Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  “Not bad, Professor.” Her voice trembled. Could he guess how affected she was by a simple kiss? It hadn’t felt simple. She searched for a way to regain her footing. “Have you decided what you’re going to paint?”

  Peeling himself off her, he harrumphed. He pulled his glasses out of his side pocket, slipped them on, and looked over the rail. “You got me all distracted, and I dropped the can.”

  A wave of happiness coursed through her. He wasn’t as unaffected as he sounded. She pushed off the steel tank and joined him at the rail, her knees shaky. Had a kiss ever made her knees weak? She had assumed that was reserved for fairytale heroines.

  “We could climb down and back up.”

  “Nah.” His smile lit him from the inside out as he shuffled a hand through his hair. “We got close enough. Anyway, after tonight, I need to draft that addendum. I have the feeling we won’t make it back around to climbing water towers.”

  A half-moon had risen over the trees, and she stared into the distance. “Will our kiss change anything?”

  Chapter Nine

  Their kiss changed everything.

  His new list would include kissing her lips along with a subset of every body part he could name and a few he couldn’t. He’d have to pull out his Gray’s Anatomy book for a complete breakdown. Once he got past kissing her, there were about a hundred other things he wanted to do to her—with her. The amount of self-control he’d exerted over his body had been worthy of a medal. Forget the Purple Heart. Was there one for blue balls?

  He wouldn’t even pretend he hadn’t thought about her as a kissable woman since he’d moved back. It’s why he’d gone to the Rivershack Tavern, after all. Not to have sex with her, but to get to know her, discover if the girl he remembered lurked in the woman. She was there, but he was finding the tough, capable woman she’d grown into to be even more fascinating.

  In his arms though, she’d seemed vulnerable and a little uncertain. The combination had flashed warnings somewhere in the recess of his brain not focused between his legs. He would need to go slow. Woo her.

  “It was a simple kiss.” His white lie was for her benefit. What they’d shared hadn’t been simple. Not for him, and not for her either. He’d felt her trembles, sensed the same desperation he’d wrestled, but he didn’t want her avoiding him because she was uncomfortable or fearful at the intensity of his feelings. However, he wasn’t above using the pretense of this list to spend more time with her.

  They stood side by side. The silence was heavy and serious in contrast to their earlier teasing. A blanket of stars surrounded them, the moon providing slivers of soft light.

  “I love Louisiana nights. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken the time to be still and look up at the stars.” Her voice treaded softly between them. “There’s this clearing out by Uncle Del’s. On clear nights, I would go lie in the middle. All I saw were tree-framed stars. So many stars, yet each one was a little different. They made me feel big and small, unimportant and unique. I guess that sounds silly.”

  “Not at all. For centuries people have looked to the stars for answers.” He cleared his throat, cursing his distant, scholarly tone. Being a professor and getting lost in his books made him feel comfortable. It was the real world that intimidated him. “Some nights, when my mother couldn’t sleep because of the pain, I’d sleep outside. I’d stare into the sky and wish I could fly to another planet where I’d be special—you know like Superman.”

  Her hand slipped over his. He loosened his clutch around the rail, not feeling the bite of metal into his palm until she’d touched him. “I understand.”

  From someone else, it might have sounded like a platitude, but from her, the two words resonated in his chest as truth. “I wish I had spent more time with her at the end. Listened more, asked more questions. I see pictures and remember her, but I didn’t really know her. I should have tried harder.”

  “You were ten years old, Nash. Death should have been an abstract concept. You were confronted with it daily.”

  A confession he’d never spoken aloud, could hardly admit to himself clawed out of him. “Part of me was relieved when she died.”

  He dropped his face into his shoulder, away from her. The decades-old shame roiled to the surface as if it had been yesterday. His lungs squeezed, refused to process the air he sucked in through his mouth. From far away, he heard her voice, but couldn’t distinguish the words through the buzz in his ears. He dropped to his knees and pulled the backpack toward him. He’d been through the routine enough not to panic. He wasn’t in danger of dying. His attacks weren’t that severe.

  He fumbled in the side pocket and took a pump from his inhaler. The bands around his chest fell away, but his heart still knocked against his ribcage like he’d been jumping rope. She’d joined him on her knees, her hands held out as if she was scared to touch him but wanted to. Her eyes were huge and fathomless.

  “I’m all right.” He sounded bereft of air.

  “You scared me.” Now she did touch him. She grabbed onto his arms and pulled him into a hug, both of them on their knees. One of her hands dropped to his chest, covering his heart. “Could you have died if you hadn’t had your inhaler? What if you’d dropped it?”

  “I wouldn’t have died. Maybe passed out. Probably would have been awkward to call 911 considering we’re up here illegally.” His voice was jokey, but she didn’t respond in kind.

  “We should go.” Her voice was soft but firm and slightly chilled. “You need to rest.”

  Had his reprehensible confession repulsed her? What kind of person felt relief when someone died—especially a parent? Deciding some things were better dealt with alone and in his nightmares, he shoved any evidence they’d been there into the backpack.

  After a brief argument about who would go first, he led the way down the ladder. If she fell, he would catch her. The attack had been relatively mild, and he was fully recovered. Her over-solicitous tone and manner rankled. It reminded him too much of Aunt Leora’s coddling during his childhood.

  Back in the Defender, they didn’t talk, the rumble of the engine filling the silence. He swung the truck around in a U-turn and headed back to the main road. With the break in the trees signaling the road was ahead, a set of headlights cut into the cab, making him squint.

  The track was only wide enough for one vehicle, so they were stuck playing chicken until the two vehicles closed the distance to six feet. The red and blue lights on top of the car flashed once, but no siren sounded. Nash cut his headlights off and rolled down his window, but kept the engine running. An officer got out of the car and adjusted his gun belt.

  “You know him?” Nash asked Tally.

  “Wayne Berry, the sheriff. Decent guy in normal circumstances.”

  The officer kept them pinned with his headlights and flipped on a Mag flashlight on his walk to Tally’s side of the truck. He shined it into the cab, blinding Nash like the flash of a camera, before directing the circle of light to the ground. He knocked on the window and Tally lowered it.

  “Well, now. If this isn’t the darnedest truck I’ve ever seen. And, Tally Fournette. Who’s your friend, here?” Wayne looked to be fortysomething and even though his voice was stern, Nash could tell the man was more used to smiling than not.

  “Nash Hawthorne.” Nash held out his hand, his arm brushing across Tally’s breasts. Wayne transferred the flashlight to his left hand and reached in for a firm shake.

  “You Ms. Leora’s boy?” The man’s gaze was curious but not suspicious.

  “Her nephew, yes. I’m teaching up at the college come fall.”

  “I was expecting to find some teenagers out here setting off fireworks or defacing property. Don’t tell me you’ve been up to no good.”

  “Depends on what you consider no good, Wayne.”

  “Painting the water tower? Don’t you think you’re a little old for that?”

  She laid a hand on Nash’s thigh. His muscle jerked, and she squeezed, her fingern
ails biting.

  “Nash and I were … well, you know how it is.” Tally’s drawl was sugared.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wayne cleared his throat, looking as if he wanted to teleport back to the station. “You’ll need to find somewhere else to … This is parish land, you understand. Technically you’re trespassing.”

  “We were headed home. You can drive on down to check that nothing was disturbed.” She leaned against Nash, her hand inching up the inner seam of his shorts. “Can’t you let us head on and pretend you never saw us? No one knows Nash and I are … you know.”

  Wayne bobbed his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sure thing, Tally. But stay off parish land, you hear?”

  “Will do. Thanks, Wayne.” She called out as the officer retreated to his patrol car and backed up the track.

  Nash swiveled toward her, putting their faces only a few inches apart over the narrow console. She’d only said all of that to get them out of a mess. One kiss—albeit a very long, seductive, mind-numbing one—did not mean they were actually dating. No matter what she’d told Heath and now Wayne.

  The sight of her tongue darting along her lower lip made him want to make it two long kisses. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her mouth. Her white teeth pulled at her upper lip, letting it go slowly as if she were tormenting him on purpose.

  The mouth moved, her words knitting themselves together in his disheveled mind. “Wayne’ll wait out at the main road. We’d better get on.”

  He cleared his throat, gathering himself before shifting into drive and flipping his headlights back on. She was right. A police car sat on the shoulder of the road and gave them a toot. He gave Wayne a wave out his window and got them headed back to town. The road was deserted. She didn’t settle back into her seat. Her hand stayed on his leg, her head against his shoulder.

  He snaked his arm around her, and she tucked herself under his chin as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Keeping his eyes on the road, he dropped his face enough to feel her hair against his lips and smell the wildflower scent of her shampoo.

  The miles passed too fast even though he puttered along like his aunt. Both sides of town were deserted. A few pieces of litter and the flatbed truck remained as evidence of the festivities. He pulled up behind her car, not sure what his play should be. She didn’t move from his side, but splayed a hand over his chest.

  “Relief that someone is out of pain or even relief that your life doesn’t revolve around someone else’s sickness isn’t anything to feel guilty about, Nash. It’s natural. Especially for a ten-year-old kid. It’s okay to let that go now.” She rubbed circles over his heart.

  His shame melted. It didn’t disappear exactly, but receiving Tally’s absolution had changed its form into something more manageable, something that didn’t dominate. He couldn’t say whether it was her words or the warmth in her voice, or maybe just her. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

  She brushed a kiss against his cheek, scooted to the door, and hopped down before he could move. He swung out, calling over the roof of the cab. “Tallulah—”

  “I’ll see you later, Professor. You come on by the gym soon, if you want, and we can talk about the rest of your list.”

  He prayed he wasn’t imagining the flirty tease in her voice. She was in her car and out of sight before he could reply. He slid back in the truck and headed in the opposite direction to his little cottage. Unspent arousal, the disintegration of a decade-old guilt, and a letdown feeling at how abruptly the evening had ended made for an uncomfortable mix.

  Tomorrow he’d promised Regan he’d work on the gazebo. She wanted it ready well ahead of the festival, which was under two months away. While he’d grumbled about Regan calling in an old debt, he didn’t really mind helping out. It kept him from moldering away with his books. The gazebo would be simple compared to the architecture of medieval Europe.

  He approached the gingerbread guesthouse and suppressed a shudder. Thank goodness this was a temporary stop. Whenever he’d pictured his future, the river was the only constant. He wanted to be able to see it, hear it, touch it.

  His long-term plans included a cabin on the river, preferably the Louisiana side. His aunt didn’t understand his fascination with the river, but every morning, she handed over the paper already opened to the real estate listings.

  He went through his usual routine before slipping between the sheets naked and grabbing a book. Words had always brought him comfort. The characters seemed more real to him than the people around him sometimes, and growing up, they’d been his only friends. But, tonight, he couldn’t concentrate.

  What was Tally doing? Was she in bed thinking about him? Damn, he hoped so. He slapped the book shut and turned out the light. What should they tackle next on the list? Skinny-dipping? He imagined water sliding over her bare skin and his hand following in its path. Getting her naked seemed presumptuous and not part of his slow-woo plan. He should take her to dinner first. Dinner and dancing and then skinny-dipping.

  The truth was he would be happy sitting on the end of a dock with their feet in the water doing nothing as long as he was with her. The acknowledgment of how far gone he was settled his restlessness. It wasn’t that the knowledge didn’t scare him. It did. But it also felt inevitable. The feeling was something he’d carried with him since before he could remember. He was meant to love Tallulah Fournette.

  * * *

  The next morning he backed his truck up to the blackened ground surrounding the charred remains of the last gazebo and the frame of the new one. His truck bed was full of two-by-fours and assorted tools. Studying a copy of the design, he figured he could finish the bottom and the bench seats on his own, but would need an extra set of hands with the roof.

  The humidity made it difficult to take deep breaths. A solid two hours of work yielded a half-complete octagonal floor. He took a glance around. A Sunday morning meant the shops were closed and most people were at church. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Sweat dried in the slight breeze, cooling him. He got back to work, kneeling on the flooring with a nail gun.

  A knocking sound had him looking up. Tally leaned against one of the support posts, holding two cans of Coke. She was in workout gear, a tank top, shorts, and tennis shoes, her hair in a sweeping, high ponytail.

  “Need a break?”

  He put down the nail gun, pushed safety glasses to the top of his head, and stood, his back popping. “You must be psychic.”

  He took a sweating can and held it to his forehead before popping the tab. Half was gone before he came up for air, the cold burn like heaven.

  “Here, take this one too. You need it more than I do.” She held out the second can. He took it and sat on part of the finished flooring in the shadow cast by his truck, his feet over the edge. She joined him, drawing circles in the dirt with the toe of her shoe.

  “I thought the gym didn’t open until this afternoon?” He squinted up at the sky where the sun was almost directly overhead.

  “It’s almost noon, and I needed to work up costs for this thing Sawyer wants me to do for the festival.” She sounded strange, and he tried to catch her expression, but all her concentration seemed focused on the movement of her foot in the dirt. Maybe their kiss had changed things—and not for the better.

  “Are you okay?” He touched her arm.

  “I’m totally and completely fine. Seriously. No problem.” She drew out the word ‘no,’ popped up, and backed away from him. “I saw you and you looked … hot.” Her gaze dropped to his chest and stuck there.

  She was checking him out—again. Relief and a stab of arousal quickened his heart. Maybe he should move straight to skinny-dipping. “Listen, how about we—”

  “Nash! Oh, Nash, where are you?” His aunt Leora’s singsong voice wavered over the clearing. Could he hide and pretend he hadn’t heard her? He wasn’t a kid anymore.

  He stepped from behind the shadow of his truck. “Ov
er here.”

  His aunt approached in the same low-heeled pumps she always wore. He wondered if she’d bought them in bulk in the 1980s. Her flowery cotton dress was also a leftover from a bygone era, but nothing beyond burning all her clothes to cinders would get her to shop at one of the trendy boutiques springing up in Cottonbloom. She was holding onto a woman with blonde hair and a red dress, pulling her along by the arm. “Nash, you remember Bailey, don’t you? She was in your class at school.”

  His stomach tightened and performed a series of backflips. It was the same feeling he’d battled every morning before school. He pulled his glasses out of a side pocket of his cargo pants and slipped them on, the two women coming into sharp focus.

  Bailey was still pretty in a Miss Mississippi–pageant kind of way, although her excessive makeup seemed to be sliding south in the heat and her skin had an unnatural orangey glow. How could he forget her when she’d haunted his nightmares for months?

  “Of course. How have you been, Bailey?” He forced an unaffected smile.

  “Just wonderful. Miss Leora has been talking up a storm about you. A professor at the college she said, and working on a book.” Her smile never broke form, making her look like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

  “The church is having their annual summer picnic Saturday.” His aunt stared at him. He knew exactly what she was up to. In addition to waving the real estate section in his face, she had taken to introducing him to eligible women from her church at every opportunity.

  “That sounds hot, but fun, I’m sure.”

  “Bailey is known for her potato salad,” his aunt said.

  Everyone stood in silent anticipation while another cryptic look was aimed at him from his aunt as if “potato salad” was code for something else entirely. Nash wasn’t interested in her potato salad or anything else she had to offer.