At Last

by Addison Fox

  She’d moved into her father’s office to take care of the business aspects of the brewery while he recovered. Her days started early so she could get to the rehabilitation facility for the afternoon, only to find her father’s progress slow and plodding.

  Yes, he’d had major surgery, and she wanted to be supportive and sympathetic. But she’d also seen other patients there—several much older than her father—who’d already achieved key milestones or, for one the day before, a discharge from the facility.

  He claimed he was healing and needed more time. That things hurt and the therapists didn’t understand him. Emma had listened to it all, trying so hard to be compassionate while gently pressing him toward little improvements each day. Even with her attempts at patience, they’d fought several times, her father’s belligerence the one thing that seemed to have returned straight back to normal.

  With a resigned sigh, she glanced back down at the requisition forms on the desk. She had only one more day with Nick—one final day unfettered by the seemingly insurmountable obstacle between them—yet here she was.

  She’d do what needed to be done, and then she’d swing by and see her father through another dismal afternoon. Turning her back on the bright, sunny Saturday morning, Emma reached for the stack before her and worked through the pages, one by one.

  The knock on the kitchen door pulled Louisa from her laptop. She did a quick save and closed the lid before crossing to the door and opening it, to find Dave on the other side. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  He’d stayed away since that night after the ballgame, the two of them sharing nothing more than an occasional wave between neighbors ever since. She’d missed him. Missed his companionship and funny outlook on things, and how nice it was to look over and see him sitting at her table.

  As he stood there, solemn and stoic on her doorstep, she tried not to stare, failing miserably as she drank him in. The military-short hair that sported light gray at the sides. Those warm, rich-brown eyes. His trim build, fit from so many years playing tennis.

  He was a simple man with a simple life. He’d been a history professor for years at NYU, moving into an apartment in the house next door after his wife died. He and Louisa had struck up a conversation one random morning, and moments later, she’d invited him over to Sunday dinner. It had been that easy—that simple—from the start.

  And then they’d kissed.

  Even with all the upheaval in her life—from Gretchen’s threats, to Landon’s checkout, to the run for borough president—that kiss had dominated her thoughts. He might have initiated it, but she’d wanted it more than anything she could remember.

  Her romantic life since Kincade had been limited. She’d dated occasionally through the years, at times more intensely than others. Dates were limited when the boys were in school, but once her nest had emptied, she’d found time for the whole mating ritual and even a few relationships. Each had been nice, but had drifted toward a necessary end a few months after they’d begun.

  And then Dave moved in.

  Emily had been pushing them together for years, but Louisa had always resisted. The man was a widower, and she never wanted to seem like the grasping, desperate neighbor next door. Add on her past, and something had always held her back.

  When she’d dated other men, she’d never felt the need to share stories about her past or her relationship with Kincade. It had just seemed like a distant memory that had no place in the present—no place in those casual relationships.

  Yet with Dave it felt different. Like not telling him would be a lie.

  So she’d avoided anything intimate, unwilling to retread those old pathways that still had the power to shame her.

  “It’s been quiet here. I’ve missed you.”

  “I needed a bit of time to think.” He stepped through the door into the kitchen. “A little time to clear my head.”

  “Of course.”

  “I saw your declaration for borough president.” His gaze roamed over her. “So you decided to run after all.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m glad. You’ll be great in the job.”

  “I need to win it first.” All the while hoping my decades-old dirty laundry doesn’t embarrass my family or turn off voters.

  “You’ll be a shoo-in.”

  “Dave—” She broke off as he moved in, her name at his lips.

  “Louisa. I—”

  “You first.”

  He took a deep breath, his chest puffing slightly as he took a moment. “Look, I’m sorry if I was too forward the other week. I didn’t mean to change the dynamics of our relationship or make you uncomfortable. It’s just . . .” He stilled before pushing on in a rush. “It’s just that I thought you’d welcome the moment, and I’m sorry by how poorly I misjudged.”

  Quiet descended once more between them as she searched for the right thing to say, struggling to come up with anything more coherent than a vague streak of babbling. How was it even possible that relationship issues were as challenging at sixty as they were at twenty? Wasn’t wisdom supposed to be worth something?

  In the end, she figured honesty was the best way to go.

  “I’m not sorry you kissed me.” Dave didn’t say anything so she continued, prepared to run the very real risk of babbling—and blubbering—all over him. “I loved that you kissed me and I wanted to kiss you back. But I’m not in a good place right now, and you deserve better than me.”

  “Better?”

  Concern replaced the apprehension that clouded Dave’s eyes, and he moved forward, taking her arm and leading her to a kitchen chair. “What’s going on? Because whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  The blubbering that threatened didn’t fully materialize, but she did dash away a lone tear before taking a deep breath. Once Gretchen went public, Dave would find out anyway. Might as well control the dissemination of information.

  Spoken like a true politician, Lou-girl. Spin, spin, spin.

  Only there wasn’t anything to spin as she took a deep breath and began her story.

  There was just the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A hard scream curdled in her throat as Emma stared straight down a long length of orange track. How the hell had Nick convinced her to get on this thing? There was no opportunity to ask as the Thunderbolt shot down its opening ninety-degree angle and straight on into a loop that had the ground disappearing beneath her.

  Nick’s shout was drowned out by the heavy whoosh of air, but no amount of aerodynamics could fully shut out the joy in his demented war cry as he whooped through the complete inversion of their bodies.

  The loop was followed by more hills, and topped off with a corkscrew that had her body slamming against the protective bars that rested over her shoulders. Thirty seconds later they pulled back into the roller coaster’s home base, and Emma pressed on the bars, staggering to her feet and off the car.

  Nick caught her from behind, his large arms wrapping around her waist as they marched with their throng of people toward the exit. The kids in the seats behind them were already talking of getting back in line for their next go-round.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Did you?”

  “I love that ride.” Nick’s enthusiasm was infectious, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh as they came out of the ride’s exit and headed for the midway.

  “How did you stand it? You’re a big man, and those shoulder restraints pressed down hard.”

  “I’ll endure any discomfort for a good roller coaster.”

  She smiled to herself as Nick took her hand in his, threading their fingers. The move was simple, natural, and oh-so-effortless, and she’d have endured ten more rounds on the Thunderbolt if each and every one ended with her hand wrapped in Nick’s.

  She’d needed this. Tonight. More than she ever would have believed possible, and somehow Nick had known. The busy morning at work and then a draini
ng afternoon with her father had dampened her day. But then Nick had called, told her to put on shorts and a T-shirt and a comfortable pair of sneakers, and be ready at seven.

  And then he’d brought her to Coney Island.

  The park had been refurbished while she was in Chicago, and it was nice to see the resulting throngs of people taking advantage of the open air, the amusements, and the general atmosphere of laid-back fun. This area of Brooklyn was so storied and historical—she could still remember her grandfather and grandmother talking about it—that it was wonderful to see it restored.

  They slowed in the throng of people strolling past the various games and food stands, taking their time. “Consider me surprised to discover yet another hidden facet of Nick Kelley. Football player. Neighborhood proprietor. And now I need to add daredevil to the list.”

  “Fender’s the real daredevil. But Landon and I have done our level best to keep up. Roller coasters, though . . .” Nick threaded them through a cluster of teenagers. “They’re all mine. The higher and faster, the better. Fender throws up, and Landon refuses anything that goes upside down, on principle.”

  Despite spending ninety seconds convinced she was going to die at any moment, she couldn’t resist tossing the jab. “Wimps.”

  “Definitely.”

  Nick’s gaze caught on a game, and he pulled her toward the booth. “You want to play?”

  “Isn’t it stacking the deck to play a game that requires you to pass a football through a hole?”

  “It’s not quite counting cards in Vegas, but I suppose I do have a bit of an advantage.”

  “Tell ya what . . . !” The barker saw their attention on the game, recognized he had a live wire, and quickly roped them in. His voice sprang out of the speakers like snakes out of a fake can of peanuts, the mix of excitement and huckster quickly drawing a crowd.

  “For former football star Nick Kelley, I’ll make a deal. Keep one hand behind your back, make all three throws in the top hole, and your lady gets the biggest prize I’ve got.”

  Nick eyed the board before leaning in to whisper in her ear. The soft brush of his breath warmed her, the sense of intimacy in such a public setting even more so. “Kiss me for luck.”

  She obliged, her lips finding his. The moment was the fulfillment of every teenage fantasy she’d ever had, and Emma gave herself a moment to simply soak it all in. Kissing her date on the midway at Luna Park. The warm scent of the ocean and the heightened sense of fun that screamed Coney Island on a warm summer night.

  A big cheer went up as Nick lifted his head at the end of the kiss. When he realized he had the attention of the growing crowd, he wiggled his eyebrows and bent his head once more to press another hard kiss to her lips. “A little extra luck to seal the deal.”

  The barker continued to shout into his microphone, the increasing crowd doing its part to keep attention and interest high. The man handed Nick the first ball, his admonishment clear: “One hand behind your back.”

  Nick nodded, his attention focused on the hole.

  And tossed the first ball clean through the large plank of painted wood.

  The barker grimaced slightly at the ease of Nick’s throw, but kept up his patter for the crowd. “That’s one, folks! Do you think he can get two?”

  The crowd shouted in response, a big round of cheers going up, and Nick looked down at Emma again. “Another kiss for luck?”

  “It worked so well the first time.” She lifted up to kiss him, this one more intense than the first. Once she’d moved aside, Nick kept his left hand behind his back and delivered the second ball through with the same clean margins as the first.

  “He’s determined, folks!” The barker gestured to the row of colorful bears, horses, and elephants making up the highest row of prizes in his booth. “Determined to win one of these big bears for his lady!”

  The crowd seemed to thrive on the moment, their collective goodwill pressing in on the booth from behind her. Emma marveled at the spirit of it all, the combined energy and excitement as much of a buoy to the moment as Nick’s skill.

  Was this what it was like to play in front of a stadium full of people? To have that adulation and excitement pressing in on you, cheering for you, and pushing you on? She wasn’t even the one throwing the ball, and she could feel the electricity that seemed to arc from the crowd straight toward them. Through them, almost.

  Nick angled his head toward the crowd before turning back to her. “Shall we go for three?”

  “Why stop now?”

  Nick bent his head, his lips on hers, when a loud boo surfaced from within the crowd. The sound was dark and discordant, at odds with the excitement around them. When she stepped aside once more, Emma heard it again, the heavy strains of someone wishing Nick would miss the third toss. A light frown edged Nick’s lips, but he focused on the shot, one hand behind his back as directed.

  Another hard shout erupted from the crowd as Nick released the ball, the shot wobbling as it cleared the board for the third time.

  “Winner, winner!” The barker gestured Emma closer, his patter slick and quick as he urged her to pick a prize. Emma saw his eyes were already on the crowd and his next mark, the impatient curl and recurl of his fingers on his microphone the sign that he wanted to get all those watchers lined up for the next round.

  Emma selected a green elephant with a dopey grin beneath its trunk, and hugged it close once the barker handed it over. The doll’s size was impressive, and she saw more than a few longing glances travel over the long trunk and big floppy ears. Nick thanked the barker, and the two of them headed off down the midway, leaving more than a few armchair quarterbacks and high school heroes itching to try their skills.

  “Nicely done, Kelley. Very smooth.”

  “I had to win a big prize for my best girl.”

  “Is this so you can butter me up and get me to go parking in your convertible?”

  “Is that an option?”

  She lifted on her toes and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “You know it.”

  The sweet scents of the midway pulled them on, and Nick pointed out a funnel cake stand a few yards down. “I think I’ve earned a heaping pile of fried dough smothered in powdered sugar. It’ll help me drown my sorrows that I don’t own a convertible.”

  They got in the line, and once more, that dark voice drifted on the wind. Instead of a loud boo, this time the man included a nasty barb. “Big deal for a professional football player to win on the football toss.”

  They turned to face the voice, along with everyone else in their line, and came face to face with the asshole from the seafood boil. Zach, Emma remembered.

  “I don’t believe it.” Nick muttered the words under his breath, but Emma had to agree with him. What were the odds, three times in a month? To the guy, he spoke up. “You got a problem, pal?”

  “I got a problem with you rigging the game! You can’t find something else to play fair and square?”

  “I played fair and square. Tossed three overinflated footballs through three too-small holes.”

  “You complaining?”

  “Stating a fact.”

  Nick’s body had gone stiff, and Emma was shocked when he shifted his stance to move in front of her, shielding her from Zach’s direct line of sight.

  “More whining from Brooklyn’s golden boy. Fucking silver spoon in your mouth. Gotta take from the rest of us.”

  Nick moved forward slightly before obviously thinking better of it. He squeezed her hand, gesturing with his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Zach’s cries followed them, but the man didn’t. Several people glanced at her and Nick as they walked toward the exit, but no one approached them. It was only when they cleared the boardwalk that Emma tugged on Nick’s hand to slow him down.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I didn’t want you anywhere near him.”

  “Okay.” She waited a beat, curious that he didn’t look at her.
“Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Nick kept up a brisk pace down Surf Avenue toward the subway station, and she struggled to keep up with his long strides.

  It was only when they came to a crosswalk that Nick seemed to come back to himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll slow down.”

  “He’s not following.”

  “No, but his words are.” Nick took the elephant from her, tucking it beneath his arm before taking her hand. “I hate that shit. The silver spoon stuff. People make assumptions, and sometimes they hit close to home.”

  “He’s not worth the worry.” Emma’s hand tightened around his. “Do you think he’s following you?”

  “I don’t. But if he keeps showing up in the same places, maybe I need to rethink how original I am with where I take you on dates.”

  “Good point.” The light changed and they crossed the last few blocks to the Stillwell Avenue station. “Were those holes really too small?”

  “On the game?” He nodded. “Sure were.”

  “You could see that?”

  “Immediately.”

  “Were you worried you couldn’t make the shot?”

  He gestured her into the station, repositioning the elephant under his arm. “Sure. But you always worry about making the shot. Doesn’t mean you don’t take it.”

  Emma figured that statement basically summed up Nick Kelley in six short words, but she held the observation back, afraid to mar the simplicity of his words with too much meaning.

  Their train pulled into the station as they reached the platform, and they climbed on with the throng of others leaving Coney Island.

  When Nick had suggested Luna Park earlier, she’d laughed, unable to imagine him in an amusement park. Now that she’d seen him there, she knew she’d never forget it. The years had fallen away for a while, and they were just two kids exploring the park, riding the rides, and sneaking kisses on the midway.

  Aside from Zach’s arrival at the end, the night had been magic—a perfect end to the two weeks she’d asked for. Every memory was imprinted on her soul, wrapped in gossamer threads, yet in easy reach whenever she might need them.