by Katy Paige
“Without dinner?”
“For dinner.”
“You’re naughty,” she said, but she was pleased. He could tell.
“Not usually. Usually I’m just Principal Paul.”
“I like Principal Paul,” she said softly.
Her simple words made him beam like an idiot as he handed her a glass of wine, the red liquid swirling round and round the wide bowl.
“What’re we drinking to?” she asked, slipping off the counter.
“To you, Zoë,” he answered, holding her dark eyes, as he lifted his glass to touch it against hers. “I’m drinking to you.”
CHAPTER 15
Paul insisted Zoë put on his navy-blue fleece jacket and they reset the table on the back porch.
She’d imagined him on this very porch so many times and smiled at the swing to the left, then took in the rest of the covered space; room for a table with four seats, a barbeque grill and a small serving table. Looking out at the view, she found Electric Peak in the distance based on his descriptions alone. This was where he’d written to her, gotten to know her, and fallen for her. Zoë felt an immediate comfort in her surroundings.
Being wrapped up in his jacket, surrounded by his scent, was the warmest, happiest place Zoë had ever visited. She sat at the table and sipped her wine as he stood at the grill, telling her about his family.
As she listened, it surprised her to learn that he hadn’t been completely forthcoming about his relationship with them during their correspondence; he wasn’t close to his family. He had more or less left Maine purposely to place distance between himself and his family and start his own life in Montana.
“Do you go home?” she asked, lightly swirling her wine glass, which sparkled in the candlelight.
“Honestly? It’s awkward. I go for Christmas, or like, if there’s a wedding or something back east, I try to go. My brother Bennett is a total asshole. Sorry. But he is. And my other brother Ted is a puppet. He’s the youngest and he does whatever Bennett and my father tell him to do.”
“Which is?”
“Yale undergrad. Harvard Law. Family firm in Boston.”
“You don’t think he’s happy?”
“I don’t think he ever looked around long enough to decide if it was what he wanted. And Bennett…” he swore lightly under his breath.
“What?” she asked, longing to know everything about him. “What about Bennett?”
“He’s like a sociopath. Super charming. Really good-looking. Insanely successful. But he’s void of feelings. He’d step on your face if it helped his purposes. He’s cold.”
“No,” breathed Zoë. “It’s not possible if he’s your brother. Something must have happened to him.”
“If it did, I don’t know what.”
“How much older is he? Than you?”
“Eight years.”
“And he’s close to your dad?”
“Sort of. I think he kind of hates my father, but he smiles through it. It’s creepy.”
“And your mom?”
“She and Bennett are like oil and water. She gets on better with Ted.”
“You don’t include yourself at all.”
“I guess I don’t feel like a part of them,” he confessed, shutting the lid of the grill and taking a seat at the table across from her. “But in a nutshell? My father’s disappointed in me. My brothers think teaching’s a joke. And my mother…”
“What about your mom?”
He smiled lightly, joining her at a seat across the table. “She’s okay. She can be pretty great one-on-one…when she’s not being a super-snotty society wife.”
It sounded complicated and Zoë thought about never knowing her father, her mother’s death, her broken relationship with Thea. Listening to Paul’s brokenness with his family made her want to fix the problems in her own, made her wonder if she had the strength to reach out to Thea and Brandon once she got home again.
“You love your mom,” Zoë said quietly.
He looked up at her, looking unsure of what to say. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about his family anymore.
“What about you?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine and stretching his legs out under the table until his bare feet found hers.
“My dad left when I was too little to remember. My mom passed away when I was in high school.” She knew that she was sharing facts she had shared as Holly, so she didn’t mention Sandy. “I have an older sister.”
“And nephew,” said Paul quietly, his eyes darting to her scar before returning to her eyes.
She nodded, relieved that he didn’t appear to be correlating Holly’s history to hers.
“I don’t speak to my sister,” she blurted out. “She hates me, pretty much.”
“Because of the accident.”
Zoë nodded, biting her lower lip and willing the tears away. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be able to talk about it without the crushing sorrow. So far, she was doing a better-than-usual job at keeping it at bay.
“His car seat wasn’t working right. I knew it. I should have figured out another way to get him home, but I was in a rush. We were sideswiped on the highway and he…he just…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head back and forth slowly, unable to say any more, losing the battle for composure.
She didn’t notice him get up, but suddenly he was squatting beside her, taking her hand in his. With his other hand he brushed away the tear that had escaped.
“Zoë.”
She looked up.
“You didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“But I d-did.”
“It was an accident.”
She twisted toward him, dropping her head to his shoulder and letting him pull her onto his lap on the floor of the porch. Curling into him, she closed her eyes, sobbing softly against his chest as he held her tightly.
“The s-steaks are burning,” she finally sighed, taking a deep breath that smelled like Paul and burned barbeque.
“I don’t care.”
“I keep d-doing this to you. C-crying all over you like a l-lunatic.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
“No,” she conceded, wiping the last of her tears with the back of her hand.
“You know, I used to be a guidance counselor?” He nodded. “Yup. For two years outside of Boston before taking the job as principal out here. So, here’s my therapist question for you. Can you make space for this in your life? Can you figure out how to live with it?”
“He lost his legs! I can’t. Ever.”
“Kids are so resilient. He’ll be okay. Don’t get me wrong; it’s terrible it happened. But I bet he lives with it better than you do because it’s what he knows. He manages. You’re still grieving what he lost, but my guess is that he’s not. Not like you are. Zoë, you can’t live like this. You have to find room for it in your life so it doesn’t break your heart every day.” He paused, pulling back to look at her. “And I think you should talk to your sister because it sounds like you really miss her.”
Zoë swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding her head. “I know. I will.”
Paul took a deep breath and sighed glancing at the grill. “You okay now? Can I go look at the damage?”
She nodded, easing up off his lap and offering him a hand.
He took her hand and stood up nimbly. He stared at her for a moment then lifted one finger, tracing the jagged scar on her face gently from her hairline to her neck, finally resting two fingers over her thumping pulse.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured, and Zoë forced herself to meet his eyes, not to look away as though she were unworthy of his praise.
A slow smile spread across his face and he dropped a quick kiss to her lips before turning away and opening the grill.
“Uh-oh. Do you like your steak super crispy?”
Zoë wrinkled her nose.
Paul winked at her. “How about an omelet?”
***
After a dinner of omelets an
d salad, Zoë was feeling pretty relaxed.
It had been, hands down, one of the best evenings she had ever spent with anyone, anytime, anywhere. The only thorn in her side was the underlying fear about telling him the truth on Thursday.
In her mind it looked like this: It was as though they were holding hands as they walked together, but Paul didn’t know a massive, rolling, raging river was coming up and it was going to block their path. And maybe—just maybe—if they could somehow find a way to hold on to each other and jump together, they might make it to the other side. With a heavy heart she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d drop her hand and walk away, leaving her alone on a raging riverbank with the full weight of her deception for company.
Paul smiled at her across the table, oblivious to her inner struggle.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, rubbing her toes with his. “So intense.”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Me first.” He took a sip of his wine and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table, raising his beloved blue eyes to her face. “I’m going to break things off with Holly. I’m falling for y—”
As much as she longed to hear his voice say the words, she didn’t want to hear them until after she’d told him the truth. Only then would she know he truly meant it.
“I’m leaving,” Zoë blurted out.
“W-what? You’re what?” Paul’s face contorted with confusion, changing from soft and loving to troubled and upset in the space of a second. It made her hate herself.
“Just for a couple of days,” she added, pulling her feet back from his and drawing them up to the edge of her chair so she could wrap her arms around her bent legs.
“What the hell? Where are you going?”
“The park. With Nils.”
She watched as Paul’s face transformed again—this time from confused to thunderous. He sat back in his chair, staring at her with hurt eyes.
“And his father!” she amended quickly. “And, like, a dozen old ladies.”
His jaw relaxed, but he didn’t say anything. He took a sip of his wine and stared at her, his expression closed and upset.
“You’re going on a tour.” He put his glass down and took her plate, piling it on top of his roughly, their lovely easiness all gone. “For how long?”
“Three days,” she whispered.
His eyes widened as he stared at the plates. His lips were a thin line as he looked up at her, taking her silverware and letting it clank angrily onto the empty plates.
“Two nights in the park with Nils Lindstrom, huh?” He stood up and gathered the plates and utensils in his hands. “Have a great time.”
He turned and made his way back into the house, leaving her alone. She heard the dishes clatter in the sink and got up quietly to follow him. It was like his jealousy was doing something to her insides, making her hot, making her want him more than ever. And since it was likely this was the last night they’d have together before he learned her true identity, she couldn’t bear it if they wasted it arguing.
“Can I help you clean up?” she asked him, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Why did you come here?”
“To Gardiner?”
“To dinner!” He stood against the sink with his hands on his hips, his chest moving up and down with the force of his breathing, his eyes narrowed with anger. “What was the point?!”
A small smile spread out across her face as she approached him.
“You’re jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous.”
“You don’t need to be jealous,” she said gently, sliding her hands through his bent arms and flattening them on his back.
“No?” he asked. He still didn’t touch her, but his voice softened.
“No. from what I hear, Nils doesn't have eyes for anyone except for Maggie...” She pressed her chest to his and felt his breath catch as he looked down at her, working his jaw, eyes still hurt and uncertain. She shook her head at him, smiling tenderly. “...and I only have them for you.”
His breath caught, but he didn’t say anything.
“I came to dinner because I’ve never met anyone like you, Paul. From the first moment I looked into your eyes I knew who you were. Meeting you…knowing you is like finding something that I thought was lost. I came to dinner because I’ve been falling for you since the second I met you. And it feels like a lot longer than it’s actually been. I came to dinner because—”
“Wait. Back up. What was that part? About falling?”
Smiling into his eyes with all the love in her heart, she said softly, “I’ve been falling for you since the second I met you.”
“Yeah. That part.”
***
He caught her under the knees and lifted her off the ground, his lips finding hers swiftly as he cradled her in his arms, holding on to her tightly and kissing her like the world was ending. He strode from the kitchen, passing briefly through the living room and taking the stairs two at a time, even with her extra weight in his arms. Kicking his bedroom door open with his foot, he lowered her onto the bed, pressing his body on top of hers, bracing his weight on his elbows as he held her face tenderly between his hands. He sucked on her lower lip before slipping his tongue between her lips.
This wasn’t just about passion or heat or chemistry—although he felt those things with Zoë—this was about that earth-shattering moment when you realize that you’re giving your heart to someone and you’re plunging headlong into love and it feels so good and so terrifying and so necessary to the very survival of your soul that you have no choice but to surrender.
He leaned back, panting, and moved his fingers to the buttons of her shirt, working slowly and placing a kiss on her warm skin as each button revealed a little more of her. Finally he got to the knot at the bottom and untied it, spreading her shirt open. She sat up and he quickly pulled it away from her body, dropping it on the floor beside the bed.
She held his eyes in the dim light offered by the moon through his windows and reached around slowly to unfasten her bra, using her arms to keep it in place even as the clasps drooped at her side and the straps fell from her shoulders. He reached forward slowly, gently, tugging at the tiny white bow in the middle of the sheer fabric until she relaxed her arms, letting him pull her bra away.
“Zoë,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”
She didn’t say anything, but her lips tilted up as she lay back on his pillows, offering herself to him.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, her voice thick with passion.
He braced himself over her, looking at her face, the blackness of her hair against the white of his pillow. He wove his fingers into her hair behind her ears, pulling it from her ponytail, tilting her face up to crush his lips to hers.
She reached up behind his neck and pulled his body completely down on top of hers, and the sudden heat of the skin-to-skin contact made him groan into her mouth. He kissed her as her fingers clutched his back, until her nails dug into his skin, until soft whimpering noises rose up from the back of her throat.
***
Zoë knew they had to stop soon, but my God, the feeling of his hot, muscular chest pressing down on hers felt so unbelievably good; it was like she was a teenager again, making out with someone for the first time. She couldn’t remember a feeling this amazing, this intimate, as an adult. It even scared her a little.
She bent her knees and drew her legs up to cradle him between her legs, and he groaned into her mouth, pushing against her, simulating the act of sex.
Zoë wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her entire life. But having sex with him before telling him the truth could cost her everything and she knew it. She needed to push him away. Before things got too far.
She turned her head to the side, breaking off contact with his hot, gorgeous mouth. Without missing a beat, he brushed his lips on the soft skin behind her ear, taking the lobe between his teet
h gently while his hands kneaded her hips.
“Paul,” she sighed.
“Mmm?”
“We have to stop.”
“No,” he groaned, his lips lingering on the skin beneath her ear.
“Yes.”
He lifted his head to look at her face. Searching her eyes and finding no reprieve, he rolled off her, lying beside her. She glanced to her right and saw his chest rising and falling with the effort of his breathing as he tossed an arm over his eyes. She looked away, forcing her fingers not to wander to his body.
“Zoë.”
“Paul.”
“I, uh, I need to take a quick shower.”
“Are you serious?”
“Um, yeah. I’m serious. I’m dying here.”
She turned onto her side, facing him.
“Do you wish we had—”
“No,” he answered simply, but his voice wasn’t convincing, and he didn’t turn toward her.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, love.” He turned away from her. “I just wish we didn’t have to stop but now that we have, I just—I just wish that I didn’t feel so guilty about…”
She crossed her arms over her chest, hating the way his words made her feel, hating how much she had complicated things between them.
He looked back at her over his shoulder, giving her a weak smile.
“Give me a minute?”
She nodded, offering him a small, sad smile in return.
A minute later she heard the shower running and she leaned over the bed, feeling around for her bra and shirt. She slipped the bra over her shoulders and fastened it, then pulled the shirt on, rolling up the sleeves but leaving it open. She sat back against the headboard of his bed and turned on the bedside light, noticing a picture frame facedown on the small nightstand.
She turned it over gingerly and it made her heart clench to see that it was the photo that Thea had taken of her at Sandy’s wedding a little over two years ago. She held the frame in her hands, staring at herself. Her smile was bright and big, and she suddenly remembered that when she smiled, her cheeks had brushed the bottom edge of the Jackie O.-style sunglasses. Thea told her she looked like a movie star from the 1940s in those glasses and Zoë had giggled just before Thea snapped the picture. It was the last candid photo Zoë had of herself before the accident—the “before picture” to trump all “before pictures.”
