by Linda Seed
“I can’t do it anymore,” she said finally.
He cocked his head at her. “Do what?”
She gestured with a forkful of pasta. “The … the salads and the pound and the bathroom scale! What’s the point? I miss carbs.” She slurped the pasta into her mouth and moaned in pleasure.
Part of her thought that if she gained five pounds—or even ten—she’d be unworthy of love. But her love life hadn’t exactly been going gangbusters as it was, so what did she have to lose?
Nix might not want her anymore if he saw how monstrous her desires were, how deep that empty, gaping pit of her need. But he could help her fulfill some of those needs before that happened, couldn’t he?
As she ate more pasta, drank more wine, reached for a hunk of warm bread from the basket on the table, she realized he was smiling at her.
“You’re horrified,” she said. Because wasn’t that how everyone reacted to a woman finally feeding her hunger? Wasn’t that how people reacted to a woman fulfilling her desires?
“No,” he said. “No, actually. I’m charmed.”
He’d say that, wouldn’t he? They all claimed to find everything about you adorable—until the moment they left.
Nix was absolutely delighted by the sight of Joy in the throes of pleasure.
Of course he enjoyed it on the level that most guys would—one that suggested nudity and orgasms at some point in their relationship—but he also enjoyed it on a more basic human level.
She was, for the moment, happy, and he’d had a role in making her that way.
It was intoxicating.
He basked in the food, the wine, the view, and the atmosphere, but all of that paled in comparison with knowing that Joy was having a good time.
“Dessert?” he said when she’d finished her pasta.
She hesitated for just a moment. Then: “Oh … God, yes.”
By the time they left the restaurant, Joy was so full she could barely move.
Between that and the wine they’d shared, she felt more relaxed and at ease than she had in weeks—maybe months. Maybe even years.
“Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s take a walk. The Moonstone Beach boardwalk is what people come to Cambria to see.”
She’d seen it, of course—it had been one of the first places she’d visited when she’d come to town—but then, she’d been looking at the rocky coastline in the context of how it would show on Instagram. Now, she vowed to enjoy it for its own sake. She vowed to really see it for the first time.
The evening was mild as the sun eased toward the horizon. On the boardwalk, couples and families walked hand-in-hand, and dog walkers held leashes as their charges sniffed the plant life.
Joy saw the rough boards and wished she’d worn different shoes.
She struggled for a few yards, then Nix said, “Let’s go down onto the sand, and you can take off your shoes.”
“Good idea.”
They walked down a staircase to the beach, and Joy slipped off her shoes and felt the cool sand seep between her toes.
It was heaven.
She held the shoes in one hand and Nix’s hand in the other as their fingers intertwined. She reflected, just for a moment, on the simple joy of holding hands with a man.
“This is lovely,” she said as they made their way toward the waterline.
You’re lovely.
That had been the natural response to what Joy had said. But Nix sensed it wouldn’t be the right thing to say. How many men had complimented her on her looks? How many people had reinforced to her that her appearance was the only thing that mattered?
He resisted the temptation to be just another one of those guys.
“It is,” he said instead. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
Nix had grown up in Cambria and had seen Moonstone Beach thousands of times. But seeing it through Joy’s eyes made everything seem new.
“I’m wondering …” he said.
“Wondering what?”
“If it’s okay to kiss you.” He stopped and turned toward her with the ocean at his back.
She grinned, and the salt-scented breeze ruffled her hair. “Let’s try it and find out.”
There were so many things Joy could be worried about right now.
What if things between them went wrong? What if he made her life as his tenant miserable in some fit of spite? What if things got awkward and she kept running into him around town? What if he turned out to be so much less—so much more disappointing—than she expected? Or what if she liked him—really liked him—and he broke her heart?
Instead of thinking about any of that, she reminded herself to stay in the moment, feel the feelings, and enjoy what there was to enjoy.
He touched his lips to hers gently at first, tentatively, and then both of them sank deeper into the kiss, relaxing and opening to each other.
Had Joy thought the pasta was bliss?
This was so much better. So much more.
She put her hands on his shoulders, lifting up on her tiptoes to reach him better, and her entire body filled with liquid warmth as his mouth explored hers.
She realized she was making that same sound she’d made when she’d tasted the pasta.
“Wow,” she said when they parted.
Nix grinned. “A two-wow night. I must be doing okay.”
Chapter 16
How was your date? Amber texted the next morning.
Joy was lying in bed in the loft, looking at the early morning sky through the skylight.
Oh, my God. You should have tasted the pasta, Joy responded.
You ate pasta?!!
I did. I finished the whole plate, and then we had dessert. I’m going to hell.
A moment later, Amber responded: Why would you think you’re going to hell for eating pasta? It’s a meal, not murder.
It was a fair question. Why did Joy equate food with sin? Why did anyone?
What about Nix? Amber asked. Did you like him? Did you have fun? Are you going to see him again?
That was a harder question than just asking about pasta. Yes, she liked him. Yes, she’d had fun. As for whether she’d see him again? Men were strange, fickle creatures. Joy’s accuracy in predicting whether a first date would lead to a second one was notoriously poor. Dates she’d thought were disastrous led to ardent pleas for a follow-up, while others that she’d thoroughly enjoyed had been met with silence. Did she want to see Nix again? Yes. But did he share those feelings? He was a man. Who knew?
She tried to distill all of that into a succinct text message.
I had a good time, and I think he did, too. We’ll see.
Did anything happen? Amber asked.
On a first date? No! Joy said. We kissed, though.
Ooh! How was that?
How to answer? It had been lovely. Delicious. It had been hot and intriguing and had made her insides feel like warm butter.
Better than the pasta, she wrote.
Now that the grout in the bathroom at Otter Bluff had been applied, it was time to seal it.
The job required zero brain power, so Nix spent the time while he worked thinking about Joy.
She hadn’t been what he’d expected.
After the ice cream incident, he’d had some hope that she might let herself enjoy the evening, but there was no way to be sure. He figured there was at least some chance she’d go back to the self-denial of dry salad, which wouldn’t bode well for him.
Her blog post—the one about hedonism—had provided more hope.
The Joy he’d spent the evening with the night before had been an entirely different person than the uptight, snobbish woman he’d met when she’d first come to Cambria. He’d wondered if she was hiding under there someplace, and it turned out, she was.
Just add carbs.
If she was this much happier when she allowed herself a little pleasure, why would she ever go back to self-denial?
It was a balancing act, obviously. You couldn’t get so involved in indulging yourse
lf that you became self-destructive. But a little enjoyment here and there made all the difference, as he’d seen last night.
He wanted to see more of what happened when Joy was happy and having fun.
When Nix finished sealing the grout, he showered, dressed, and went to the market to work the afternoon shift.
Louise poked her head into the break room while he was tying on his apron.
“So? How’d it go?” She smiled expectantly.
“How did what go? Driving to work? Fine, thanks. I got here safely.”
She wadded up a hand towel she’d been holding and threw it at him. “Your date, doofus. How was it?”
“It was … interesting,” he said.
“Uh oh. That bad?”
“No. It was interesting good.”
“Oh.” She perked up. “So when are you going to see her again?”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
Louise’s eyes widened in alarm. “Tell me you at least called her or texted her. It’s after two!”
“Is there some sort of deadline that I missed?” he asked.
“Not yet, but it’s coming up.”
“I wish there was some kind of instruction book for these things,” he said.
“You don’t need an instruction book. You’ve got me.” She came closer to him and planted her feet, her fists on her hips. “Where’s your phone?”
He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her with some reluctance.
“Okay, let’s see …” Louise pulled up the texting app and found Joy’s name. Nix felt fortunate that he hadn’t texted anything personal to Joy—at least, not yet.
“What are you doing?” Nix asked, nervous tension in his voice. “Show me before you send anything.”
“Relax. I know what I’m doing.” Her thumbs moved over the screen as she typed.
“Seriously, Louise. Don’t send anything too—”
“Here.” She turned the phone toward him to show him the screen.
I had a really good time last night.
Well, that seemed harmless enough.
“Okay,” he said. “Send it.”
“Not yet. I’ve got to add some more stuff.”
“Louise—”
She typed, a look of smug satisfaction on her face, and showed him what she’d written.
I had a really good time last night. I can’t stop thinking about you.
Nix’s first reaction was to object that she’d gone too far. Then again, it was true, wasn’t it? He really hadn’t stopped thinking about Joy since he’d left her. Though, the text suggested something sexual, something prurient, and that wasn’t exactly true. Yes, he did find her attractive, and yes, the kiss had been phenomenal—the best he’d had in a very long time—but …
“Hello? Anyone in there?” Louise said, interrupting Nix’s thoughts.
“I just don’t want to be too pushy,” Nix said. “Or too … I don’t know … suggestive. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, or …”
“Have you been thinking about her?” Louise pressed.
“Well, yes, but—”
“Fine.” She pressed her finger to the screen, and he heard the tinny whoosh of a text being sent merrily to its destination.
“Wait! We were still talking about it!” Nix said.
She handed his phone back to him, smirking. “Too much talk. Not enough action.”
Joy had been going through her day trying not to think about Nix.
The date had been fine—better than fine—but she wasn’t about to get into that girly thing where she obsessed over whether he’d call, and when, and what he was going to say when he did, and what she was going to say in response, and all of the immature longing and insecurity that involved.
She’d done that enough times in the past to know it was counterproductive. It was also annoying as hell. So, she simply wouldn’t do it this time. Instead, she vowed to regard the date as a pleasant one-time occurrence that might or might not lead to an encore.
Either way, it was fine.
Having given herself that rousing pep talk, she was dismayed to find that her heart rate sped and she felt a peculiar tingle when his text came in.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her? Oh, God. That was just the kind of talk that, coming from a man who looked the way he did, was likely to get her into trouble.
She was standing in the produce section at the Cookie Crock—Cambria’s rival market to the one where Nix worked—one hand on her cart and the other on her phone as she reread his text.
Actually, she was probably making this thing more complicated than it needed to be.
There was no reason she shouldn’t be able to take things as they came, enjoying time with him without expectations and without her usual neuroses.
But that was a scenario for an ideal world, not the one in which Joy actually lived. In fact, she’d had too much real-life experience to assume this would be anything but disastrous.
Joy’s dating experience usually followed a pattern: A man would see her on Instagram or on YouTube and assume she was an easy lay because she’d posed in a swimsuit. He would take her out, make a move that was too much too soon, then treat her like shit when she said no. Or, alternatively, she might be attracted and lonely, and she might say yes. In that event, he would treat her like an object or, worse, an achievement he could show off to his friends. The moment she revealed herself emotionally in an honest and human way—the moment she admitted to frailties or insecurities—he would stop answering her texts and her calls.
Just because Nix seemed different didn’t mean he was.
Just because she’d had a nice time, too—just because she’d liked him—didn’t mean things with him would end any differently than they usually did.
So, where did that leave her?
She decided her best approach was to be open to more but not to reveal her own feelings, her own needs.
I had a good time, too, she texted him.
And that was enough for now. He didn’t need to know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, either.
Can we do it again sometime? he wrote.
We’ll see, Joy responded.
Don’t shut him down, but don’t let him get too cocky, she thought. Even if what she’d really wanted to say was, How about right now?
Chapter 17
The we’ll see meant Nix had to wait, and while he waited, he read Joy’s blog.
She posted almost every day, sometimes just a few sentences, and sometimes a long rumination on whatever was on her mind.
It occurred to him that his dating life would have been so much easier if every woman he’d gotten involved with had posted her thoughts and feelings as clearly and frequently as Joy did.
My past has made me believe that my only value is in how I look, she wrote, and that I owe it to people to be pretty. As though it’s my job. There has to be more than that.
Nix read the words at the kitchen table at Otter Bluff, a mug of coffee at his side. He’d just woken up, and he was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, his hair mussed.
Was that how Joy felt?
It was a significant revelation, and Nix found himself admiring her for having had it and also for being brave enough to go public with it. He wanted to know more—like what, exactly, had happened in her past to make her feel that way.
Not that anything had to happen, other than Joy being female in the world. Nix didn’t consider himself to be the most aware guy out there—he tried, but he was sure he was lacking in thousands of ways he didn’t understand—but even he could see that. Anybody who consumed American media for an hour could get a hell of a lesson in female beauty standards.
* * *
Being bombarded with that day after day, as a little girl and then later as a woman, had to screw with your head.
He thought of Joy eating her veggie patty and iceberg lettuce, angry and probably hungry, and it tugged at him.
Of course there was more to her th
an her appearance, and he wanted to find out exactly what. He wanted to learn her, read her like a textbook and absorb all of the complex and profound lessons she contained.
Part of it was curiosity. He’d always been curious about people, had always wanted to know what made them who they were. But part of it was just … Joy.
Unbidden, the image of her came to him—her eyes closed, her tongue running along a scoop of ice cream—and that alone was enough to make the blood rush straight to his nether regions.
It wasn’t about how beautiful she’d been at that moment—at least, not entirely. It was about the pure magic and wonder of watching someone experience a moment of bliss.
God, he wanted to see her again.
She had layers, and the more of them he uncovered, the more he wanted to delve into her.
And that thought wasn’t doing anything to relieve his current physical tension.
Ah, well. Nothing he couldn’t take care of himself temporarily, until he’d earned the real thing.
Joy knew the current direction her blog had taken was likely to ruin her career.
Nobody wanted revelations from her. They wanted what she’d always provided: pretty pictures of an aspirational lifestyle.
Blog views were down, Instagram hits were down, and income was down along with them. But this wasn’t just about money. This was about so much more. It was about figuring out where she was going from here with her life and who she was going to be when she got there.
She didn’t need money right away, anyway. Her condo had sold quickly, and that had given her enough cash that she could live in the tiny house—or somewhere else, when her lease was up—for a while without having to worry about it.
Joy would have to come up with a career plan eventually, but how could she know what she wanted to do when she didn’t know who she was?
She thought about all of that as she took a morning walk on Nix’s property. One thing she’d promised herself was that she wouldn’t take pictures—at least, none that she would post on social media. Any images she captured would be just for her. She wanted to experience the walk without the static of worrying how it would look to others. She wanted to bask.
