The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  “Your work really is exquisite.”

  Layla sounded so genuine that I had to look at her face to make sure she was serious. Sure enough, she was gazing at her daughter’s bedroom walls in amazement, her mouth hanging open. I had to admit, I’d outdone myself. The whimsical mural was mind-boggling. The waves on the sea swirled with greens and blues, the fairies were intricately detailed, and the forest at the opposite end of the room appeared dense and mysterious. It was my best work, ever.

  I’d come in early this morning to finish, hoping to complete the mural before Layla returned from shopping in Spokane. No such luck. She’d breezed in about two hours before I’d expected her, dropped her bags on the floor, then spun in a circle, taking it all in. Her expertly-waxed eyebrows were raised so high on her face that they nearly blended with her hairline.

  I waited for her to say something about my outburst at the firehouse the night before. Surely, she’d heard about it. Her father had been on the other side of the door when I’d referred to her as the town bicycle. I’d waited all night for something—anything—to happen as a result of my public outburst. But minute after minute had passed, ticking into hours, until I’d fallen asleep, fully clothed, at one in the morning.

  Instead of ripping me to shreds for declaring my love to her boyfriend, Layla grinned, looking from the walls, to me, then back again. “This is amazing. You’re really gifted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My parents were so thrilled by it that they brought Mayor Driscoll and his wife over to see it.” Her eyes sparkled. “You should expect more requests for your work.”

  If I got more work painting, I could pay for Elliott to take cello lessons again. I pressed my hand to my chest. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

  Layla shocked me by pulling me against her in a tight hug. “I have an idea. Thank you for making it so beautiful.”

  We pulled apart, and she handed me a check for a hundred dollars more than the price we’d agreed on, then flipped open her buzzing phone. While she talked, I gathered my brushes, relieved. I’d managed to finish the mural, get paid, and avoid any further embarrassment.

  I did wonder where Henry was, and why he hadn’t called me. Maybe I had freaked him out. Maybe I’d pushed him too far. Maybe he really did like Layla more than me. My stomach pitched. The idea that Henry didn’t want me made me feel like curling into a little ball in the corner.

  Layla snapped her phone shut and faced me. “Take your time cleaning everything up. There’s no rush.”

  “Okay,” I replied, pulling down some painter’s tape.

  Layla grinned at me and turned on her stiletto heel. “I’m headed out for a while. You can lock up when you’re done. Thank you for the wonderful mural.”

  “My pleasure.” I sighed happily, and started to roll up the drop cloths.

  I cleaned for a while in contented silence. My thoughts wandered back to Henry standing outside the firehouse. I had pitched a real fit. I’d bared my heart to Henry—and everyone else within earshot. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and I hadn’t heard from him. Concentrating on the clean-up, I tried to push the embarrassing memory to the back of my mind.

  “You didn’t let me have my say.”

  I jumped.

  Henry.

  I looked over my shoulder. He stood in the bedroom doorway with his hands in his pockets, his olive green jacket and dark jeans wrinkled. He had whiskers on his face, of course, adding to his ever-disheveled appeal. He gazed at me intently, and butterflies bigger than the mural fairies fluttered in my stomach.

  “How did you get in?”

  “I knocked, but nobody answered.” He took a step closer.

  My palms began to sweat. “You just let yourself into people’s houses?”

  His eyes flashed. “I saw Layla at Fisk’s. She mentioned that you were up here working.”

  “You were looking for me?” I tried not to smile.

  His eyes maintained their steady hold on mine. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you call me last night?”

  “We got a call at the firehouse right after you left. Gary Pheffer had a barn fire. I didn’t get back until late.”

  “Did he lose the whole barn?”

  “No, but he lost some equipment, a sheep, and three chickens.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  He took another step. “It is, but we’re getting off track.”

  I looked down at my clothing, immediately ashamed of my paint-splattered T-shirt and tattered cut-offs. I wished I had time to run home and spruce up before he came any closer.

  “You left last night before I had a chance to speak. That wasn’t fair.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “Do you really think I slept with Layla?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, look at her. She’s—”

  “I don’t want Layla. I never wanted her.”

  “Then why did you take her out?”

  “I didn’t,” he snapped. “The Service Club went to Spokane for dinner. I just picked her up. Besides, first you said that you didn’t want to date anyone in town, and then you said you wanted to go out with me. And then you said that we weren’t going to work.”

  I stared at the rolled-up drop cloths on the floor. I was apparently as confusing to Henry as he was to me.

  “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with you.” He took another step.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Will you stop apologizing?” Henry put his finger underneath my chin, raising it so that I had to meet his gaze. The butterflies swarmed in my stomach.

  “Okay.”

  “I never wanted to make you jealous,” he explained, his eyes apologetic. “It didn’t occur to me that you would still be here when I picked up Layla. I felt like such a jerk.” He cupped my cheek, his hand warming my face. “I know Layla led you to believe it was a date, and I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t look away from him. His chiseled face had some sort of immobilizing quality that made it impossible for me to blink.

  “And I thought about you over the years, too. Not a single day went by that I didn’t wonder where you were, what you were doing. It was a source of contention between my soon-to-be-ex-wife and I. She didn’t understand why I was still hung up on a girl I’d only dated for two months.”

  I stopped breathing.

  “I didn’t want to marry Laurel.” He stepped even closer, and my heart raced. “I never wanted to marry anyone. I stayed with her because it was convenient. But my heart—my heart was always with you.”

  He cradled my face in his hands. “I would have taken care of you. I didn’t care that you were pregnant with another man’s child. I would have loved Elliott like my own. I never wanted to lose you. You’ll never understand what it did to me.”

  He stroked his thumb across my lips.

  I shuddered.

  “When you walked into my classroom with Elliott that day, I didn’t know what to do. I’m going through a divorce and, of all people, you walk in? After all these years with no word? I thought God was playing a joke on me.

  “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to be honest with you.” His voice was low and velvety as he closed the last few inches between us. “I’m sorry I kept waiting for you to say that we should be together. I should have told you how I felt months ago.”

  My skin radiated warmth beneath his touch. I swallowed a few times before I could speak. “How do you feel?”

  Henry’s eyes moistened. “You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep at night. We wound up in Fairfield together for a reason.”

  This moment was the culmination of a dozen years of wondering, daydreaming, and fantasizing. Henry’s hands on my face felt so right, just as they had so long ago, and the contours of his body connected with mine so naturally.

  There was so much I wanted to say. Huge, bold declarations teetered on the tip
of my tongue. But I resisted. I’d put Henry through so much. I didn’t want to scare him away now.

  “Autumn.” His breath tickled my face.

  “Yes?” I whispered back, bringing my hands to his sides, feeling the sturdiness of his body beneath his jacket. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it if Henry didn’t kiss me soon.

  “Did you mean what you said?” His lips brushed against the corner of my mouth.

  “When I said what?” I asked in a breathy voice, trembling. Or maybe that was Henry.

  “When you said…” He swallowed. “…that you still loved me?”

  My heart pitched. “Yes.”

  The next few minutes were a blur. His lips came down on mine with such determination that I stumbled backwards. His strong hands caught me. He slid his hand up my back and clutched my neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He tangled his fingers in my hair and deepened our kiss.

  We moved as if we’d been kissing each other for eternity, yet it felt as exciting and brand new as the first time. All five of my senses were keenly alert as Henry’s tongue teased mine. His rugged scent filled my nose and light flashed behind my closed eyes. I grazed my fingers over the ridges of his muscles, then tugged at the bottom of his shirt, longing to touch, skin to skin. My ears rang, my mouth filling with the taste of Henry. I wanted more, more, more.

  Breathlessly, Henry pulled back and gazed at me with clouded eyes. His lips, swollen and parted, tugged up on one side. I lifted his shirt tail and ran my palms up his chest, sending a shudder through him.

  Henry licked his lips, and the butterflies in my stomach morphed into a flock of pterodactyls. I felt self-conscious under his heavy gaze, his eyes studying me as if he were memorizing every detail of the moment.

  “Hi,” I whispered.

  Henry laughed, a low rumble from deep in his chest. He nipped at my lower lip, grabbed my backside and effortlessly lifted me onto his hips. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling his face to mine.

  Henry carried me to the wall, nestling me against a frolicking sea horse. He buried his face in my hair, his teeth scraping gently against my neck. I tugged at the buttons on his shirt, whimpering when his lips met my earlobe. I tore at his shirt. What was going on with these buttons? He was locked up like Fort Knox.

  Henry kissed a trail from my ear to my collarbone. I finally popped the top button off his shirt, then dragged my nails down his chest. A pleased growl escaped his lips. I tightened my legs, willing him not to stop. The sound of my hammering heart echoed in my ears.

  The whole celibate-devoted-mother-and-daughter routine was highly overrated.

  “Autumn,” he groaned. He brought his mouth to mine and plastered me with kiss after kiss, then pulled away with an audible smack.

  “No, no, no,” I moaned, as I lowered my feet to the floor. I stood on my tip-toes and pressed my lips to his, slowing the pace and opening his mouth with mine.

  Henry gripped my hips, and we leaned against the wall for the next few minutes, making out like teenagers. I wanted him so badly, I could hardly stand upright. If I hadn’t been pressed against the seahorse, I would have fallen over.

  “Stop,” he said, resting his forehead on mine. “Take a breath.”

  I drew in a long breath and closed my eyes. “Don’t you want this?”

  Henry gave me his positively edible, lopsided grin. “Of course I want this. I’m going crazy.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Then why do you keep stopping?”

  He pushed himself back, peeling our bodies apart, and tugged at a strand of my hair. “Because I’m going to do this right.”

  “Right?” I straightened my shirt and wobbled a bit. “What part of…” I gestured between the two of us. “…this didn’t feel right to you?”

  Henry pecked me tenderly on the nose. “This felt hot.” Taking my hand, he led me to the doorway. “Really hot. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “But?”

  Henry went to button his shirt, then realized that the top button had busted clean off. “But I’m not just going for hot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His expression grew serious. “This is our second chance. I’m doing it right.”

  A smile lingered on my lips. I couldn’t help myself. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned, “You just said that.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No.” He pulled me in for another long, drawn out kiss. “I’m on call at the firehouse every night through Thursday. So Friday night, we’re going out.”

  “Are we?”

  “Be ready at seven o’clock.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my T-shirt. “What should I wear? I don’t want to look like…” I looked down. “…this.”

  Henry cocked his head and his eyes softened. “You could wear anything. You’re so beautiful.”

  My eyes welled. I hadn’t been told that in a long time. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  We walked to the front door in silence. Out on the porch, he leaned in for one last kiss, his whiskers brushing against my skin. “Be ready. It’s time you were treated to a proper date.”

  He walked away.

  My pulse skittered. A proper date? With Henry? I wiggled in place as he got into his truck and backed out of the driveway, waving at me with a silly grin.

  As soon as he was out of sight, I ran through Layla’s entire house, screaming.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Henry called me every day during the week leading up to our date—sometimes twice. And one afternoon, he brought me dinner while I worked the late shift at the pharmacy. We ate, sitting on the tailgate of his truck, swinging our legs and talking as the streetlights blinked on.

  He asked me what I’d been up to, and whether I’d seen Holly lately, who struggled to stay on bed rest as spring arrived on the Judd farm. He said good-bye to me in a sexy, low voice, and I started a mental countdown until Friday.

  Much to my relief, Elliott had been invited to sleep over at Marshall’s house Friday night. Now, I only had to figure out how to handle my father. Henry had told me to pack an overnight bag, which both thrilled and terrified me, so I had to explain to my dad that I wouldn’t be home until Saturday morning.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I didn’t take my medicine after dinner, I know.” He picked up the pills I’d set on his TV tray, then popped them in his mouth.

  “Thank you.” I sat across from him.

  “What?” He muted the baseball highlights he was watching. “Whatcha staring at me for?”

  I laughed. “I just need to talk to you about something.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “Eh?”

  “Tomorrow night, El is going to Marshall’s to spend the night.”

  “Oh yeah? That Marshall’s kind of weird, but he’s a good kid.”

  “Right. So, I’m going to go out, too.”

  “That’ll be fun.” His eyes stayed glued to the television screen. “You hang out here naggin’ me too much, anyway.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ve asked Doris to call a few times to check on you. And Smartie said he’d come over to watch the Mariners with you.”

  He cut his eyes at me. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I know you don’t, but I’m gonna be gone for a while.”

  “A while?”

  “Like…overnight.”

  My dad raised his graying eyebrows. “You goin’ to Spokane or somethin’?”

  “Um, yes. I think so. I’m not sure. But, I’ll be back Saturday morning. And I’ll have my phone with me the entire time. All you have to do is call, and I’ll come home.”

  “You goin’ with Holly?”

  “No.”

  “You goin’ alone?”

  I cringed. “No.”

  My father said nothing. He just scratched his whiskers and waited. Damn him.

  “I’m going with, um, I’m actually going with… Uh, the thing is, I—”

  “Good grief, Au
to. Spit it out.”

  “I’m going out with Henry Tobler.”

  He appeared to let the idea sink in as he stared at the TV. I held my breath. I was in my thirties, getting ready to go away with the man I’d loved since I was twenty years old, and I worried that I was about to get grounded.

  “You love him?” my dad asked.

  I swallowed. “Yes. Very much.”

  “He good to you?”

  “He always has been.”

  Again, he fell silent, and I waited.

  “Well then,” he grumbled. “It’s about time you admitted that you love him. Seemed pretty obvious to me.”

  I smiled and left the room. That was all the permission I needed.

  §

  It felt like prom night when Henry pulled his big truck in front of my house. I opened the door and watched him walk up the sidewalk, looking more dapper than ever. He wore an elegant charcoal suit with an olive-colored shirt and tie that complemented his skin tone and his tousled brown hair. He looked like he’d tried to tame his whiskers, but his face was still shadowed nevertheless. Henry held a bouquet of bright yellow tulips in one hand and a DVD in the other. I smiled at him, giddy.

  I was going on a date with my Henry. I’d waited so long for this.

  My outfit was perfect. I’d gone shopping in Holly’s closet and found a cocktail dress she’d worn to her uncle’s formal wedding. By the grace of God, it happened to fit me. It was a black, baby-doll-style dress with pleats of fabric cut on the bias that fell to my knees—sexy and whimsical at the same time. I’d spent hours manipulating my hair into smooth pin curls that framed my face.

  I’d also splurged on new lingerie for the evening. This was my first date with Henry in thirteen years, but it would be my first night with him ever. My cotton bras and panties weren’t going to cut it. I’d shopped online and chosen a lace-trimmed, black satin slip with a built-in, push-up bra, then cranked out the big bucks to have it overnighted to arrive in time for my date.

  A half-hour before Henry arrived, I had perfumed, lotioned, plucked, and exfoliated every surface of my body that he might touch, then sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, tapping my fingernails until my father told me to knock it off.