The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

  “Well, she does need to be socialized,” Miles said, with a glance back at the dog. Stormy was staring at them with a huge grin on her endearing face. She was panting with excitement. This was only her third time in a car, but she seemed quite at home in it.

  He turned on the ignition and, when the engine roared to life, the Bluetooth sound system immediately synced with his phone and his most recent audiobook blared to breathless life:

  Dendroignis the Abhorrent, violator of maidens, demolisher of kingdoms, pillager of riches, scourge of the four sovereignties of Terra Arbor, will lay waste to our dwellings if apposite safeguards are not—

  “Shit!” He fumbled for the dial and muted the bombastic speech. “Sorry.”

  “What was that?” Charity asked as he navigated the vehicle out of the garage.

  He focused on clearing the structure before answering her question. “An audiobook.”

  “I gathered that much. It was very…descriptive.”

  “The author does bang on but—” He shrugged offering her a small smile and appreciating how she had turned in her seat to give him her full focus. “I like it.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “It’s a space opera.”

  “Like Star Wars?”

  “A bit darker. Very medieval and graphic.”

  “Medieval? In space?”

  “Well, their world, Terra Arbor, is primitive. They’re fighting over land and resources, using swords, burning pitch, and trebuchets in battle. That kind of thing.”

  “So…no spaceships?”

  “Of course they have spaceships, but…”

  “How can they have spaceships but still not have evolved beyond sword fights and medieval battle tactics? What about medicine? How do they treat the gaping sword wounds?”

  “Their ship, the Arbor, was part of a larger colonial fleet—humans fleeing a dying earth in the year 2250—and it crash-landed on a massive, habitable planet—”

  “Of all the planets, in all the solar systems, amidst billions of galaxies, in an infinite universe, they crash-landed on a habitable one? Fortuitous…” she inserted dryly, and he shot her an unfathomable look, before continuing.

  “The rest of the fleet continued on their journey, because once the ships land, they’re no longer able to take off. They become temporary hubs for the two thousand people who populate them. The ship is meant to house them and protect them, until their new planet is terraformed and suitable for human habitation. The fleet promised to send a rescue mission back for the Arboreans, but that was over five hundred years ago.

  “Meanwhile, the colonists on the crashed ship learned to adapt to life on Terra Arbor. But resources are scarce, and tech has degraded badly. They inevitably broke off into clans, and formed kingdoms to keep the gene pool diverse. They created a primitive free-market and trade-based society. But there were outliers, those who wanted to control resources and amass power. Dendroignis the Abhorrent is the descendant of one of those outliers.”

  His voice trailed off in embarrassment as he recognized that he was being overzealous in his eagerness to share his favorite author with her. He sneaked a glance at her—she was watching him with an enigmatic smile on her full lips.

  “Is it a series?”

  “Uh, yes. This is the fifth book in the saga. It started with Alpha Gen, the original stranded colonials.”

  “So you don’t have one hero to root for?”

  “The first book was mostly world building. A prologue of sorts, it gave us an insight into the struggles the original generation faced. The next book skipped two hundred and fifty years ahead and showed us how everything pretty much went to hell. Books three to five focus on the current generation. The series follows one particular clan, the Cedarians—all the clans are named after trees—which is why the outlying tribe named itself Dendroignis, which literally translates into ‘tree fire’.”

  Charity couldn’t stop staring at him. He reminded her of an excited little boy telling her about his favorite toy. The story sounded frankly ridiculous, but the delight he took in it was charming to witness. She let him continue on about these fictitious clans, their spirit trees, and their mortal enemies the tree burners or whatever. And she couldn’t prevent a silly smile from creeping onto her lips.

  Miles Hollingsworth was kind of adorable when he was geeking out, and she kept him talking with the occasional leading question.

  She was happy she had summoned up the guts to join him and Stormy that morning. It felt good to be out of the house again. She hadn’t left the premises aside from that one shopping trip to Riversend on the day after his arrival nearly two weeks ago. He had gone into town to get Stormy checked out after the power outage but, with the exception of his daily walks, he had also been pretty much housebound.

  Something he said drew her back to the conversation.

  “Wait, so there’s magic?”

  “No, just powerful elemental forces at play.”

  “But you just said the fire starter guy was a mage.”

  “The planet contains powerful mystical and elemental forces and the Dendroignis outliers have learned to harness them. But the current leader of the Cedarians, Willow, is a first-generation weather mage. She draws her power from the cedar trees Alpha Gen planted five hundred years ago. Something in the soil has mutated them into powerful…”

  And on he went… this story sounded crazy and convoluted. The author had clearly been unable to decide if he wanted to write sci-fi, or fantasy, or good old-fashioned mythology. So he had thrown everything but the kitchen sink into the story.

  Aaaand now there were…

  “Dragons?” Seriously?

  “Well, not dragons as we know them,” he explained earnestly. “A native species of flying reptile. Willow has leaf-bonded with a hatchling. I think the connection between her and Delonix—the hatchling—is going to be a serious game changer.”

  “How many books are in this series?”

  “Ten. The author, Michael Quinn, has written several epic series before this one. I’ve read them all, but this is my favorite.”

  “I see,” she said faintly. “And you like this space opera stuff?”

  “They haven’t all been space operas. The last one was straight up fantasy.”

  She honestly wouldn’t have taken Mr. Straitlaced Hollingsworth as someone who enjoyed anything as fantastical as this. She’d only ever seen him read newspapers. Then again; he often sat in isolation—a pair of headphones clamped over his ears—while his siblings and friends laughed and played. She had always believed that he chose to cut himself off from them because he was dour and unfriendly and a workaholic. But she now understood that this was his way of relaxing. All those times he had been lost in one of these insane stories.

  This man: rescuer of stray pups, avid fan of over-the-top fantasy fiction, sudden boiled egg naysayer, recent frequenter of her most erotic fantasies, was nothing like the cold, calculating person she had originally believed him to be.

  “Do you only listen? Or do you read these books as well?” she asked when he took a breath between raving about dragon bonds and the discovery of a new and hotly contested continent.

  “I don’t usually have the time, or patience, to sit and read a book. I can’t remember the last time I read one from start to finish. I often multitask when I’m listening to a book. It’s a more efficient use of my time. We’re here.”

  The last two words surprised her and she glanced out to see that they were, indeed, pulling up to the dirt parking area at Klein Bekkie. There were only three other cars in the lot. The half hour journey had flown by. She had been so riveted by his retelling of the bizarre space saga, that she hadn’t paid much attention to the passing scenery.

  “You ready for your beach debut, Monster Mutt?” he asked over his shoulder as he put the vehicle in park. The pup whined in anticipation and he grinned—a wide, open, boyish grin. He turned to Charity and gave her the full force of that smile, dimple and all, and it
stripped her breath away.

  “She loves the lake and I’m keen to see how she takes to the ocean,” he told Charity, his gorgeous smile remaining firmly in place.

  “I’m sure she’s going to love this too,” Charity said her voice faint, as she tried to find the breath he had stolen from her with that gorgeous grin.

  A deep, purring, oh-so-sexy sound of approval rumbled from his chest, and he opened the door and leaped from the Land Rover. She was still unbuckling her seatbelt by the time he had rounded the front of the vehicle and opened the door for her. A little flustered by the consideration, she didn’t give herself time to think before taking the hand he offered, and stepping to the ground on wobbly legs. His hands weren’t as soft as she would have imagined. The last week or so of wood chopping and garden work had formed a few callouses on those capable, broad palms, and she loved the feel of the rough texture of his skin on her own.

  She shuddered as she imagined them exploring other, more sensitive, parts of her body and helplessly clenched her thighs at the thought. Thank God, he seemed to remain oblivious her reaction. Instead, he released her hand almost immediately and turned back to the vehicle for Stormy. The pup’s excited whining was turning into yelps of approval, and he chuckled.

  “Cool your jets, Stormy girl,” he said, as he lifted her from the booster seat and snapped a leash to her harness. He clipped a bag of treats to one of the belt loops of his well-fitted, low-riding jeans, donned his backpack, and beamed at Charity. “Ready?”

  It was breezy this close to the ocean, and Charity’s hair was starting to lift and play around her face. She regretted not bringing a hair tie and swept the length over her left shoulder and tried to anchor it in place with her scarf.

  She grabbed up her own backpack and shrugged into it before nodding.

  “Ready.”

  Stormy was tugging at the leash, while Miles waited for Charity to join them.

  His eyes ran over her face. “You cold?”

  “It’s nippy but not too bad.”

  A long strand of her hair escaped the imprisoning hold of the scarf and danced on the wind. He leaned forward and very slowly—clearly projecting his intention and giving her ample opportunity to back away if she chose—reached out and tucked the hair behind her ear.

  She stood her ground and allowed it. Happy that he had—by the excruciating slowness of his movements and the question in his eyes—requested permission to touch.

  “Let’s go.”

  Miles appreciated Stormy’s clear enjoyment of the exciting new sights and sounds around her. They were walking downstream along the slow-moving river, toward the beach. There were a few random anglers scattered about, all of them utterly focused on their lines. Several of the men looked up and nodded as Miles and Charity passed.

  Stormy, after initially pulling at her lead, finally settled into a cheerful trot alongside Miles’s heel, happily obeying his unspoken commands to speed up or slow down. Charity didn’t speak much, she seemed content to take in the scenery, occasionally pointing out water fowl with descriptive names like “black-winged stilt”, or “white-faced whistling duck”, and his favorite, the “maccoa duck”. It was his favorite mainly because of Charity’s reaction when she spotted it.

  She grabbed his arm to halt his movements and leaned toward him with such urgency that for a split-second Miles thought she must have injured herself. An instant later, she pushed the length of her body against his side to get closer to his face. For a breathless, exciting moment he was utterly convinced she was going to kiss him.

  Instead, disappointingly, she placed her mouth close to his ear to whisper, “Look! Over there. Maccoa ducks.”

  His eyes followed the straight line of her arm and extended index finger to spot a family of happily bobbing ducks. Weird looking, squat things with brown bodies, black heads, white markings on their faces, and magnificent blue bills.

  “We’re lucky to see them, especially at this time of year. There are no females in this group. They’re probably nesting already. I’m really surprised they’re here. They’re rarely found on rivers, I assume because of the recent rains, and because this part of the river is fairly sluggish, it offers some good eating. They’re on the near endangered list and are quite shy.”

  “You know a lot about this stuff,” he murmured.

  “Not really. I’m just interested in my surroundings and do a lot of reading in my downtime.”

  “You probably have a lot of that. Downtime, I mean.”

  She was still staring at the ducks—a dreamy, faraway look on her face. He wondered what was behind that reflective gaze.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” he offered, his voice hushed. He did not want to spook her or the contentedly bobbing ducks.

  A smile crooked the corner of her lips, but she kept her eyes on the birds.

  “A penny? Hmm…what with the currency conversion, that’s slightly more than they’re worth.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I was considering your statement. About me having a lot of downtime. Seems it would be bad form to agree with your employer about having little, to nothing, to do when they’re not around. Wouldn’t want you to reconsider my worth or anything.”

  “Now now, Mrs. Cole,” he said, his voice light. “You know you’re priceless.”

  The smile faded and a troubled frown fleetingly settled on her face before she smoothed her expression and turned away from the ducks. “Let’s get to the beach, Stormy’s getting impatient.”

  Disturbed by the depth of sadness he’d seen on her face moments before, Miles hesitated, but she moved onward without waiting for him to follow. He remained rooted to the spot and watched the enigmatic beauty walk away from him. It was a pleasure to witness her graceful gait. She had her gloved hands tucked into the pockets of her down jacket and strands of her hair escaping the confines of her scarf and riding on the breeze behind her. Lending her an ethereal vulnerability.

  Stormy whined and strained against her leash, eager to follow Charity. Miles complied, taking a few hurried strides to catch up with the woman.

  The river mouth widened and shallowed when they reached the beach, and the fresh water flowed placidly into the gentle embrace of the ocean. Well, currently gentle. Miles imagined the ebb and flow of the waves would be a lot less tranquil once the tide rolled in.

  The scenery changed dramatically at the beach. The lush greenery of the trees and shrubs along the riverside opened up to a long stretch of pristine white sand dunes, dotted with hardy fynbos, and a flat shoreline, perfect for sunbathing during summer.

  The beach was empty and, despite the relative warmth of the day, a light mist was hovering just above the ground. Miles could see a jogger coming toward them, still so far off, he was nothing but a dark speck in the distance. He could just make out a smaller speck—probably a dog—keeping pace with the jogger.

  As Charity had predicted, there were a few kite surfers dotted along the shore, some in the water, and several still unloading their kites. A lone kayaker was paddling out beyond the surf. A couple walked hand in hand down the beach. They had their shoes off and pant legs rolled up, but maintained a respectful distance from the gentle, lapping waves. Miles imagined the water had to be freezing.

  This place was paradise and Miles inhaled deeply—happy that he was able to do so with relative ease—enjoying the salty tang of the fresh air. He looked at Charity who was watching him with a smile.

  “Why haven’t I ever come out here before?” he wondered out loud, and her smile widened.

  “I like coming here, especially in winter. It’s so peaceful. I often run on the beach.”

  Of course, she did. Miles was starting to understand how important fitness was to her. She swam often and, in the last week, he had spotted her heading out to the lakeshore in running gear before dawn every day. He was usually out in his private garden at that time, waiting for Stormy to do her business.

  Charity had no idea he knew,
and he didn’t want to mention it in case she felt uncomfortable or considered it an infringement of her privacy. He did not want her to feel like he was spying on her. The fact that he had seen her had been altogether unintentional…

  The first time.

  After that he had looked forward to those furtive glimpses of her every morning. She always seemed so unguarded and carefree in her running gear, with her hair tied up in a long, swinging ponytail. And he enjoyed seeing her like that.

  He didn’t say anything in response to her comment and unclipped the dancing Stormy’s leash.

  The dog yapped joyously and took off down the beach at a precipitous pace, barking all the way.

  “Oh fuck! Stormy!” Panicked, Miles took off after her, calling her frantically. The dog didn’t acknowledged him and, terrified that he was going to lose her, Miles tried to keep up. But he could feel himself flagging, the walk had already taken a lot out of him. He staggered and would have fallen if not for the firm hand that latched onto his elbow. He was unsurprised to find Charity standing beside him. She had kept pace with him for the humiliating, short distance he had managed to run.

  He refused to be self-conscious about that. She was currently in much better shape than he was. He knew that. Still…it would be nice not to be seen as a lame duck by this woman anymore. He doubled over, his hands on his knees, while his breath wheezed in and out of his bellowing, hurting lungs. He could hear Charity making soft, encouraging sounds above him, one of her hands was stroking his back in soothing circular motions.

  He lifted a limp hand.

  “S-Stormy…please…get…”

  “Stormy’s fine,” Charity said, her voice calm. She handed him an open bottle of water, and he grabbed it and gratefully gulped the cool liquid down. “Easy, Miles. Small sips.”

  He complied.

  “She thought you were playing a grand old game with her,” Charity said. “She’s stopped running, and she’s watching us now, probably wondering why you’re not playing anymore.”