The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel)

by Lauren Christopher

  Elliott found an empty bar stool at the long bar, which ran down the side of the room, and tapped his fingers on the wooden top. He ordered a Maker’s Mark, neat, and sat and waited, looking around at the various couples. His mind had kept drifting to Natalie the whole time he’d been getting ready. Does she like to eat shellfish? Did she grow up with both parents? Did she spend a lot of time on the island? Does she like the smell of aftershave? Now, though, he needed to focus on at least giving this last date a chance.

  He glanced again at his Star Trek watch. He’d decided to wear it. Because Natalie was right. He was tired of thinking he had to alter himself so dramatically for a woman to like him. If she liked him, she liked him. If she didn’t, she didn’t. Once he’d presented what he thought was his best, most respectful self—he’d even worn a tie tonight, but only because he liked ties—she had to accept him from there. He would have gone back to his much-more-comfortable glasses, too, but he still had to get them fixed. He’d bring them to the shop tomorrow. People were just going to have to accept him the way he was.

  Another ten minutes went by, and Elliott asked the bartender for a pen so he could take a few gene-sequencing notes on a cocktail napkin to relax himself. When a full twenty minutes had gone by, though, Elliott began to think that Becky clearly couldn’t be good for him. Who came twenty minutes late to a first date? Plus, he wanted to get home and compare the formula he’d just jotted down with one he’d read about in a journal the other night.

  Just as he was taking his last swig, ready to swing himself off the bar stool and maybe give up for tonight, a woman walked in who could only be Becky Huffington.

  She wore a sparkly low-cut dress and wriggled her fingers in hello from across the bar. She held a pale-pink bag over her elbow that had a Chihuahua poking out the side.

  Although he didn’t know what kind of person brought a Chihuahua to a bar on a date—and twenty minutes late at that—he took a deep breath and bolstered his reserve.

  This was starting to feel like a challenge.

  And Elliott decided he wanted to win.

  Natalie curled up on the love seat in her flannel pajamas and told herself how relaxing this was.

  Lily was in bed. Olivia was in bed. Paige had fallen asleep on the couch. And Natalie was planning on getting caught up with a few romantic comedies she’d wanted to see. She clicked the remote and repeated to herself that this was yet another wondrous advantage to being on a mancation—catching up on her Netflix list.

  It was good to have a little mancation pep talk with herself. She’d started slipping this afternoon. (A man with roped forearms could do that to a gal.) But she needed to pull herself together. The twinges of jealousy she felt every time she thought about Elliott out with Becky right now were not becoming. Or appropriate. Or even healthy. Was she really as weak as Paige suspected? Not quite able to handle a full mancation, so clinging to any scraps of attention she could get from any man at all—especially one she wouldn’t normally look twice at, and one she supposedly only wanted to be friends with? And was she desperate to have this man pay attention because he was so uninterested in her? Pathetic. She needed to reset her priorities and remind herself that she could certainly survive three weeks without a boyfriend.

  She found a Reese Witherspoon movie, pulled out some notes and her laptop, and jotted down a few ideas she’d had for the Senior Prom. It had been eons since she’d brought work home. It felt good to be so excited about something again. She called up an old spreadsheet template she’d seen her mother use and organized some of the details the seniors were struggling with. She spent an hour looking through catering plans, then another hour planning a music list.

  By the end of the night, she’d almost entirely dismissed Elliott’s forearms from her mind.

  And almost, even, the fact that they were likely wrapped around another woman right now.

  Elliott hesitated in Becky Huffington’s doorway and watched her saunter in ahead of him as she corralled a bunch of tiny dogs that were yelping at her happily. She moved them toward a side room and motioned for him to come inside, heading down a hallway that looked as if it might lead to some bedrooms.

  For a second, he hesitated. An image of Natalie leaped to his mind. But that was ridiculous. Natalie was not his. Natalie would never be his. And this date with Becky might actually have a future. So even though his heart wasn’t 100 percent in it, he stepped over the threshold and glanced around the corner to see Becky’s swaying hips heading back his way into the living room.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, moving toward a crystal decanter set up on a wet bar by the window.

  “No, I’m good.” Elliott sneezed.

  He’d had a nice dinner, although he’d seemed to be allergic to the candle on the table. But other than that, he’d had an okay time. He’d learned a lot about her by the second course. She seemed perfect, really—pretty, sexy, smart. She threw a Southern drawl into the conversation from time to time, which seemed to come out of nowhere, but he could maybe get used to that. The dog coming along was weird, but he’d learned his name was Chip, and Becky was just genuinely into dogs. She volunteered at a rescue center, which Elliott found admirable. He kept trying to crack jokes, and they kept falling flat. But he’d survive. He’d thought of how Natalie would have laughed at his cell-interfusion joke, but then he’d rubbed his itchy eyes, forced Natalie from his mind, and had tried to focus again.

  By the end of dessert, Becky had given him directions to her place, and he’d followed in his golf cart to her house high on a hill on the far side of town.

  At her door, she’d asked him inside and had yanked him playfully by his tie. There was no denying her intent.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?” she asked. “I have gin, scotch, and vodka, and I can make you anything.”

  “I’m good for now.”

  “All right then, I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” Becky said with enough coo and innuendo and weird Southern lilt that no one could mistake where this was going.

  He watched her sashay around the corner, and his heart went into overdrive. His throat felt as if it was closing seriously now. He’d never thought of himself as the type of guy who did things like this—slept with one woman while thinking of another. He usually didn’t have that many options, or that many women in his periphery.

  He rubbed his stupid itching eyes, coughed to open his throat, and finally caved and poured himself a scotch from her decanter.

  The scotch didn’t do much for his closing throat, but it did still his nerves for a second. Enough to lean casually against the wet bar and enjoy the lights of the city for a second. And then to sneeze again. And then to swallow around what felt like a fur ball in his throat. And then to see a little dog that came wagging around his feet. And then to come to the gradual realization that . . .

  Oh damn.

  He was allergic to these Chihuahuas.

  He tried to swallow again, then gripped his throat. He had to get outside. He fumbled with the lock and frantically threw himself into the fresh air. The cold hit him in the face, but he sucked in as much freshness as he could, willing his throat to open back up.

  When Becky finally came into the living room in an elegant, loungy-flowy pants thing, she took one look at Elliott through the glass and came flying out beside him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you happen to have an antihistamine of any kind?” He squeezed the words out. He was holding on to the balcony rail, trying to balance his highball glass and taking deep breaths.

  “No, I don’t think I do,” she said, rubbing his back.

  He tried to move out of her grasp, because it really wasn’t helping, and then rolled off a few brand names that he managed to squeeze out of his windpipe, but she kept shaking her head.

  “Call Natalie!” she finally
said.

  “Natalie?” Elliott wheezed. Although the name had been on his mind all night, it felt weird hearing it come from Becky’s lips right now.

  “Yes, Natalie. You said you knew her here on the island. She’s probably staying at Olivia’s cottage, Olivia has one of the faster golf carts, and Olivia always has things like that. Lily has lots of allergies.”

  “No. I can just stop at a drugstore or something. There’s one down near my place. I’ll just—”

  “Mr. Gurley closes the drugstore at midnight. He’s gone. Here, I’ll call her!” Becky twirled toward the door, but Elliott shot out his arm and stopped her. Last thing he needed was for his date to call Natalie Grant for help.

  The least embarrassing path seemed to be calling her himself, although he still didn’t know what to say. Maybe he could somehow make his allergy attack sound smooth. He reluctantly shuffled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

  “Elliott?” Natalie whispered worriedly into the phone. “Is everything okay?”

  He wheezed out his predicament, asked if she had any antihistamines, and felt heat rise around his collar when Becky grabbed the phone and asked Natalie in a panicked, shouting voice if she could deliver them quick.

  He grabbed his phone back. “No!” he said. “It’s late. I’ll come to you. I feel better already.”

  “I’ll be right there.” And she hung up.

  Elliott was sure his embarrassment couldn’t get much worse, so he concentrated on taking deep breaths, already feeling better out of the dander-ridden house, and leaned against the balcony. “I’m sorry” was all he could squeeze out to pretty Becky in the flowy pants. He just wanted to be swallowed up by the sagebrush surrounding the house, but instead he made his way across the balcony, leaped over the rail, landed in the brush, and walked around the side so he wouldn’t have to walk through the dander house again.

  Becky met him at the front with a bottle of water and sat with him on the porch. He took a gulp to make sure his throat was still working and immediately felt better, although he sneezed twice when Becky got too close. She said she’d go inside and change.

  He begged her not to bother. “We’ll do this another time. I’ll be more prepared.”

  “Thank you for dinner, Elliott. And for an eventful night. I’m so sorry about the dogs.” She kissed him on the cheek and headed into the house.

  A second later, Natalie came bouncing up the driveway in her red golf cart, then ran toward him with her arm held out, ready to drop the antihistamines into his waiting fingers. “Did she leave you alone out here?” she asked incredulously.

  “I’m fine. I feel much better outside, and I kept sneezing around her. You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

  Seeing her again solidified his embarrassment. She’d changed into pajamas—flannel-looking things with cartoons all over them—and he was sorry he’d called her out of bed. Or maybe not. He couldn’t stop staring at her, even in an oversized, man’s-style top and pants, and huge floppy slippers.

  “Are those pieces of toast?” he asked, inspecting the cartoons more carefully.

  “I like toast.”

  He downed the antihistamines with the bottled water and inspected the toast more carefully. He couldn’t get over her. She just made him want to smile.

  She seemed to ignore all that and furrowed her eyebrows, directing him back to her cart. “Here, let me take you home.”

  “Natalie, seriously, I’m much better now.” Although it felt good to have her hands on him, he was uncomfortable with her treating him like an invalid. He warred over whether or not to move out of her reach. He didn’t want to. He liked being so close to her pieces of toast, and thinking about the fact that only one thin layer of flannel lay between him and her body. But . . . ultimately . . . his pride won out.

  “I’m fine.” He moved away from her babying.

  “Let’s just let the antihistamines do their work for a minute; then I’ll let you go. You probably need fresh air. Do you want to walk a little?”

  She pointed to a trail that ran from Becky’s driveway and seemed to wind down the mountain. The surrounding trees and fresh night air looked appealing, and Elliott led the way, each step farther from Becky’s house giving him more strength.

  “I see you went with the Star Trek watch,” she said.

  “I did.”

  “It’s really nice.”

  “I appreciate that you appreciate it.”

  She laughed as they reached a small outcropping with a large flat boulder in the center. Natalie climbed up, wriggling to the top in her floppy pajamas and slippers. Elliott hauled himself up the rock and sat beside her. It felt as if they were on top of the world, the wind whipping their hair around their faces, overlooking all the twinkling lights of the tourist town.

  “Isn’t everything beautiful up here?” she asked breathlessly, peering over the side of the hill.

  He took in her flannel pants getting buffeted by the wind, her hair that was barely held together in a hasty half braid that looked as though she’d thrown it together before running out to the cart, the loose tendrils of auburn-brown flying about her temples, and her makeup-free face that had spots of color where the cold was touching her cheeks.

  “Sure is,” he finally said.

  CHAPTER 12

  Natalie tugged at her pajama-pant leg, crisscrossed her legs underneath her, and smiled back at Elliott.

  He was so cute. She liked taking care of him. She could keep this mancation under perfect control when she was reacting to him as a sincere friend instead of a potential new boyfriend. And that she did. When his call came, her first instinct was to change into something presentable before hopping in the golf cart—her old way of thinking. But Elliott had been in serious trouble—she could hear the wheezing. So she’d simply grabbed the antihistamines, jumped in the cart, and came to help him without even glancing in the mirror. Without thinking of how to impress him. Her only thought was how to help. It was freeing.

  Plus, he was on his dating quest, and she wasn’t part of it. Just because his date ended in a semidisaster didn’t mean Becky was finished with him. Becky’s slinky pajamas that Natalie had gotten a glimpse of solidified that.

  No, Natalie needed to stay focused on simply being Elliott’s friend.

  He looked as if he could use one now.

  “Aside from the ending, how did this date seem to go?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t expect a call soon.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “The fact that I just stumbled through her bushes out her back patio because I’m apparently severely allergic to her dogs, which she rescues and loves more than anything, isn’t a deal-breaker?”

  “It could be. But the fact that she invited you over, invited you in, and had on her Sophia Loren lounge clothes makes me think it was going pretty well. How did she invite you in?”

  “She just kind of . . .” Elliott waved his hand back toward the door. “I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t know what was happening.”

  “Lust, maybe?”

  Elliott glanced up at her, looking almost ashamed. She didn’t mean to make him feel bad. What man wouldn’t follow sexy Becky into her bedroom if she asked?

  She sighed and reminded herself to be a good friend. “I think you’re doing great,” she finally admitted.

  He blinked up at her.

  His phone buzzed loudly. Natalie stared at his trouser pocket. “That’s her,” she said confidently.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is. Check.”

  He pulled the phone out and lifted his eyebrows. A small grin made a dimple appear. “You’re right.”

  “What is she saying?”

  “She says, ‘Had a great time’—great is in all caps—‘and hope to see you again soon. Next time we’ll go to your place.’ Huh.” He
looked up at her, the surprise evident on his face. He gazed out across the vista as he tucked the phone away, clearly lost in thought about a possible next date. Natalie pushed aside her gut reaction toward jealousy and told herself she was being a better person if she could help Elliott out here.

  “Okay, you can do this,” she said. “I could tell she was interested in you. What’s your next plan?”

  “I don’t have a next plan. I didn’t even know I was moving to a next plan.”

  “Well, what’s your standard second-date plan?”

  “I, uh . . .” His hand flew into the air in exasperation. “I don’t know. You tell me. What’s a good plan?”

  She forced herself to look at this selflessly, and to forget about how sexy he looked with his tie loosened around his neck like that and the start of a five o’clock shadow across his jaw. “Okay, she mentioned your place, so she’s clearly ready to move things along. I think maybe dinner in, like you did for Alice and Caren. And serve a sexy dessert.”

  “A sexy dessert?”

  “Something like strawberries and cream.”

  “You find strawberries and cream sexy?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s kind of a standard message. Strawberries equals sexy.”

  “Do I do something with the strawberries?” His mouth quirked up on one side.

  “You could do something with the cream,” she snapped.

  His smile slipped a little, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a visible swallow.

  What was wrong with her? She didn’t like making him feel uncomfortable. But she also didn’t like the slimy jealousy slithering through her veins right now and didn’t know how to handle it. But she could. She was determined to be selfless.

  She took a deep breath and tried again.

  “And feel free to touch her throughout dinner.”

  Elliott glanced back up at her. “Does this involve the strawberries?” He cleared his throat.

  “No. Touch her body, I mean. Her hand, her thigh. Depends on what you have access to during dinner. It sort of starts the whole foreplay process early.”