Courtney shot him a glare before shifting positions. She eyed the line with a nervous expression, squirming a little when the fish resurfaced. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I thought we’d fry it up for dinner instead of the salmon.”
“Very funny.”
He worked to loosen the hook then tossed the slimy, wriggling fish back in the water before holding out the fishing pole for Courtney to take. She shook her head, refusing to accept it.
“I don’t understand what you see in this sport. You could spend all day here and not catch anything—or worse, catch something like that.”
“What happened to the talk about it being fun?”
“Call it temporary insanity.”
Mitch laughed again, something he didn’t usually do while fishing. Typically, this was his time to get away from life, to think and let nature rejuvenate him. But being here with Courtney, listening to her, and watching her crazy antics, made him feel lighter and happier than he’d felt in a long time. He liked having her along.
With a thunk, he set her pole on the floor of the boat and rested his elbows on his knees. “Okay, so I obviously didn’t sell you on fishing, but don’t give up on it just yet. Maybe you could even think of today as fodder for your next book and write a story about a fisherman who talks to fish or something.”
Courtney drew her lower lip into her mouth, as if seriously considering his suggestion. “A fisherman with a sixth sense who knows right where to fish every time. That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Really? A guy who can talk to fish?” It sounded pretty lame to him.
“Not talk,” Courtney said. “More like feel.”
He shrugged, still not seeing it. “Let me guess, he’ll fall in love with a mermaid.”
Courtney shook her head. “I write magical realism, not fantasy. So no. She’ll be a journalist or a photographer— someone who’s heard stories about a guy that has never had a bad day of fishing. She’ll want to investigate.”
Mitch still wasn’t sure about the idea. “Just promise me you’ll throw in some pirates or something.”
Her lips twitched. “I don’t think so.”
“What about a shark attack?” Mitch said. “Or maybe the guy could get swallowed by a whale and have to talk his way out of it. That would be cool.”
Courtney laughed. “Remind me to never come to you for plot ideas. They’re terrible.”
“Hey, who suggested the fisherman idea?”
“As a joke.” She smiled then leaned over the edge of the boat and ran her fingers through the water, probably working through plot ideas. Mitch took the opportunity to watch her, admiring her profile and the way the breeze whipped her hair behind her, like on one of those magazine covers. Only with Courtney, she didn’t need fans or heavy makeup. She was one-hundred-percent real, and he couldn’t pry his eyes away.
Mitch wanted to see that smile every day, to make her laugh, and to listen to whatever it was she had to say. He wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair, hold her close, and taste her lips. He wanted her in his life for longer than a few months out of the year.
But ever since high school, her MO had always been come and go, come and go—something that had a bipolar effect on him. Whenever she showed up, Heimel became vibrant and exciting, like three-dimensional renderings of a construction design. When she left, it all flattened back to a dull, lifeless two-dimensional line drawing.
If only he could convince her to stay for good.
Courtney looked his way and caught him staring. Mitch quickly averted his eyes, moving to secure the hooks on both fishing poles. Then he started the small engine and steered the boat toward the small dock. It was time to move on to something else—something he knew she’d like.
Chapter Six
Courtney accepted the helmet with a grin and put it on. She climbed on the back of the 4-wheeler, scooted close to Mitch, and wrapped her arms around his muscular waist, resisting the impulse to bury her face in his back and breathe in the intoxicating scent that was all him. Hopefully this would be a long ride.
“You good?” Mitch called as he started the engine.
“Perfect.” She held on a little tighter just because she could.
They spent the next several hours climbing trails, racing through meadows and pointing out moose, elk, eagles, and even a bear. Courtney hadn’t felt this content in a long time.
When Mitch drove them to a peak that overlooked Heimel and killed the engine, Courtney reluctantly let go of her hold on him and climbed off to admire the spectacular view. The valley stretched out below them in a lush blanket of greens and browns. Birds chirped, and that raw, earthy scent she loved filled her senses.
“Coming?” Mitch said.
Courtney turned around to find him sitting on a blanket, patting the ground next to him. She smiled and sank down beside him, wishing she could snuggle up and rest her head against his shoulder. Instead, she accepted the sandwich he held out.
“Thank you,” she said, peering out over the valley again. “This place really is beautiful.”
“You’re only now noticing that?”
She smiled. “No, I’ve always noticed. But there’s something different about leaving and coming home. I’m always in awe of how it feels, like a dormant part of me suddenly comes alive. I love that feeling.”
He shifted positions to look at her. “I don’t get it. If you love it so much here, why not move back for good? You can write anywhere.”
Courtney took a small bite of her sandwich and munched it slowly. “I like seeing new places.”
When she said nothing more, he shook his head. “Sorry, not buying it. You can always put down roots and still travel to your heart’s content. Why do you feel the need to keep moving away?”
She let out a breath and bit her lip. Did she dare tell him the real reason? Would he laugh? Find new material to tease her about? Probably. Still, for whatever reason, she wanted him to know, to understand. “Remember how I told you I’m superstitious?”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t joking.” She paused, plucking the leaves off a nearby bush. “From the time I was little, I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. In high school, I started submitting my work to agents, but they all shot me down. So I stayed here and went to college for a year in Anchorage, took every creative writing class I could, and went to every writing conference anyone offered. Then I applied what I learned and wrote my first magical realism novel. I thought it was great, but still, no bites. Out of desperation, I took the plunge and transferred to NYU the following year, where I wrote another novel, again with no luck.
“But then something amazing happened. I came back here for the summer and felt that feeling I just told you about. I had never felt so inspired. I wrote a rough draft quicker than I’d ever written one. But by the end of summer, the feeling had faded. So I had my records transferred to Texas—the place where the book was set—and went to school while I finished my revisions. Then I sent it out and about died when ten agents requested it—five of whom offered to represent me. Two months later, I signed my first publishing contract.”
Courtney paused, wondering what was going through Mitch’s mind. Did he think she was crazy, or did he understand?
He picked up a rock and chucked it over the ledge the way you’d throw a rock to skip it across a lake. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “When summer ends, your inspiration runs dry and you have to move away to be re-inspired the next time you come back.” Surprisingly enough, his words didn’t sound mocking.
She nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, but writing is my career, and I can’t afford for Heimel not to stop inspiring me.”
Mitch shifted positions, turning around so he could face her head on. He raised his knee and rested one elbow on it as he studied her. “Have you ever considered that maybe your earlier books weren’t accepted because you weren’t ready? That it wasn’t the
right story, or you didn’t have enough experience yet?”
“Of course,” Courtney said. “And I know that has a lot to do with it. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I really do feel inspired when I come home—and it’s a feeling that doesn’t last. Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed.”
Mitch scooted closer and tentatively picked up her hand, running his fingers over hers and tracing them. Tingles ran up her arm, making Courtney feel like she’d been catapulted back to her beautiful dream from that morning. She clamped her mouth shut and held still, too afraid that if she moved or said the wrong thing, he’d stop.
Mitch’s fingers finally closed around her hand as his gaze met hers. “You could always try to stay this time, just to see. You never know, maybe the change of seasons would give you the same renewed feeling.” His eyes took on an uncharacteristic vulnerability, as if he really did want her to stay, that part of his happiness might even depend on it.
Her heart beat faster as she stared back, not wanting to break the connection. Little did he know how much Courtney wanted him to be right. How much she wanted The Meltdown Match to be a sign that she could finally stay—with him.
Ever so slowly, Mitch leaned closer. His hand moved from her fingers to her face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sending wonderful chills down her spine. Courtney’s heart pounded. She willed him to lean closer still, to brush his lips against hers. Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt herself tilting forward.
Please kiss me.
His hand moved to the back of her neck, but his warm lips didn’t cover hers. Instead, they landed on her forehead, giving her a lingering kiss before drawing away. Cool air rushed between them, reminding her of that morning, when her wonderful dream had been rudely interrupted.
Courtney’s eyes flickered open to see uncertainty in his expression, possibly even regret. Her face flushed as heavy disappointment settled in her stomach. A forehead kiss was something you’d give a sister, a child in need of comfort, or the girl who’d never be more than a friend.
She knew all about forehead kisses—she’d written plenty of them into her books.
Chapter Seven
Salmon juices sizzled on the grill as Mitch watched Courtney from the corner of his eye. Ever since he’d sort of kissed her, things had been beyond awkward between them. He didn’t like it. Why hadn’t he just given her a real kiss instead of chickening out? At least then he would have known from her response whether she’d wanted it or not. Now he was stuck wondering if she’d been disappointed or grateful.
He’d tried to dispel the awkwardness by taking her to the fairgrounds for some flea market browsing, but it only made things worse. As the couple who’d won The Meltdown Match, they saw people sending one too many knowing smiles their way, so he’d finally brought her back to his place for dinner. Now she sat on the railing surrounding his back patio, dangling her feet while taking in the views, saying nothing.
Mitch bit his lip, mentally kicking himself yet again for being such a wuss.
Courtney twisted around, swung her legs up and over the railing, and hopped down from her perch. She approached him with slow, hesitant steps, her hands shoved inside the pockets of her skinny jeans. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” She leaned her shoulder against a support post, looking beautiful in that casual way she had. “I feel lame sitting here while you do all the work.”
His arms itched to pull her to him and kiss her long and hard. Maybe then this nervous tension would go away and leave them alone. Maybe then he’d know if she was as crazy about him as he was about her.
Frowning, Mitch scooped the salmon from the grill, turned the heat off, and lifted the plate. “Everything’s ready,” he said, setting the plate on the table. He went inside and retrieved a salad from the fridge and twice-baked potatoes from the oven.
When he emerged from the house, Courtney eyed the table. “Wow, this looks amazing. When did you learn to cook so well?”
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, it’s got to be fantastic.”
Mitch pulled out a chair for her and sat down, racking his mind for something to say— preferably something funny that would make her laugh. When he came up empty, he focused on his food and rebuked himself yet again for botching things so badly earlier. Of all the dates to go wrong, this was the worst. It was too important—she was too important.
After some painful small talk to get them through dinner, Courtney insisted on doing the dishes. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done today,” she said, picking up his plate. “Besides, I’ve wanted to take a peek inside ever since you brought me here, and this is my chance.”
Mitch followed with the glasses. “I’ll give you a tour if you want.”
“Okay.”
Together, they made quick work of cleaning up, and once the last dish had been loaded, Mitch held out his hand. “Ready for the tour?”
She hesitated a second, then placed her hand in his. It felt soft and small and perfect, especially when her fingers tightened around his as she returned the pressure of his grip. Mitch let out a breath of relief, feeling like she’d given him a second chance.
He gave her hand a tug and led her down the hall. “The house has four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a den, vaulted ceilings, and a lot of stone and wood. With so many cabins around, I wanted it to have more of a chalet feel.”
Courtney peeked inside each bedroom as they passed. Although they were pretty much empty, with little to no furniture, she seemed to like what she saw. In the master bedroom, she relinquished his hand and took her time looking around. Mitch shuffled his feet as he waited, wondering what she thought. With only a bed and nightstand, there wasn’t much to see, but the stone fireplace was cool, along with the wooden beams on the vaulted ceiling.
Courtney finally faced him and cocked her head. “This room is beautiful, but it feels sort of empty. Take that fireplace, for example. It’s gorgeous, but where’s the loveseat to curl up on? And these hardwood floors—” Her foot tapped the boards. “Spectacular. But it could really use a rug to cozy it up. And those windows.” She gestured toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the far end of the room. “Talk about an amazing view. You need a comfy recliner right there.”
A teasing glint appeared in her eyes as she approached him, resting both hands on his chest and shaking her head in mock disappointment. “I have to say, I’m feeling a little let down. After seeing the outside, I expected more. You could really use a woman’s touch in here.”
With her standing this close, touching him and smelling faintly of citrus, he had to disagree. His room had never felt less empty. “Are you volunteering?” he said.
“Give me some time and a decent budget, and you’ll wonder how you ever called this place home before.”
Mitch covered her hands with his and peered into her beautiful green, almost blue eyes. “It’s feeling pretty homey right now.”
A moment passed when they booth stood there, saying nothing. Mitch’s heart sped up to the point where Courtney could probably feel it pounding beneath her fingers. Now was his chance to do what he should have done before, to pull her to him and find out if her heart was racing as wildly as his.
Right as he was about to lower his head, confusion appeared in her eyes, and her hands pulled free from his, dropping back to her sides. “You said there was a den?” Her voice sounded a little shaky.
Mitch resisted the impulse to curse and nodded toward the doors. “Yeah, that way.” Without taking her hand this time, he led her back down the hall and to the right, toward a small alcove outside a set of dark, wooden doors. He paused with his hands on the handles, hoping against hope that she’d like what was on the other side. Then he drew in a breath and swung them wide, stepping aside.
Courtney’s eyes widened as she walked into the room and turned a slow circle around, taking in everything. Mahogany bookcases spanned one wall, floo
r-to-ceiling windows spanned another, a chair sat adjacent to a small fireplace opposite the windows, and a beefy desk stood off-center, angled toward the windows.
Mitch had taken his time with this room.
“Okay, I was so wrong,” Courtney breathed. “You don’t need a woman’s touch, not if you could come up with something like this.” She walked to the bookcase and ran her fingers along the spines of several of the books. “This is seriously the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”
Her fingers stilled over the spine of a few of the books, and she pulled one out. She turned to face him, a look of surprise on her face. “You have my books.”
Mitch pushed away from the desk and moved toward her, taking the book from her hands. “I like them all, but this is my favorite.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “You’ve read them?”
“Every last word. You’re an amazing writer.”
Courtney sucked in a quick breath and looked quickly at her feet, but not before Mitch caught a glimpse of moisture pooling in her eyes. She half laughed, half snorted. “I can’t believe I’m crying.” She shook her head. “It’s just... Well, the fact that you’ve read them all means... a lot me.”
Mitch replaced the book on the shelf before taking her hands in his, drawing her close. “Want to know why I finished this room first?”
She nodded, her eyes searching his.
A pit of nervous anxiety settled in Mitch’s stomach. “Because of you.”
Silence. Only the widening of her eyes indicated that she’d heard him.
Mitch felt as though he’d just gotten off the ski lift at the top of a steep mountain with nowhere to go but down a steep run. He drew in a deep breath and pushed off. “Courtney, I’ve always been crazy about you. But when you come back to town, you’re never here long, and you’re always so busy writing that I don’t get to spend much time with you. When I designed this room, I sort of did it around you. I made it the type of room I hoped you’d like.” He paused, his fingers trembling in hers. “Now, every time I’m in here, it reminds me of you, and makes me feel like you’re not so far away and out of reach.”
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Summer Wedding Collection Page 13
