by Jean Oram
“I don’t want to walk any more.” She was a second away from flopping onto the path from the sudden wave of fatigue when Nick, in a move as smooth as a wrestler’s, crouched and turned, lifting her onto his back. She giggled and clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.
“I’m too heavy!”
“Nonsense.” He hitched her higher and continued on like she was a small sack of feed, and she giggled at the absurdity of playing piggyback with him. They were closing in on forty and were acting like kids.
But wasn’t that Nick? She presented a problem and he spontaneously solved it, often with fun and laughter? Who cared about adult rules and being proper? Live, for crying out loud! His uncle had called him up hours ago, his wedding on the brink of not happening, and what had Nick done? Stepped up to save the day. And because they had some time before the work began he’d decided they should play.
She rested her head against his shoulder, imagining what it would be like to partner with him in life. To have someone who had her back and would step up when she needed him to take the reins for a moment or two.
Would it be heavenly? Or would it drive her nuts?
If the latter, then she obviously needed to loosen up.
He felt solid under her, and in a wave of giddiness, she shouted, “Giddy-up, cowboy!”
He trotted for a few feet, whinnying like a horse, before slowing. Polly allowed herself to relax into his back, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent, which held a hint of something else.
“Fabric softener.” That’s what it was. “You use fabric softener?”
A big tough cowboy cared about soft clothing? Oh, she might as well lock up her ovaries now.
She sighed sadly. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” She rested her head against his shoulder, not caring if it was true. She was here with him in this moment, as a friend, and the moment belonged to her.
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Why? Are you next in line?”
She laughed, not answering. Even though she wasn’t looking for a romantic partner, she was glad he was single. That meant he was hers—all hers—all week.
“Fabric softener,” she mused. He was all grown up. Did his bedroom back on the ranch look like a dormitory, with dirty laundry strewn about? Or was it a proper adult’s living quarters, with matching furniture and a place for everything?
“Why is that so odd to you?” he asked, sounding slightly disgruntled.
“It’s unexpected.” She gave his neck a kiss, instantly feeling as though doing so had been too intimate when he shivered.
“Like you,” she whispered.
“Like me?”
“You’re…more mature now. Grown-up. Staid and thoughtful and all that.”
“Oh, I still cause trouble. Lots of it.” His tone was regretful.
“That’s my cottage there.” She pointed over his shoulder to a place peeking through the tall dune grass.
He nipped at her extended arm and she giggled and squirmed off his back, her sandaled feet touching the sand.
“You are full of trouble,” she said with a tsking sound. “Biting people and all.”
“Told you so.” He pointed to a cottage two down from hers. “That one’s mine.”
“Almost neighbors,” she said quietly, a chill of anticipation zipping through her.
No. No anticipating. Nothing was happening between them. They were just friends with a common goal to accomplish this week. It was fun daydreaming about him as a possible boyfriend and reviving that part of herself, but it wasn’t going to happen.
As they drew nearer she caught a better look at his cottage. It was large. Really large. “Who are you staying with? Other than your horse? The Wylder boys?”
“Yup. Probably just the four of them, though, as Cole hasn’t been around in ages. And I think I mentioned the horse is a dog.”
“I never did hear what happened with Roy and Maria…” Was Cole refusing to accept Sophia Blake as his stepmother-to-be? Was that why he was staying away?
“Maria’s fine. Living in Sweetheart Creek. A little bit ticked at how fast Roy is getting remarried—they’d been together for thirty-six years, you know. The food around the ranch hasn’t been as good with her gone.”
“How fast?”
“Less than a year. Eight months.”
Polly wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Chuck suddenly turned around and got remarried, after dragging her through such hassles with their separation and divorce.
“What are you thinking?” Nick asked. They were almost at her cottage.
“How I’d want to murder Chuck—my ex-husband—if he pulled something like that on me.”
“It wasn’t amicable?”
She let out a snort that made her entire chest hurt. How could she still feel heartbreak for a marriage that had never been as real as she’d have liked it to be?
“Now I’m a bitter and jaded middle-aged woman who no longer believes in true love, and thinks black hearts would make lovely decorations at the wedding.”
Her joke fell flat, her tone not quite light enough to pull it off.
“Right. That sounds like the you I’m getting reacquainted with. I was going to mention the change, but I wasn’t sure how to do so gracefully. But now that you’ve brought it up…”
Polly tried not to laugh, but Nick’s grin made the dam holding it back crumble. They both let out a few guffaws, instantly making her feel even closer to him.
“Did you marry?” she asked, curious how Nick’s heart had fared over the years.
“Came close.”
“But?”
“What can I say? I’m a troublemaker.”
Polly’s mouth dropped. “You cheated on her?”
Nick huffed, obviously offended. “No. Definitely not.”
“So she had no sense of humor?” Why would he get that close to commitment, then not follow through?
“Something like that.” He shrugged. “She also couldn’t measure up.”
Polly knew the feeling of not measuring up, and it made her instantly ready to fight, spurring her to speak without thought. “You know, you men and your high expectations about wives and all the things they should do, and say, and look like... I’ve had it up to—”
“Oh, hush,” Nick said patiently. “It wasn’t like that. I had someone else in mind whenever I kissed her.”
The fight drained out of Polly. “Your heart was cheating on her?”
Nick winced.
A cheating heart was even worse, because there was nothing you could do about your heart wanting someone else. Someone you couldn’t have. Someone you’d left behind. You tried to wash the memories away, reminding yourself that it was a different time, and that you couldn’t return to your past. But that person, that love, was always there, always being compared to.
“I get it,” she said. “I get how you can love and be committed to one person, but when their kisses don’t line up quite right, your heart betrays you by reminding you that there was someone in your past that had measured up.”
It was awful.
Nick gave her a sad look of understanding. He reached for her hand, gently rubbing his thumb against her wrist.
“Who was the woman she couldn’t measure up to?” she asked, drawing closer. Her earlier annoyance had dissolved.
“She wasn’t a good kisser,” he said, ignoring her question. “Ever kissed one of those?”
Pretty much every man other than Nick.
They had left the path and begun cutting across some dunes toward their cottages, hands no longer linked. She hooked her arm through his, the loose sand shifting under her feet and making her bump into Nick from time to time.
“Who was the best kisser?” She was serious even though her tone was teasing. It was a foolish question that would no doubt circle back and hurt her when the answer was someone other than herself.
“It doesn’t matter
.”
The way he said it reminded her of how he’d clammed up as a teen when he’d been interested in someone but wouldn’t tell her who—because it had been her. A flood of glee washed through her at the idea of being Nick’s Best Kisser. She hopped and turned to face him, blocking his way forward.
“It was me, wasn’t it?”
He shot her a look that said it all.
“It was! Nobody kisses as good as your Polly Cupcake.”
“Polly Cupcake?” His lips curled in faint disgust.
“That’s what you called me the night we parted.”
“That was a gross moment and I can’t believe you’re bringing it up.” He was still giving her a disgusted look, but there was something hidden, peeking out, that made her step closer. It had been a tearful goodbye, full of promises neither of them had kept, and she got the feeling that he’d missed her as deeply as she’d missed him.
“So we’re both the best kissers we’ve ever locked lips with.”
“Oh, so now I’m memorable.” His expression was pleased. “Nice. You compliment a woman and suddenly you’re her best friend.” He flung his arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer.
“You’ve always been my friend,” she said, her placating tone tinged with amusement.
“Even though we haven’t seen each other in decades?”
“Even then.”
“You don’t write, you don’t call…”
“Horrible, I know. And yet our friendship has prevailed.”
“In real life we probably don’t measure up to the memories.”
“The memory was pretty good,” she agreed wistfully, slowing her pace, since they were almost at her front step. “And we are a lot older now.”
“It might be disappointing,” he warned, and she wondered if he was planning on kissing her. He tightened his arm, arcing her body toward his, and Polly stopped breathing. Had she brushed her teeth? What if she wasn’t as good as the memory? What if he was even better? How would she cope?
But instead of drawing her into a warm kiss, Nick placed his lips against her forehead. “Meet you on the beach in five?”
She nodded, disappointed as well as disgusted by how much she’d enjoyed that simple, platonic kiss, and how much she’d been wishing for one on her lips.
She was still such a fool for him. She was acting like a lovesick teenager, eager for attention and wanting their wine and pizza on the beach to be a real date.
“Too bad you live in Canada, Polly Cupcake,” Nick said, a hint of regret distinguishable in his voice as they parted ways.
Chapter 5
As Nick pulled two chairs toward the shoreline, Ralph sniffed every new scent he came across at the end of the long yellow rope that served as his leash, and Nick thought about Polly. It felt natural to have her back in his life even if for just a short time. He’d always been able to speak freely with her, without worry of judgment or expectation. It was as though having been together at a time in their lives when they were trying to figure out the world left them connected in some deeper, richer way. Plus it was uncomplicated, living so far apart from each other. They could spill their guts here and it wouldn’t follow them home.
Every man needed a woman like Polly.
He glanced up as a beautiful woman strode into his periphery. He resisted checking her out, his mind on Polly and how he felt as though he was committed to her in some way. He shrugged off the possessive feeling. He was just getting to know her again so he could set her up with Mr. Right.
Yeah, that was off the table, wasn’t it? That plan had been thoroughly shredded.
In the packed, wet sand near the high tide mark, he set the second purple wooden chair beside the first. Ralph gave a happy bark as the woman he’d noticed out the corner of his eye came closer. He stepped away from the chairs, prepared to ward her off.
“Hey.” She waved, swinging the beach bag slung over her shoulder.
Nick smiled. It was Polly.
“Hello, hottie. Have you met Ralph?”
The dog trotted toward her, sniffing her legs intently.
“Ralphie, no,” Nick said firmly.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind dogs.” She crouched, rubbing Ralph’s ears. His bright blue eyes were focused on her, his tongue lolling to the side.
“He’s a bit of a leg man, if you get my drift.”
Polly leaned back, almost toppling into the sand. “Oh!”
“Mostly just with strangers, though.”
“Ralph,” she said seriously, addressing the dog. He rested on his haunches, offering his sole front paw, and she took it, stroking the mottled fur. Her tone was formal and firm. “My name is Polly Morgan. I am an old friend of Nick’s, and therefore not a stranger.”
“Hear that, Ralphie old boy? Her legs are off-limits.” Although Nick did understand the dog’s interests. Giving her a piggyback ride earlier had been wonderful, a reason to hold her strong, smooth calves, a physical connection that had felt good.
Polly stood, clucking to get Ralph to walk with her as they headed closer to the water and the chairs. The dog fell into step beside her like he’d been trained to heel and walk on a leash.
“He likes you,” Nick noted, dropping the rope so Ralph could follow Polly.
“Of course he does. I’m a likable person,” she called. “How’d he end up with you?”
“I lost a bet.” Nick had always believed that if you were halfway smart, you only took bets you didn’t mind losing.
“Did the dog win, then?”
“Something like that.” Nick smiled and caught up Ralph’s rope, hooking it over one of his chair slats.
Polly made a sound as though she accepted his story, and plunked herself into the other chair. “I’ve been looking forward to this since my plane landed.”
“Looking forward to me? My efforts have paid off.”
She simply rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her smile as she uncorked the wine and sloshed some amber liquid into a glass she took from her straw shoulder bag. She kicked off her sandals and dug her toes in the sand with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Are we allowed glass on the beach?” he asked, pulling his chair closer to hers.
“It’s plastic.”
She handed him a glass and the bottle and he poured himself some. He wasn’t normally a wine drinker, but he’d have a social drink with a woman like Polly any day.
Nick watched every nuance in her expression as she slowly unwound before his eyes. She’d laid her head against the chair back, eyes closed, that smile playing at her lips. She was sexy, oh so sexy. He loved how she wasn’t full of pretense, wasn’t repositioning herself so her thighs looked thinner or her gut concave. She was just her beautiful, curvy self. And as a result, he had a feeling he was going to fail at acting cool about how attractive he found her. Even the faint scar above her lip was gorgeous, as was the way her big toes bent in as though she’d worn high heels for too many years. It was all character, all a part of her.
Nick had called the beach restaurant while fetching Ralph from his cottage. The small resort eatery was only a hundred feet away, and happy to deliver to them. Apparently he wasn’t the first to think of pizza on the beach. “The pizza should be here soon. You eat carbs, right? And fats?”
She didn’t look like the type to fuss over those sorts of things. Not with her wonderful curves. But you never knew.
Polly’s eyes opened as though in surprise, her mouth forming a weird, frumpy line.
He leaned forward. “You don’t, do you?”
“No,” she said slowly, “I do.” She nodded as though internally affirming that fact, her expression becoming more sure.
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them staring out at the waves breaking along the shore. He took his cowboy hat and rested it on his knee.
“Have you ever pursued a goal with so much certainty that you lost track of everything else?” Polly was studying him as though it was important for him to say yes, to understa
nd.
“Tell me about it.”
She was silent for so long he thought she was going to change the subject.
“That last summer, the night before I left, Carl—my mom’s cousin—told me I could change my life. That I could have as much as I wanted when it came to wealth.” She let out an uncomfortable exhalation, shifting in her seat. “Well, I took it to heart. I became an investment broker.”
“I remember hearing about that.”
Another reason their lives wouldn’t blend if he kissed her like he wanted to—with the kind of kiss that locked a soul to your own. She was so far out of his lifestyle league it wasn’t even a joke.
“Well, I went to university and afterward climbed the corporate ladder in a top-ranked firm.”
“That’s great.”
She shrugged. “I fell in love with Mr. Fits-the-Image. We got married.”
She didn’t say more for a while, and Nick asked, “Kids?”
She shook her head sadly.
“Do you want some?”
“You offering?” she asked with a wry tone, lifting her still-full wineglass to her lips before changing her mind and setting it on the arm of the chair once again.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, his voice husky with the thought of helping her with that task. He was certain it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, and even though they hadn’t yet worked on this wedding planning together, he had a pretty good feeling they had something he’d never find with anyone else whether it was working on a wedding, or something more…personal.
She was blushing and he wondered if she was imagining what it would be like, too.
Instead of delivering a saucy retort, she merely lifted her eyebrows in what was likely supposed to be disbelief, mild disgust or some other related emotion. She was a poor actress, though. Her dark eyes told him she was totally thinking about him.
“I’m a dude,” he said, lowering his voice. “Help me out. Is that a yes or is that a no?”
She laughed, shaking her head, cheeks still an endearing pink.
“It’s a no?” he asked, feigning disbelief. “Really? Well, if you decide otherwise I’m here all week.”
