“I’m so glad to see you! I’m sorry I didn’t call and let you know I was coming home, but it happened so fast, I thought I’d surprise you!” She giggled, still trying to snuggle into his arms as he began to pry off the bouncing.
“It’s a surprise, all right,” he muttered, finally getting her off of him. “Julie, what did you think I’d—”
“Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, good to see you! How are you?” she cooed, turning to them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his mother said, and I smothered a laugh. “Chloe, dear, we’ll see you later, okay? Call me; we’ll have lunch and talk about getting this therapy program set up.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, shot her son a clear warning look, and tugged her husband away.
“Good luck, son. Chloe, so glad you could join us tonight,” he called out.
Which caused Julie to finally look at me. I tried to stifle the insane bubble of laughter that threatened to erupt.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, tilting her head to the side and studying me carefully. “You are . . .?”
I looked to Lucas to make the introduction, but he was too flummoxed. I couldn’t blame him. “I’m Chloe Patterson.” I did not offer my hand.
“I’m Julie, but you probably know that already. I saw you all watching the crowning, wasn’t it fun? When they asked me to come, I just couldn’t say no. I’ve done pageants all my life, and even though I haven’t held a title or worn a crown in ages, it’s just something I can never quite leave behind, you know?” she rambled.
I arched an eyebrow exactly as my mother might and said wryly, “I can imagine.”
“Chloe was Miss Golden State.” Sophia came next to me, slipping her arm through mine. “Sort of makes your Little Miss Crap Show look a little ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?”
“Here we go,” Neil said.
“Sophia, nice to see you. Slumming it in our little hometown, are we? I thought you never left San Fran?” Julie asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Slumming it? Yeah, this”—Sophia gestured to the beautiful bay, covered in sailboats bobbing in the moonlight, the bandstand covered in red, white, and blue bunting, the carnival midway glowing with thousands of twinkling lights—“is really slumming it.”
Julie shrugged her shoulders, dismissing her. Dismissing everyone, in fact, stepping back to Lucas and gazing adoringly up at him. “I came to see you, silly. Think we could talk? Besides, I need a ride home.”
Lucas was seriously smart—not just with books, but with actual street brains. He knew better; he’d never fall for—
“Uh. Sure. Yeah. I . . . yeah. Chlo?” Lucas said, looking over her shoulder at me.
“What! I mean—wait, what?” I asked, trying to cross my arms. I couldn’t actually manage it, because I was holding an enormous pink teddy bear.
“C’mere a minute,” he asked, backing away from his family a bit.
I did, leaving Sophia and Julie discussing which part of Julie’s ass Sophia should kick, and how far Julie could shove a cello bow up Sophia’s nose. I was betting on Sophia. We headed a little ways away, to the edge of the sandy beach. I could feel the grains spilling into my sandals as I sank a bit. Chilly. I shivered—not totally because of the chilly sand.
“Chloe, how pissed would you be if I took her home?”
Loads. Tons. Truckfuls of pissed.
But we were just friends, right? So trucks full or not, I couldn’t really tell him ‘No, don’t go.’ Could I?
He looked into my eyes, his so full of . . . something. And as I looked up at him, the fireworks began. Big, and bright, loud and sparkly, over the ocean and over our heads. But he didn’t look away, just looked into my eyes. Did he want me to tell him, ‘No, don’t go’?
No, don’t go, I thought. But I said, “I can’t answer that, Lucas.”
“I think you just did.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” I replied.
“What?” he asked, leaning down to hear me over the high school band, now playing “Yankee Doodle Dandy” as loud as it was off-key.
“I said, I just don’t want you to get hurt!” I yelled, putting my mouth right next to his ear.
“I won’t!” he yelled back, our faces right next to each other now, the space between us filled with tension, a sudden sense of urgency, and John Philip Sousa.
“Do you want—I mean, are you sure about that?” I stammered, trying to say what I wanted to know without actually tipping my hand.
Stay with me.
His gaze settled on my lips. Which I licked.
“Maybe I should—”
Say it! Yes, say it! I thought.
“Lucas! Come on!” I heard from behind me.
And as the cymbals crashed, he made his decision. “Call you tomorrow?” he asked, and I nodded. He kissed my cheek, which burned like icy fire, and then he was gone. With Little Miss Mattress Giant. And I was still on the beach, holding a pink bear, with cold feet, whispering, No, don’t go.
When the last starbursts had left the sky, I realized now I was the one without a ride home. Sophia and Neil were kind enough to drive me home, and during the ride I got to hear all about how often Lucas and Julie used to fight and break up, only to make up again. I also had to listen to Sophia plot the demise of Julie, if indeed she was back to stay. And I further had to listen to Sophia tell me how much she now liked me, and felt like I would be a great choice for her cousin. If, in fact, he was still available.
Neil tried to keep the conversation away from Sophia’s plotting ways. He asked questions about Our Gang, and mentioned that they had some friends in San Francisco who were getting married and were thinking about adopting a shelter dog. I told him that when they were ready, I’d be glad to have them come down and meet my dogs.
When they dropped me off and it was just me and the quiet mountains, I was glad to be alone.
Alone. This is what I’d wanted, right? To be on my own, doing it my way, just like Frank said. Tied to no one, answering only to myself, depending on no one. Just me and Sammy Davis Jr. I got ready for bed alone, I turned out the lights alone, I plodded in circles alone, restless. Not ready to end this day. Alone.
I was still alone on the back patio, Sinatra on the hi-fi, hastily made mai tai in hand, a little teary and a little bleary, when I got a text from Lucas.
If you’re awake, can you come to the front door?
I stood in the doorway, hiding my lower half behind the door, as my lower half was currently clad in nothing but panties and air. He was standing on the porch leaning against the post, looking weary and beautiful. His eyes seemed bluer than normal, perhaps due to the contrasting red that lingered there. Caused by whiskey, or tears?
“Hi,” he said, sounding exhausted.
“What are you doing here, Lucas?” I asked, resting my temple against the door.
“Can I come in?”
“I’m not wearing pants.”
“I’ll risk it,” he replied, the left corner of his mouth lifting. I opened the door further, and his eyes roamed over my choice of pajamas. “Is that my—”
“Shirt, yes, it is.” I shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “You left it here one day after we were out kayaking, and I never got it back to you.”
It would be hard to get it back to him, since I’d been sleeping in it most nights since. An old chambray work shirt, it was soft and broken in, smelling of salt and sun and . . . oh, hell . . . Lucas. If I cared to examine what it meant, that I chose to surround myself with his scent every night, one might draw a conclusion that I was unwilling to face quite yet. Especially since that conclusion left me on a beach, without a ride home, while he went off with his ex.
But, yeah, it was just a shirt.
He let his eyes linger on my bare legs.
“Can I come in?” he asked when his eyes finally met mine again.
“Sure,” I replied, holding the door open.
He heard the Sinatra and let “That Old Black Magic” pull h
im out to the patio, where he knew I’d been.
“Cocktails? This late?”
“Couldn’t sleep; I figured one of these should do the trick.” I held up my tiki tumbler, then took another long pull. “So?” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it wasn’t hard to tell that I carried a grudge from earlier. He’d hurt me.
“I’m sorry I left you tonight. That was a bad idea.”
“Bad because you left me? Or bad because you left me and went off with her?”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is.” I sighed, settling back into my patio chair, crossing my legs. Once more, his eyes flickered to my skin. Once more, I observed this, and filed it away.
“So, what happened?” I asked, hating myself for wanting to know. But I did. Something was beginning to simmer, deep and low and barely there, but beginning to peek out around the sad. Anger? Jealousy? Fear?
“In a nutshell, she told me she wants to come home. It seems that Mattress Giant doesn’t pay too well.”
“She’s only been there a little while; it takes time to build an acting career. Is she taking classes? Does she have an agent? She shouldn’t give up so easily; she needs to be patient,” I rambled, convincing no one that my concern for her career was the only reason that I thought she should stay far, far away.
“Julie isn’t really known for her patience.”
“Tons of my old pageant friends went to LA and tried their hand at acting. She should stick it out awhile longer. She should . . .” My voice trailed off, because Lucas was just shaking his head.
“I was surprised to see her tonight. I can’t deny that it messed with my head a bit. I haven’t seen her since our wedding day. Christ, how weird does that sound?”
“Not that weird,” I managed.
“I saw her that morning, though I wasn’t supposed to. I was already at the church and she came to get pictures taken. Everyone was trying to keep us apart—you know, groom not supposed to be see the bride?” he asked, his eyes flitting up to mine.
“Mm-hmm.” My mother hadn’t budged on Charles not seeing me before the wedding. What’s funny is, I’d had no opinion on it whatsoever.
“Anyway, I was there already, and stepped outside to get some air. And there she was, walking up the front steps of the church with her friends. Dressed in this ridiculously poofy white dress.” He chuckled, everything he must have been feeling in that moment written all over his face. “She was on her cell phone, and she was laughing. I stayed in the shadows just around the corner, and I remember thinking, she’s going to be my wife by the end of this day. Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a coat closet reading a note from her that she was leaving. She was already gone by the time I got it. And I thought, why did she even bother putting on the poofy dress?” He looked at me, like I might have an answer.
I couldn’t say anything.
“Anyway, she wouldn’t return my calls, she wouldn’t see me—she needed some time. But she was out of town and down the coast within days. We finally talked a week later, when she apologized. She kept going on and on about how it wasn’t working for her, and she didn’t want to stay in Monterey her whole life. I couldn’t even hear anything she was saying.”
“Lucas,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. It’s funny, because now, I look back and see it. We broke up all the time, even back in high school. And she lied. A lot. About all kinds of things. Big lies, tiny lies, always with the lying. But, Jesus, who puts on a dress when she knows she’s not getting married?”
“Maybe she was still planning on going through with it. Maybe it hit her all at once.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Maybe she wants you back.”
“She’s not moving back to Monterey.” Lucas went toward the bar, where there was still a blender full of mai tais.
“She’s not?” I asked, examining my toes, trying very hard to keep my voice level.
“I told her to move back if she really wanted to. This will always be her hometown. She’s got good friends here, and all her family. She’ll always have a home here, and a circle waiting to welcome her back.” He paused to sip his cocktail. “But I told her that if she moved back home for me, that it would be a very bad idea.”
“Oh?” I squeaked, my voice rising through the pergola rafters and out to the stars.
“Yeah. Bad, bad, bad idea,” he repeated. I finally chanced a look up at him. His blue eyes burned with an emotion I couldn’t name. “It doesn’t matter if she wants me back, because the thing is . . . I don’t want her. I haven’t for a while now.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“But like I said, it did mess with my head a little.” Then he let loose one of those lethal grins.
“That’s understandable,” I admitted, taking another swig of my cocktail, and just like that, the bad tension left the room. The tingly tension was still very much here, though.
“Speaking of messing with my head, how strong did you make these?” he asked, taking another sip and raising an eyebrow.
“I just dumped stuff in; didn’t bother measuring.”
I lifted my drink in salute to the new song on the turntable, “Witchcraft.” “Mmm, I love this song,” I said with a sigh. The song made me brave. That, and the mai tais. Curious about something, I stood up. “So she messed with your head. Did she mess with anything else?” Wow, head rush.
“Chloe?” he asked, a curious expression on his face. “Are you asking me if I messed around with my ex tonight?”
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Shut up. Did you? Don’t tell me. Well?”
I had an entire conversation by myself while trying to walk across the patio for another drink. Turns out, I didn’t need another. Because standing up had led me to the conclusion that I was a little tipsy. Listing a bit to the left, I looked around for Lucas, who was standing at the other end of the bar, his tiki tumbler frozen in midair.
“Oh, forget it, you cute veterinarian, with your bedroom eyes and your sexy freckles and your hot . . . kryptonite hair.” The words spewed out, words that would come back to haunt me. But right now, in the moonlight, with that damn Sinatra playing, I had no recourse but to move forward. And I literally did, moving right on over toward Lucas and taking one more sip of mai tai before setting it down on the bar.
“Since I only understood about half of what you just said, I’ll just go ahead and tell you no.”
“No?” I asked, tripping over my own foot, and thanking goodness for a bar stool that I could grab on to.
“No,” he repeated, a slow grin creeping across his face. “Cute veterinarian?”
“Beside the point,” I waved my hand in impatience. “So, nothing happened?”
He shook his head. “Bedroom eyes?”
“Shush,” I said, closing my eyes. When I opened them, he stood before me.
“I brought you something,” he whispered, and from behind his back, he produced two sparklers. “I promised you fireworks, didn’t I?”
“You did.” I smiled. “Light ’em up.”
Striking a match against the bar, he lit both sparklers, then handed me one. And as we swooped and swirled and wrote our names in the sky, sparks flew. I began to hum along to the song, adding a word or two here and there, and before I knew it, Lucas had spun me into his arms, dipping me old school.
“What are you doing?” I laughed breathlessly, horizontal to the floor, our sparklers raining down on our suddenly intertwined limbs.
“I couldn’t help it. Starry night. Sparklers. Incredibly strong cocktails,” he murmured, our faces so very close together. “It’s witchcraft.”
“It’s not just the witchcraft, Lucas,” I whispered, sliding my hands up his arms, so strong and holding me so very tightly. Lightly, so lightly, I brushed my fingertips along his neck, his skin still warm from our day in the sun. His nose bumped against mine, and I could feel his little puff of breath
. Twisting my fingers into his silky hair, I blinked slowly, dreamily. And then he kissed me.
Soft. So soft. And sweet as can be. His lips brushed across mine just once, and I was hooked. Ruined for all other lips. He kissed me a second time, and my eyes fluttered open, wanting to see him. Surrounded by fairy lights, I felt suspended in midair. I was all toe curl and finger twirl. Which tucked deeper into his hair, as my tongue swept out to taste him. Mmm. Coconut rum and ginger vet. I let out the tiniest of sighs and felt his fingers dig into my hips, holding me impossibly tighter. I arched my back, just enough to get closer to him, and a sizzle ran through me as his tongue met my own.
“You taste divine,” I whispered against his mouth, and felt it curve into a grin. He swept kisses along my jaw, up my cheek, and then disappeared somewhere underneath my ear, and just behind. I squealed a little, but the good kind, where it’s almost tickling but incredible at the same time. I dropped my head back as he continued a path down my neck, still dipping me, mind you, and I laughed hazily at the fairy lights above. The tiki bar and all its colorful umbrellas. The pink teddy bear on the chair.
Which he won for me. And now he was kissing me, and I was loving it. And I would seriously let him love me all over this patio . . . if I didn’t get my head together. But holy fudge, those lips . . .
I let myself indulge for one or two more seconds . . . or three or ten . . . and then I brought his face back to mine. Because I couldn’t think clearly when the man had his lips on my neck. Oh, yeah.
Oh . . . no.
Did I want to be doing this? Now? Right after he saw his ex? After his head was admittedly messed with, not just by Little Miss Crap Show but by my extra-strong witchcraft? This felt good, oh boy did it feel good, but I wanted more than good. Selfishly? I wanted my own night. My own evening, separate from everyone and anyone, past or present. And preferably not sponsored by Mattress Giant.
With the strength of a thousand nuns, I placed one more chaste kiss on those impossibly sinful lips, and pushed him away. Just slightly, but enough for him to know our dancing dip was coming to a close. At least for now.