for the first dance.
Then he headed outside to make sure the idiots
with shoe polish and streamers hadn’t defaced the antique Rolls-Royce Phantom that Brandon had chosen for the honeymoon getaway. Mike needed to find a way to snap out of his funk. Weddings were difficult. The three he’d been to since T. J. took off – all three Brandon’s – just made him miss her more.
Out in the cold and quiet, Mike felt better.
The bright sun, the sharp bite of the icy air, his breath streaming away in clouds – all reminded him that life went on, and he did, too.
He trudged across the snow-glazed lawn to the estate’s enormous garage, unlocked the side door to make sure the car was pristine, then locked up after himself when he was sure it was. Everything was fine.
Until he turned around to head back to the reception hall, and lost his breath.
TJ stood in the shadows at the side of the garage, watching him.
He couldn’t believe it.
Five years. He’d tried to find her for five years, had waited for any message, any news, any explanation. Not a single word. Then suddenly there she was, leaning in the corner, dressed too lightly for the weather, with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
He felt like someone had nailed his feet to the ground. He couldn’t move toward her, and he couldn’t move away. “TJ?”
“Could you take me home?” she asked.
He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to race to her, pick her up and hold her close, kiss her, yell at her for running away.
But.
Five years.
The distance between the two of them couldn’t be measured in feet and inches, and it couldn’t be crossed by a few desperate steps.
He wasn’t sure he could get past the abyss of pain and loss that lay between them.
But he could take her home. She looked half frozen.
“Decided not to crash the wedding?”
She shook her head. “I have to talk to you, Mike. But not here. Not here. Can you take me home?”
“Yes. Of course.” According to her parents, she’d run off with some rich guy from Argentina. Mike had never believed that and, standing there looking at her, he still didn’t believe it. But she’d dumped him without an explanation, without an apology, and the first words out of her mouth five years later were asking for a favor.
She looked scared. He was supposed to drive Brandon and Lauren to the airport, but this was TJ, and one of the other groomsmen could take them. This was TJ, and Brandon would understand.
“I’ll get my coat and tell one of the groomsmen to take over for me, and we’ll get out of here. C’mon with me, wait inside where it’s warm. This will just take a second, and no one will mind if you crash the reception. Besides, Brandon will be relieved to know you’re all right.”
She gave him an odd look. “I . . . can’t.”
He sighed. She’d always been funny about going where she hadn’t been invited. “I’ll be right back. Don’t. Move. Promise?”
She nodded.
He raced back to the reception hall, and nearly ran over Brandon, who looked pale and panicked. Brandon said, “I thought you’d ditched me, man. I need the car. Drive me to the airport, will you? Hell, let’s both just swear off women. I have all the damn tickets with me. We can go to Aruba, drink ourselves stupid, and do things we’ll both regret that don’t involve getting married.”
“I’m getting my coat now,” Mike said. “What happened?”
“I walked in on Lauren screwing her mother’s husband in the men’s room.”
“The twenty-year-old gigolo is that harpy’s husband? Damn. If you’re ready to go right now, I’ll take you as far as the airport.” He put on his coat.
Brandon’s face fell. “You can’t come?”
He shook his head. “Ten minutes ago I would have been grateful for the vacation. But TJ’s back,” Mike said. “She told me she has to talk to me. Has to tell me something important.”
He caught the look of shock on Brandon’s face, and nodded. “Yeah. You look like I feel.”
Brandon slowly shook his head. “No. Not quite. I don’t know what’s going on out there. I don’t know what you think she’s going to tell you that’s going to make everything all right. But I’m not the idiot who still keeps believing in that . . . that bitch. I’m the one who remembers the last five years. TJ ditched you, man. Left you to chase after her, and all this time she didn’t spare a single minute to get a single word to you. She broke your heart. I’ve been watching you bleeding for her for five years. You can’t take her back. She doesn’t deserve you.”
Mike set his jaw. “I’ll go with you as far as the airport. TJ’s riding with us.”
He headed out the side door, ignoring the uproar from the wedding guests behind him.
Brandon didn’t say anything else. He just followed.
Mike set a fast pace across the lawn, saw TJ standing in the corner and, at the same instant, heard Brandon yell, “Mike! Behind you. The Argentinian!”
And everything went dark.
Mike woke up to grey, bleak light angling into his bedroom from the wrong direction.
TJ, he thought, as he pushed his way out of the confusion of sleep. TJ. And the Argentinian.
And Brandon. Hell, poor Brandon. He could really pick them.
Mike got out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom, trying to remember how he got home.
Had Brandon driven him?
No. He vaguely remembered driving himself home. But there had been things before that. Police cars all over the estate grounds, dogs searching, Brandon telling the police about the man who’d attacked his best friend, and about the girl who’d been with that man.
He stared at himself in the mirror, and for a moment the brilliance of the light almost blinded him. He blinked a few times, thinking about TJ and wondering what the hell she’d been up to, while he waited for the light to die down to manageable levels.
Concussion, he thought, and was rather proud of himself for figuring that out. But the horrific headache would probably have been a better clue.
He looked about like he felt.
So he took a shower, and stood under the warm water with his eyes tightly closed, just so the intermittent halos of impossibly brilliant light around his field of vision couldn’t make his headache any worse. He followed the shower with an aspirin and acetaminophen chaser and some coffee, on the theory that enough caffeine could fix anything.
Because he had to find TJ.
She’d come to the reception to talk to him. She’d been scared, and no matter what Brandon told the police, there was no way she would ever try to hurt him, or help someone else hurt him.
Coffee downed, he went to get dressed.
It was while he was digging through his dresser drawers for socks and underwear that he discovered TJ had left him a message.
He’d drawn TJ on their first date. The picture was a sketch on a napkin, done quickly to capture that moment. Now it lay on top of his dresser, still in the sandwich bag he’d given her so she could save it without it getting ruined.
Knowing that she’d kept it, even after she ran off, gave him some comfort, but also raised a question he couldn’t answer.
How had it come to be in his room?
He turned it over.
On the back of the napkin, which had been unmarked when he put it in the bag years before, he found a note pencilled in her unmistakable angular script
Waiting for you. Come find me.
TJ
+
MK
>>>--4EVR--->
He knew where she’d be waiting.
He pulled on his winter coat and heavy boots and ran out into the snow.
The cicadas droned. Even in the shade, the afternoon was breathlessly hot. TJ, nineteen, sprawled on the heavy blanket she’d brought for their picnic, her thin cotton blouse sticking to her skin, her blue-jean shorts showing off long tanned legs.
“I have the supermarket job just to keep money coming in while I get the band together,” she told him.
&nb
sp; He lay across from her on the blanket, hot and sticky in T-shirt and khaki shorts, feet bare after he’d shed sneakers and socks. He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with him, and the fact that she’d packed the picnic for the two of them was a thrill.
They worked at the same grocery store. She cashiered; he bagged and stocked shelves. He’d had the job a year longer than she had, and he was doing it to afford canvases and paints and brushes and thinner. His folks – less than happy with his career path – were nonetheless letting him live in the room above the garage rent-free until he was making enough from his painting to rent his own place.
TJ wasn’t so lucky. “My parents keep saying, ‘If you don’t go to college, you’ll never amount to anything,’” TJ told him. “But I’m a good musician. I sing. I play acoustic and electric guitars like I was born to them. I write good songs. I can do this. If I fail, then I’ll go to college. But not now. Not yet.”
“I had to explain the same thing to my mom about painting. My folks aren’t too bad,” Mike told her. “My mom wants me to have something dependable, so she’s still against me trying to make a living with my artwork. My dad built his own business, though, so he sort of understands. Not the art part of it, but about me needing to pursue my own dreams and be my own boss.”
“You’re lucky. I’m an embarrassment to my parents. My brother is in law school. One of my sisters just graduated med school and is starting her internship. My other sister is working on her MBA. All of them got scholarships, all of them went through school and college with insane grades. None of that ever mattered to me – I couldn’t make myself care. And the careers they’re going after would eat me alive.” She rolled her eyes.
“I try to explain about the music to my mother and father, and it’s like I’m walking around with FAILURE tattooed on my forehead. I want music. Need it, like I need to breathe. And all they can talk about is me being the one who’s going to get into booze and drugs and end up pregnant and strung out and living on the street, whoring to survive. That isn’t who I’ve ever been. Why would I become that in the future?”
