All for You

by Christi Barth

  “What a relief.” She wiggled her fingers in front of him. “My hands are stained from dicing beets for our salad. They’d look horrible in shots of you slipping a diamond ring on me.”

  The joking was good. Didn’t mean he’d let her get away with not finishing the conversation. Zane grabbed her hand to kiss the red-stained tips. “I’m also not promising to walk away from what’s already a very good thing. You said you’d give us a chance. I’m crazy about you already.”

  He waited. She didn’t toss back an automatic reply. Damn it, Zane knew how to read people. Casey liked him. It wasn’t wishful thinking; it was fact, obvious in the brightness in her voice when they talked, the lilt in her words, the freedom in her laughter. Why was she resisting? Zane rolled off the rest of the way and sat up. “This has to be a two way street. If you don’t feel the same way, let me know right now and I’ll walk out that door. No point in wasting either of our time.”

  For the briefest second, her lashes fluttered shut. Then she snagged his hand. “Don’t go.” It was a low plea, almost shaky with emotion. Knees bent, Casey scrambled up to rest on her elbows. Her palm was clammy against his. “I’m sorry. I’ve always used the drive-thru approach to dating—whatever was fast, easy and forgettable.”

  “Fast food doesn’t sustain you. Not in the long run. Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes you need a taco at three a.m. It’s what makes this country so great. But trust me, when you’re stuck in the south Sudan for weeks at a time, what you miss most are fresh fruits and vegetables.”

  “Let’s not get into one of your sidebars about nutrition.” Casey rolled her eyes playfully. “You fall down the knowledge-ranting rabbit hole so darn fast. Which can be fun, but right now, I’m just trying to explain.”

  Zane mimed zipping his lips and tossing away a key.

  Now she crinkled her nose. The kind of crinkle that accompanied smelling raw sewage. That didn’t bode well. “I’ve never done a serious relationship. There’s never been anyone worth the effort. Or the risk. Until you.”

  Not quite good enough. It was an apology for the pause. It wasn’t a green light. As much as he liked her, Zane would only push so far. She had to meet him halfway. Otherwise they didn’t stand a chance. “And?”

  “You’re really going to make me say it?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “I take back what I said about you being easy.”

  “You know the difference between grape juice and fine wine? Complexity.”

  “And a few years in an oak barrel, not to mention the whole fermentation process. This is the Finger Lakes, pal. Everybody knows about wine. Don’t even try to spout off about it and think you know more than any other guy on the street.”

  “I think—no, I know—that you’re stalling.” It was starting to tick him off. Zane’s temper took a long time to come to a boil. But Casey’s behavior was turning up the heat. It’d be time to walk out the door soon, with or without an answer.

  “I’m nervous. I’m confused. Geez, I think I’m sweating.” Casey fanned herself with one hand. The other convulsed into a death grip on Zane’s.

  All the color had drained from her face. Her breaths were shallow and fast. Shit. She really was having a panic attack. Adding up the symptoms, that was the only thing that made sense. Real concern replaced his irritability. Zane got up and hot-footed it to the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder, “Premature hot flashes. Just what every guy wants to cause.”

  “I told you that you make me hot.” Her voice sounded thin.

  A brown paper bag was on top of the refrigerator. He grabbed it, dumped out the green bananas and hustled back to the living room. “Breathe into this. Jesus. You’re scaring me.” Zane knelt behind her and steadied the back of her head, stroking through her silky hair. “Is this your first panic attack? Or does this happen all the time?”

  She nodded, the bag crinkling loudly with each in and out of her breath.

  Ask a bad question, get a non-answer. “Which is it?”

  “First time.”

  “Gee, I successfully avoided virgins my whole life. In high school I stayed away from roller coaster virgins. Figured they’d scream too loudly, or puke on me. In college I avoided actual virgins. That’s a boatload of hassle and baggage no guy wants. When I go diving I avoid scuba virgins. But now, look at me. My streak broken by a panic attack virgin.”

  His rambling helped distract her. Or maybe it was the rhythmic, soothing movement of his hand across her scalp. The bag crinkled slower, more evenly. Zane gave it another minute, looking around the room. The furnishings weren’t rustic, but felt more like a club. Dark leather sofa with forest-green velvet throw pillows that’d be awesome for napping. Two gray ottomans rounded to look like river rocks. Walnut bookcases lined one wall opposite a stone fireplace. A clear lamp base filled with stones and bits of moss caught his eye on the end table. Guess Casey brought her work home with her.

  “I’m okay now.” Casey lowered the bag.

  “Are you sure? Don’t rush it.”

  “You’re very patient with me. Unexpectedly so.” She sagged back against his chest, curling her neck to tuck just beneath his chin. “Thank you. It’s one in a string of things I like about you.” Crumpling the bag to send it lofting across the room, Casey blew a raspberry. “No, that’s a cop-out. I didn’t just breathe into a paper bag reeking of last night’s mu shu pork takeout to step back from the edge. So here goes: I’m nuts about you, too.”

  Interesting that Casey still couldn’t look him in the eye while admitting it. Still, Zane was okay with baby steps. As long as they kept going in the right direction. “We’re on even footing, then. Good.”

  “Weren’t you paying attention?” She twisted out of his embrace to face him. There was the eye contact he’d hoped for—except it was more of a green lightning bolt. “There’s nothing stable about the ground I’m standing on. You’re crazy smart and funny and caring and so darn sexy I drool every time I think about you.” Casey hurled the words at him like an accusation instead of an accolade. “Falling for you this hard? It’s new. Frightening. Feels like my heart’s balanced on top of an earthquake zone. I don’t know what to do about these feelings. Did you ever crank up a garden hose too far and water spurted everywhere? That’s what you’ve unleashed in me.”

  Zane rubbed the back of his neck. Why’d she have to knot up something so simple? “Let me get this straight—according to your metaphor, thinking about me makes you wet. I don’t see that as a problem.”

  “You’re...oh...ohhhhh, you wouldn’t, would you?” Casey laughed. No, she belly-laughed so hard she rolled over sideways to lie on the floor again, gasping. Finally she flipped to look at him again. Reached out to squeeze his hand. “I missed you, Zane.”

  “Missed you too, buttercup.” The storm appeared to have passed. Zane couldn’t resist adding, “See how easy this can be?”

  “Right. Easy. A full-blown panic attack, after I spent my whole day off slaving in the kitchen for you—”

  “You did?” Zane couldn’t remember the last time someone other than a restaurant chef had made a meal for him. He and Casey had just brought in take-out the couple of times they’d hung out at her house. Cooking was a big deal. Thoughtful. Time consuming. Special. Especially since Zane currently lived in a hotel. Where people literally brought food right to his bed. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”

  “I should hope not. If you expected it, you’d be sorely disappointed most of the time.” She stood, shaking out the wide blue-and-pink-striped bottom of her dress. “Cooking seemed like a good way to show you how I felt.”

  “Instead of telling me?”

  Casey’s gaze slid to the giant ficus in the corner, strung with fairy lights. “Maybe.”

  He’d cut her some slack. They’d been serious enough tonight. Zane tangled his fingers through hers
and nipped at her neck. “It’s a nice gesture. Which explains the amazing smell that hit my olfactory nerve the moment I cleared the front door. What is it?”

  “Kahlúa brownies.” She led him into the kitchen. Copper pots hung from the ceiling. Half-logs formed shelves holding spices. A row of bushy green herbs lined the recessed window at the sink.

  “Seriously?” Zane beelined to the cooling pan on the wooden table resting on what looked like half of a wagon wheel. He took a long, slow sniff. A man could get drunk off the rich, dark aroma alone.

  “If you have room for them.” Casey busied herself at the oven. At least, he guessed that from the sound of the metal door opening. Zane was still nose down in the brownies. “After you finish the lasagna with sauce I made from scratch.”

  How did he get so lucky? Zane thought Casey was the whole package even before she admitted knowing how to cook his favorite food. He dropped to one knee. Clasped his hands over his heart. “I was wrong earlier. I think I should propose to you tonight. Snap you up before word of your kitchen talent hits the street.”

  “Get up, silly. It’s your brainiac talent we’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. You’ve been cagy all weekend. Teasing me with hints of a big new project. I’m tired of being in the dark. So I’m resorting to bribery.” Casey held a steaming plate just out of reach. “Crab-stuffed mushrooms. Yes, they’re fantastic. But you can’t have any until you spill your good news.”

  Zane hedged as he sat on the bench. He wasn’t superstitious. Not really. He just never risked sharing news until it was official, in triplicate and locked in his agent’s safe. “Nothing’s been signed yet. Hell, the contract’s not even drafted. So this is all very hush hush.”

  The sideways glance from beneath half-lowered lids made it clear she was calling out his irrationality. “Who am I going to tell? The next random park tourist who stops by to ask where the bathrooms are?”

  “Good point.”

  “Now who’s stalling?” Casey waved the plate in front of his face. Golden brown bread crumbs oozed with cheese on top of the overstuffed mushrooms. A man could only stand so much temptation.

  “We’re still ironing out the details. Well, and getting past one huge roadblock.” Zane reached for a mushroom, but she still kept it out of reach.

  “To what?”

  Part of him couldn’t believe he was telling her before even seeing a draft contract. But it was a small part. Most of Zane strained against old habits and wanted to share his good news with her. Not with just anyone. Only with Casey. “I’m doing one more book. Probably.”

  “Is that...should I congratulate you?” She sat, putting the plate down in front of him. Her squinted eyes looked more confused than celebratory. “Weren’t you excited three days ago to leave that all behind and start teaching again?”

  Aww. Casey must be worried he’d gotten strong-armed into this deal. “Yes. And yes. I’m going to do both.” Zane popped a mushroom. Excited to get the rest out, he kept talking while he chewed. Because Jeremiah had cobbled together the perfect solution. “My publisher Nathan’s single-minded. Kind of a prick, actually. If he had his way, I’d drop everything and write twenty-four/seven. That’s why I have an agent. To balance Nathan’s off-the-hook expectations with the life I want to live. Pretty sure I can still teach. Not a full load for the first year, but enough to keep the position and still write the book without losing my mind.”

  “Zane, that’s terrific! What changed your mind about being done with writing?”

  How could he sum up so many years of searching and wondering into an easy answer? Zane stood. The more he talked about it, the more worked up he got. Pacing would help burn it off. “Would King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table turn around and go home if they found a signpost pointing to the Holy Grail? Would Hercules give up before delivering the golden belt of Hippolyta?”

  “I can tell you want me to say no,” she deadpanned.

  He paused, one hand on the door frame, to stare out at the forest that came right up to the edge of Casey’s yard. Tangled, dark and mysterious, it was a great representation of the murky path he’d tried to trace. “I’m no Lancelot. But the search for the Lone Survivor of the Sunshine Seekers has been my impossible dream for more than a decade. Now, out of the blue, I’m on the verge of finishing this quest. When I do, it’ll be a personal triumph. Miller Mencken Publishing has offered—pretty generously—to help me turn it into a public one, too.”

  Casey sucked in a short, loud gasp. Nice that she realized just how big a deal this was to him.

  “You haven’t found that person,” she said in a voice filled with shock.

  “Not yet.” Zane spun around and zeroed in on the mushroom plate. They were fantastic. He popped another in his mouth, then went to the sink to pull off a paper towel. “I will, though. I always do. Those hours I’ve spent combing through the mailbox journals have really paid off.” Not to mention they were so much fun to sift through. He got to watch so many lives unfold, refold, and then make entirely new shapes according to the advice shared in the journals.

  “How did reading the journals pay off for you?”

  “Did you know that there’s a secret love affair going on right beneath everyone’s noses?”

  “It isn’t a secret.” Casey stroked her fingers over the table as if touching the pages of the mailbox journal. “I mean, everyone sees the entries. All the word-wooing.”

  “Right, but from what I can tell, who they are is still a secret to each other. This couple fell in love through writing. To the person at the other end of the pen. Just in the journal.” It fascinated Zane so much because he couldn’t understand it at all. How was it possible to fall for someone when you didn’t truly know who they were? When there was a whole basic slice of truth missing between them?

  “I don’t think the worst-kept secret romance in history will help you with your research.”

  “But it is interesting. You know how interesting things get stuck in my brain filter. Take mushrooms, for example.” Zane waggled his finger at the plate. Then he thought Casey might want a napkin too, and headed back to the sink. “Did you know that the mushroom colony rings around Stonehenge are so large they can be seen from airplanes?”

  “The journals?” Casey prompted in a strangled tone.

  Whoops. He’d gone off on a tangent again. Odd, though—usually she liked that. “Right. I got the big lead by making some intuitive leaps between entries. It shouldn’t take too much nosing around to run this guy to ground. When I do, I’ll finally get the inside story on the one cult nobody’s been able to expose. There are so many unanswered questions. It’ll be huge. The whole world will be riveted by the story I’ll write.”

  “But...the Hobart job...” she said faintly.

  Aww, the thought of him disappearing to write clearly didn’t sit well with Casey. Well, it didn’t sit well with him, either. After wiping his hands, Zane gathered her in for a big hug. “I’m not going anywhere. The survivor’s here. I feel it. Hobart’s the perfect fit for me. Hell, it’s what brought me here to find the survivor. Can’t get much luckier than that!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Casey dumped her purse, sunglasses, lunch bag and iPod on the table by the front door. She wanted to be ready to zoom out as soon as Dawn dropped off the bags of fresh-from-the-garden basil she’d coerced Casey into turning into pesto. The need to drop it off first thing in the morning escaped Casey. Pretty much the same as the simple steps to turning it into a luscious pasta sauce escaped her stepmother.

  Going in late didn’t officially matter. Her staff would open the park on time. Casey just hated how it disturbed her routine. She’d feel like she was playing catch-up all day. The trade-off was getting to make shrimp, olive and pesto pizza for Zane later. It was fun to cook for someone who so visibly appreciated it. The memory of the way he’d s
hown his appreciation with lots of kisses on her front porch swing put a smile on her face.

  Scrape. Thud. Right outside. No mail or packages came at eight-thirty in the morning. And she hadn’t heard the familiar splutter of Dawn’s car. Casey threw open the door. Saw the familiar, all-muscles form of her best friend already halfway back down the driveway.

  “Ward?” she called out through the screen.

  “Damn.” He stopped. Sweat plastered his shirt to his body, so it was easy to see him square his shoulders. As though it took an effort to deal with her. Panting, he bent in half to brace his hands on his thighs. Ward must’ve aimed his five-mile morning run straight to her. “Can you pretend you didn’t see me?”

  “Um, no.” They hadn’t talked since their big blow-up. Four whole days, verging on five. He hadn’t even met the gang for their regular breakfast at Cosgroves either. Casey had emailed yet another apology each day. And used every ounce of her willpower to respect his wish for space and not call him. Showing up at her door, however, negated that whole space thing. “Why are you leaving without even saying hello?”

  “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  Ouch. No beating around the bush. “Oh.” Guess once he made it to her door, he’d decided he was still too pissed to deal with her. Well, she had no right to impose a time limit on his hurt and anger. The only thing Casey could do was let it play out. “Okay.”

  “Shit. Wait.” Ward straightened up. Shook his head like a dog to send sweat droplets flying through the pale shafts of morning sun. He stomped a half circle to face her. “I don’t mean...just look down.”

  Casey pushed open the screen door. A rectangular box lay on her sunflower motif door mat. She picked it up and moved to the edge of the porch, trying in some small way to close the distance between them. Brown paper that looked a lot like a cut-up lunch bag wrapped around the box, with Ward’s spiky printing scrawled across it.