Virtually Mine (The Lindstroms Book 5)

by Katy Paige

  “I swear to God—”

  “You swear what? I thought you had a virtual girlfriend to worry about. It’s none of yer business anyway.” He sauntered away, pouring milk into a metal pitcher. He asked over his shoulder, “You want anythin’?”

  “Cappuccino,” said Paul tightly.

  He hated to admit it, but the kid was right. It was none of his business if Graham wanted to pursue Zoë or if Zoë wanted to “knock boots” with Graham. But it sat like acid in his stomach, the idea of Zoë with this guy. She deserved a nice guy. She deserved much better than smart-ass Graham.

  He turned his back to the bar, leaning against it as the familiar sound of steaming milk filled the otherwise quiet of the small, empty café. He couldn’t help but watch Zoë, the way her black hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming into the window, the way she turned the pages of the newspaper softly.

  She’d been in an accident that maimed her leg, but somehow, she still started her days dancing down the street, singing pop music, hips swaying appealingly, face bright and alert and cheerful. So many people would have retreated from the world—hidden or run away. She was probably the bravest person he’d ever met.

  He felt a surge of guilt remembering her words. It got complicated.

  Yeah, I’ll say.

  The reality was that despite his pep talk to himself last night about staying away from Zoë, he had felt the leap in his heart when he saw her dancing down the street, singing a touch too loud for a quiet Saturday morning.

  She’d been singing the song “I Do,” a song Paul had discovered after meeting Holly. It was a sweet song—a young woman who hadn’t had much luck in love had finally met a man whom she wanted to marry, raise a family, and grow old with. He’d liked the sweetness of it right away and had listened to it a time or two thinking of Holly.

  Now he’d never be able to hear it again without thinking of Zoë. And the way her body felt pressed against his, her hips held tightly by his fingers? Forget it. Complicated was just the tip of the iceberg.

  She turned her head to look out the window and he could see the scar on her face, pink and shiny with the teeny, tiny dots on either side that would have been from the needle puncturing her skin, to pull it back together after it had been split open. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d been through.

  So why wasn’t this guy treating her with tenderness and respect? She flew all the way out here to see him, right? What was the matter with that guy anyway?

  For God’s sake, if she were mine—

  He turned away from her, opening his eyes wide at the direction of his thoughts, his breath catching in his throat as he realized what he was about to think. He ground his jaw, feeling suddenly stricken. He had thought the words If she were mine, almost as if he wished she was.

  Stop thinking about her like that!

  He turned back to Graham, frustration and annoyance making his voice low and bitter. “Need some help? Takes Maggie half the time to make twice as many.”

  Graham turned to Paul, holding two mugs of perfect cappuccino. He smirked at Paul’s tone, glancing at Paul’s crotch, then back up to his face.

  “Sour mood, eh? I bet they’re blue,” he whispered. He raised his eyebrows at Paul in challenge then called out in a cheerful voice, “Cap’s ready, Miss Zoë.”

  Paul took the mugs, giving Graham an ominous scowl. “I’ve got it.”

  Graham’s tasteless comment wasn’t too far off, though. Paul’s body was having a hard time accepting his head’s no for an answer. It was only going to get worse if his heart started caving in too.

  ***

  An hour later, Paul unlocked the front door of the Gardiner Middle and High School, holding it open for Zoë, who followed him into the quiet building, openly gawking at his tight ass as he turned back to relock the front doors.

  They’d had a nice conversation over coffee about Gardiner and how Paul had ended up there after growing up in Maine. He mentioned that his family had once taken a summer vacation to a dude ranch in Wyoming and Paul had been overcome by the beauty of the park; he’d known then that Wyoming or Montana would have to figure into his future.

  It was surprisingly easy to act as though everything he told her was new; she loved listening to him tell her about going to Brown, opting out of the family business and choosing to go into education instead. And being able to ask questions made the conversation so much less one-dimensional than their texting conversations had been. There was nothing quite like staring into someone’s eyes, listening to the changes in their voice, watching them smile or shrug or grimace as the story demanded. Zoë loved that she’d gotten to know Paul over the internet and during a handful of phone conversations, but sitting next to him was infinitely more intimate, if distracting. As they sat together on the window seat, her knee had rested lightly on the edge of his thigh, but she had savored the contact, minimal though it was, and wondered if he had noticed it too.

  “So,” he said, rousing her from her thoughts as they stepped into the cool, dark front hallway of the squat, brick public building. “Here we are. Zoë, meet my school. School, this is Zoë.”

  She heard the note of pride in his voice, and peeked up at him, smiling at his handsome face as he looked right and left down the front corridor, as though making sure naught was amiss. And nothing was. The floors were buffed to a high shine, the display cases held several decades’ worth of school trophies and a banner over the double doors to the cafeteria read “WELCOME BACK STUDENTS!”

  Zoë took a deep breath, the old public-school smell making her miss her teaching days, even as she welcomed the familiarity of it.

  “The smell, right?” Paul asked smiling. “How many years since you’ve been back to high school?”

  “Oh, I used to—” She stopped herself just before blurting out that she used to be an art teacher. That would have been a little too close to Holly’s story. She had to think fast, but she didn’t want to lie. “—sub.”

  It was true. She had been a sub for six months out of college before finding a permanent position.

  Paul’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an O. “You were a teacher? I had no idea!”

  “Well, how would you?”

  “We have teaching in common,” he said, staring at her, a slight smile on his face. Then he chuckled lightly, leaning toward her and flicking on the hallway light on the wall behind her shoulder. His arm brushed her shoulder and he smelled like fresh air and coffee and she fought against letting her eyes close in blissful awareness of him.

  “How long ago?”

  “W-what?” she asked, her voice even breathier than it had been since arriving in Gardiner.

  “How long ago? The subbing?”

  “Oh! Um, right out of college.”

  He gestured to the hallway and she fell into step beside him.

  “Did you want to teach? Or were you just killing time as you found your way?”

  “I love kids,” she evaded. “I loved the days I spent teaching.”

  “So, why didn’t you stick with it? You’re patient and kind and easygoing. I bet more than one kid had a crush on his pretty sub.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks felt warm from his flattery. “I may go back to it at some point.”

  “What lured you away?”

  Her answer sat like a rock in her stomach, but she forced herself to tell the truth. “I’m a website designer.”

  He nodded with a “nothing wrong with that” look on his face. “Well, that sounds interesting.”

  She scoffed good-naturedly. “It’s not, really. My boss hired me to bring a more creative edge to his company, but it’s hard to be creative about pool cleaning and window treatment businesses, you know?”

  “Sounds like you should go back to teaching,” he said, stopping beside a door neatly labeled “Art Studio A,” his hand on the doorknob.

  “Maybe I will,” she said honestly, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe she would. No, not maybe. She would. Stan had been k
ind to her, giving her a good job with a decent salary when she’d needed one, but she was sick and tired of the mind-numbing days under the fluorescent lights of his office. She missed being in a school. She missed working with kids. She’d call her old principal when she got home—

  When she got home.

  It hurt to even think it.

  Will Paul have rejected her by then? Will he have told her he could never be with a liar and tell her never to contact him again? How would she bear it? How could she possibly stand to lose him? To lose this sweetness, this attraction, the most amazing connection her heart and mind had ever known in all her life?

  “Zoë? Zoë?”

  She looked up and he was staring at her, head cocked to the side.

  “I lost you there for a sec. You okay?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.” She took a deep breath, offering him a tentative smile. “I was lost…um, in my thoughts.”

  “Too bad you’re not still a sub,” he said, opening the door and preceding her into the room to turn on the lights. “I’d hire you from New Year’s to Memorial Day here in the art studio. Mrs. Kaye is leaving on a maternity absence. And while I totally respect the right for any woman to stay home with her kids, it sure does complicate staffing.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zoë, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered wildly at the thought of staying in Gardiner with Paul and having the opportunity to teach again.

  “A lot of teachers don’t come back. They take the three months’ leave, then extend to six, then break the news that they’re going to stay home for a few years and not come back, after all. Again, I am all for women making their own decisions about staying home with their children. But I have to hire a three-month sub, then see if the sub can extend her placement with us, and then I have to hire a full-time replacement after all.”

  She nodded distractedly. She hadn’t thought about her principal having to find a sub for her and a permanent replacement. Her idea of calling to get her old job back suddenly felt pretty unrealistic.

  “Here we are,” Paul said, gesturing to the left wall with one hand. “Do your worst.”

  Zoë lifted her eyes to the wall and felt her face break into a grin. Art supplies covered an entire wall of shelves.

  “Wow,” she sighed, moving toward the wall and finally being totally distracted by something other than Paul Johansson. “Wow. You’ve got everything.”

  Metal shelves were neatly labeled and the supplies on them arranged so that students would be able to find everything they needed to spark their creativity. Paints, acrylic and oil, pastels, watercolors, brushes in every possible shape and size. She looked lower and found chalk and charcoal in neat buckets, waiting for a student to claim them, and lower still markers in a variety of tip points and colors.

  “We take specials and extracurricular activities really seriously,” he answered, grinning at her, and she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.

  “I guess you do!” she said, genuinely impressed. “No wonder you’re ranked first in the state.”

  “Hey,” he said, touching her elbow so that she turned to him. His forehead creased as he stared at her. “How’d you know that?”

  Oh, crap! That wasn’t something she should know! He shared the news with her over the phone last week, but she knew it wasn’t going to be announced publicly for another two weeks. She turned back to the art supplies, stalling.

  She swallowed uncomfortably, having a wild impulse to tell him everything. Just start talking and tell him everything and not stop until he escorted her back to the front door of the school and locked her out.

  Instead, she remembered something she’d read in the local paper this morning while waiting for her coffee.

  “I-I mean, I’m assuming you will be. I read in the newspaper this morning that it’s going to be announced soon and that Gardiner’s in the running.”

  He stared at her for an extra beat before his face relaxed and he nodded. “Yes, we’re a finalist this year. He hesitated. I shouldn’t tell you this. They contacted me last week. …we won. We’re first.”

  “Wow!” She turned back to him, her face a beaming smile. “That’s just—that’s amazing, Paul! Congratulations! You must be so proud!”

  He nodded modestly, but he looked delighted. And young. And beautiful.

  She couldn’t stop herself.

  She opened her arms, stepping toward him, and without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her into his body for a hug, pressing her tightly up against his chest, his arms encompassing her whole body. Zoë closed her eyes, twisting her neck to rest her cheek on his shirt, relieved that she hadn’t been found out, the adrenaline rush still making her feel a little dizzy. She wobbled on her feet a little and Paul leaned back to look at her, but he didn’t let go.

  “Did I hurt your leg pulling on you?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head slowly, holding his eyes.

  Something shifted in the air between them, and she was suddenly, achingly aware of his closeness.

  “Zoë, I…” His low, deep-conflicted voice trailed off as his gaze flicked to her lips. “I promised I wouldn’t…”

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  And she wanted him to.

  But she saw the pain in his eyes, the terrible fight he was having with himself, and her love for him overrode her almost painful desire for him. She pushed back against his chest, turning quickly back to the art shelves. But longing for him pooled low in her tummy, throbbing and painful, and her eyes burned with tears. She wanted him. So much. So badly.

  “Choose whatever you want, whatever you need,” he said softly from behind her. “I’m going to stop in at the office. I’ll meet you back at the front doors.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. She listened as he crossed back to the door that led back out to the corridor.

  “Zoë?”

  “Mmm?” she murmured with her back to him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  ***

  Paul was grateful to be sitting next to Lars in the front seat of his truck and not next to Zoë in the back. Although there’s nothing he’d like better than to sit beside her, he was proving to have little to no self-control where she was concerned. Anyway, before they left Gardiner and lost the cell signal, he wanted to send a quick “Hello/I miss you” text to Holly.

  Hey Holly. Hope all is well in CT and you’re settling into your hotel. I really miss you. If you can talk before Fri, please call. –P

  He pushed his phone in his back pocket then heard an almost immediate ding ring out in the car. He fished his phone back out quickly, but there were no new incoming messages. It must not have been his phone. Turning his head slightly, he saw Zoë looking at her phone-on-one side of the back seat and Jane looking at hers on the other—must have been one of theirs. While he had the phone back out, he scrolled through his texts with Holly for a moment, realizing that she’d never written back to the text he sent yesterday afternoon, and here he was sending another.

  He blew out an annoyed breath, tucking his phone away again. Talk about needy.

  He had promised himself not to act like a needy, cloying boyfriend while Holly was at her conference and now here he was, texting her repeatedly. Even worse than the action was the reason behind it. Guilt. He had sent both messages not because he’d seen something that reminded him of Holly or because he had something meaningful to share with her, but because he felt guilty about his attraction to Zoë.

  You shouldn’t need to hear Holly’s voice to be assured that she’s worth holding out for.

  Then again, he couldn’t deny his attraction to Zoë, or his growing admiration of her. She was a complex combination of contradictions and he could feel her getting under his skin; she was little and curvy, she was vulnerable and guarded, she was sad and hopeful.

  He was interested in her.

  There. You admitted it.
r />   Did it make him any less committed to Holly just because he was interested in Zoë? Was there room for both situations in his life?

  He mulled this over for a minute while Jane leaned forward to plug her iPhone into Lars’s radio. A second later an older, bluesy-style rock and roll song came through the speakers. Paul didn’t know the song but the lyrics in the first verse included the words “Now, baby, you’re casting your spell on me…” and Paul looked out the window, smiling lightly. Wasn’t it strange when that happened? When a song you’d never heard before nailed the way you were feeling?

  Yes, he decided. There’s room for both, as long as you’re just figuring it out. But you’re going to have to make a choice. Soon.

  In the side mirror to his right, he saw Zoë’s face peeking out of the window behind him. Her black hair was blowing back, and while her sunglasses kept her eyes hidden, she was smiling and occasionally looking back at Jane as they sang along to the song. He stared at her in the mirror until he realized she was staring back at him. She lowered the glasses and he watched, transfixed, as one eye winked, almost in slow motion, before she pushed the glasses back up on her nose.

  Paul looked away from the mirror, sitting back in the seat, unable to keep the giddy grin from spreading out across his face.

  Figure out what’s between you and Zoë. But you’re going to have to make up your mind who you want in your life. Sooner rather than later…before someone gets hurt.

  CHAPTER 13

  Zoë couldn’t get over the wild beauty of the falls. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and even though she’d been trying to capture their rushing majesty with pastels and chalk for over two hours, she didn’t feel that anything she had created was doing it justice.

  “Hey, Zoë! You almost ready for lunch?” asked Jane with a sunny smile, walking over to Zoë from the other side of the viewing area where she’d been experimenting with different angles, lenses and filters. “Lars texted me. The guys are taking a break.”

  They’d left the car at a parking area near the road at the top of the falls and the girls had walked the short way to a viewing area where Zoë had helped Jane set up her tripod before finding a rock where she could spread out her art supplies. Before they’d parted, Lars had explained that Gibbon Falls was located roughly five miles upstream from the confluence of the Gibbon and Firehole Rivers and had a drop of approximately eighty-five feet. They’d made a plan to meet up in a few hours and then Lars and Paul had headed back to the car to suit up in waders and vests, grab their fly fishing poles and lure kits.