Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

  “Do you see him?”

  “Once in a while. They both have insane schedules. He’s still on the road a lot, and my mother runs a monstrously successful design business. They’re rarely on this continent, let alone at home. But, yeah, I see him if we can work it out.” Except she hadn’t seen him in…eighty pounds. Which was the way Willow measured time over the last few years.

  To lighten the conversation, she leaned a little closer, letting their shoulders touch. “Betcha I could get you an autograph. If you promise never, ever to sing Will Ya, Will Ya again.”

  He laughed, closing the rest of the space between them by dipping close to her ear. “Gotta know if it’s real, gotta know it’s forevah,” he sang softly.

  She closed her eyes and gave a soft grunt. “Oh, that stupid song.”

  He dropped back, his jaw hanging open. “Stupid! Not only is that one of the most important songs in the history of 1980s rock music, it’s also one of my personal favorites in the history of all music.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “God, your bar is low.”

  “Your father wrote it.” He practically sputtered.

  “Not only that, he proposed to my mom by singing that at a concert in front of fifty thousand people.”

  “I read that somewhere. They all sang, ‘Will ya marry me?’ instead of ‘Be my girl.’”

  “You are a hard-core fan. So, here’s something even the biggest Z-Train fans don’t know.” She dipped her head close to his to whisper. “I was conceived to that song.”

  He slapped his hand over his heart as if it had cracked into pieces in his chest. “Oh, man, I think I just fell in love with you.”

  And her heart skipped, rolled, dropped, and landed somewhere in the vicinity of her belly. “Well, that didn’t take much.”

  Turning to her, he reached for her hand. “You know this means I’ll never listen to Will Ya, Will Ya again and not think of you.”

  Imagining how many times that would have him thinking of her, everything in her melted like the last bits of ice cream in the bottom of her cone.

  “Now, Willow. Let’s stay on this subject of things you want to avoid.”

  She gave him a pleading look. “Come on, Nick. I ate ice cream. I told you about my mother. I confessed I am the result of a hit song. Now what line do you want me to cross?”

  He just smiled and inched closer. “I told you, I’m researching kissing.”

  His eyes were so dark, they pulled her into him, making her want to get closer, deeper, inside those eyes. Something that felt very much like what she now thought of as “empty-hunger” engulfed her. That need to be filled, to be satisfied, to be comforted, even though nothing was really empty or dissatisfied or uncomfortable. Empty-hunger was what got her into trouble with food, and empty-lust was about to get her into trouble with Nick.

  Except it didn’t feel empty, like the desire for a piece of cheesecake. It felt real. Like the longing for a sweet taste of his mouth. “I thought writers had great imaginations. Can’t you wing it?”

  “Then my kiss will read like some idiot wrote it.”

  She grinned.

  “Some other idiot,” he corrected. “Like when I read a battle scene and they get the weapons wrong, it pisses me off. What if I get it wrong?”

  “Lips are the only weapons involved. You can’t mess that up.”

  “There’s so much more to a kiss, Willow.”

  Really? She wanted to know. She might have inched closer, but at that moment, she wasn’t really in control of every movement. He lifted their joined hands and brought them close to his lips. “Why do you seem so dead set against a little, tiny, simple, inconsequential kiss?”

  “Because one loss of control leads to the next, and what if I can’t stop?”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  She laughed, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder to push him back but, oh, man, that was a nice shoulder. Hard, thick, powerful. A shoulder to lean on. A shoulder…to ride.

  “Your eyes are turning gray.”

  She widened them. “What does that mean?”

  “I think this is what happens right before you give in. They turned gray when I asked you to get ice cream.”

  “It’s the color of fear,” she whispered.

  “You know what I taught you about fears.” He closed almost all the space between their mouths, still holding her gaze. “You face them, you live them, you beat them. Fear of losing control will be gone.”

  But she wasn’t really afraid of losing control. This was Nick Hershey. She’d kissed him once before, and he’d been so turned off, she had practically tasted the aversion to her on his lips.

  That was her fear, and it wasn’t even deep-seated. It was right on the surface, clawing at her heart.

  Ancient insecurities and a lifetime of self-hatred welled up like a bubbling fountain, pulling her back.

  “This is not research,” she said. “Where’s your notebook?”

  “Right here.” He pulled out his phone. “This is absolutely for research purposes only. In fact, we can stop and take notes after each kiss.”

  “How many will there be?”

  “How many can I have?”

  She had to laugh. “How many do you want?”

  He lifted their joined hands to his lips, a smile breaking behind his knuckles. “Let’s start with one and see what happens.”

  What could one hurt, right?

  She closed her eyes and gave a simple nod. Nick remained perfectly still for a long beat. Too long. Long enough that the ache inside her turned cold.

  She opened her eyes, and he was staring at…his phone. She peered down to see him typing in a note-taking app. His fingers glided over the screen as he typed Willow.

  “How many research partners do you have?”

  “Just one.”

  Then, he placed one hand on her jaw, cupping it with strong fingers and a warm palm. It took everything in her not to nuzzle him like an affection-deprived dog, practically itching for his hand to slip deeper into her hair and cradle her whole head as he kissed her.

  But he still didn’t do it. In fact, he dragged his hand from her face and picked up the freaking phone again.

  “Now what?”

  “I want to write what I’m feeling.” He tapped the screen. “I think it’s important that I remember exactly what it feels like before the actual kiss.”

  Was he serious? Or looking for a way out…

  “For God’s sake, Nick, just kiss me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his, making her shudder at the touch before she slowly lifted her arms.

  Her hands settled on his upper arms, her grip tightening as each amazing sensation rolled through her. The tangy, rich taste of chocolate and mint, the warm pressure of his lips on hers, the scent of ice cream and aftershave, and the gentle caress of his hand on her jaw. His fingers slipped deeper into her hair, hot and strong, holding her as if she were precious.

  She couldn’t help the softest whimper, which made him angle his head and intensify the kiss. She leaned closer so he could slide his hand through her hair and pull her into him to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her hair, her ear. She heard him laugh and felt him sigh.

  “I like kissing you, Willow,” he whispered.

  “For research.”

  “You fell for that?” He chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. “Not for research, for real.” He kissed her again, opening his lips to tease her teeth with his tongue, sending a thousand fluttering butterflies roaring through her stomach.

  No, not for real. This couldn’t feel real. It was too soon, too close, too wrapped up in the past. She inched back, breaking the kiss with a bit of insistence.

  “Then you better take notes and get home and write that book.”

  His smile faltered as the words hit him. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on? We’re kissing in the middle of the day in a park like…like…??
?

  “Like people who are attracted to each other and spending the day together in a way that is perfectly acceptable.”

  Was he attracted to her? He hadn’t been before. She tried to cling to that, however irrational it felt out here in the sunshine, a new woman living her new life.

  “But…” The word bubbled on her lips.

  “But what?”

  “But we should go.” She started to stand, but he still had one of her hands and brought her right back down.

  “Whoa, just a minute there, darling.”

  “Darling?”

  “It’s a term of endearment.” He squeezed her hand. “I find you endearing, so therefore, I use it. I find you…”

  “Repulsive.”

  He choked, eyes wide. “What?”

  “I mean, you did, long ago. And I—”

  “I told you what happened, Willow, and I apologized and I meant it. You have to let go of the past or—”

  “I did. I have. I know I have to let go, in fact, I have made an art form of letting go of the past, and it’s working out really well for me, and you, frankly, are the embodiment of all I hated about myself in the past, so let’s just leave this at res—”

  “Hush.” He put his hand on her mouth, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a runner, Willow.”

  She frowned. “I like to jog. I hardly call myself a runner.”

  “No, you run. I noticed that about you. When things get sticky, or interesting, depending on your point of view, you take off.”

  She leaned back, freeing her hand so she could cross her arms.

  “Or you do that.” He gestured toward her protective position. “You wrap yourself up and won’t let anyone in.”

  “That’s pretty amazing analysis considering you’ve known me for two days.”

  “And eleven years. But it doesn’t take a shrink to see what you’re doing or why.” He stroked her arm, tempting her to let down that shield and wrap him in another hug.

  But that would be…stupid.

  “You can’t always detach yourself from someone who wants to be attached to you,” he said.

  “I don’t.” He gave her a get real look, and she shrugged. “Okay, sometimes. But I don’t understand what difference it makes to you.”

  He looked perplexed by the statement. “I like you,” he said simply. “And I’m frustrated that you don’t like me back.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Is life always that simple for you, Nick?”

  “Rarely, but when it is, I grab the moment.”

  She finally stood, remembering that “moments” were all they had, because he’d be gone tomorrow, and she’d see him once for a wedding after that, then never again. So…he was a bad candidate for what she wanted.

  Except that until that kiss, she hadn’t known what she wanted. And now she wanted…more.

  “Let’s get you back to your villa so you can write all this up and have it make sense.”

  He laughed as he got up. “This shit never makes sense, Willow.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sunday morning, Willow slipped out of her apartment early to grab some coffee and hit the office for some quiet time. There, she plugged in her headset to get lost in a Mozart concerto and skim through a fairly light email in-box.

  She powered through messages and typed with flying fingers, ignoring the questions.

  She never even heard her business partners arrive in the office until Gussie slid her backside onto Willow’s desk, draped over, and yanked out one of her earbuds. “We missed you for Sunday breakfast. No one was home in your apartment, and Ari and I had to eat in town.”

  “I needed to work.” Willow made a face at Gussie’s choice of a jet-black wig with bangs and rhinestone cat-eye glasses. Willow gestured to the eyewear. “Over-the-top, even for you.”

  Gussie ignored the comment and stuck the earbud in her own ear. “So’s this music. Still rebelling against your rock ’n’ roll upbringing, I see.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t get away from it, I’m afraid.” She unhooked her other earbud and pushed back from the desk. “I didn’t think you guys would be in for a while.”

  “You’re avoiding us,” Gussie accused.

  “Not at all. But since you’re here now, we better get focused on Misty. She’s coming in later with her decision on whether or not to have the wedding here. I’m sure Nick’s coming with her, too.”

  Ari came up behind Gussie, and they shared a look. “Less than ten seconds,” Ari said, holding out her hand to Gussie. “Pay up.”

  Gussie mumbled and reached into her pocket, pulling out a black and yellow-wrapped candy. “Do you know how hard it is to find Black Cows? I had to go to Fort Myers for these.”

  Candy-obsessed, both of them.

  “A bet is a bet.”

  Neither one of them seemed to notice Willow’s unlocked jaw. “You two are gambling on…us?” Not that she and Nick were an “us” or that she should be surprised, considering how these two went to war over rare candies.

  “On how long it would take you to mention his name,” Gussie said, reaching to grab Ari’s hand. “Do not unwrap that. I still might get it back.” Then, to Willow, “Did you kiss him?”

  “I…I…”

  Gussie grinned with sheer satisfaction and flipped her palm upward to Ari. “Give ’er back. I told you.”

  Ari held tight to the candy. “Not so fast. Are you going to see him again or not?” She squeezed Gussie’s fingers. “Remember, another date wins me a bag of Squirrel Nut Zippers, which could require an online order. You can’t find those anywhere.”

  Willow shut her eyes, not sure if she should laugh or be disgusted. “Another date? There wasn’t a first one, not technically. I’m going to see him in a few minutes, if he even comes to the meeting with Misty. After that? He’s going back to California and may be deployed again, depending on what his last hearing test said.”

  One of Gussie’s brows shot up behind the sparkly glasses. “Know an awful lot about his life, don’t you?”

  “Well, we were together for hours, and we talked. Did you bet on whether or not we had a conversation? Because we did.”

  “Didn’t bet on that,” Gussie admitted, taking the candy. “With no second date, this is mine, Ari.”

  “Put it on the table,” Ari said. “There’s still this afternoon.”

  Willow pushed back from the desk as the other women headed to their own workstations. “He’s leaving this afternoon, thank God.”

  They both whipped around to look at Willow. “Thank God?” they asked in unison.

  “Why?” Ari demanded.

  “He’s hot and awesome,” Gussie added. “Not to state the obvious or anything.”

  Willow rolled the cords of her earbuds in a neat circle around her iPod, giving a half-assed shrug.

  “Willow?” Gussie prompted.

  “Tell us what’s going on,” Ari insisted.

  How could she when she didn’t understand why she felt how she felt? Hell, she didn’t even know how she felt, so she used the excuse she gave Nick. “He’s so much a piece of a past I’d really like to forget.”

  Gussie squirreled up her pretty features into a mix of disbelief and disgust. “Seriously, Willow? That was a zillion years ago.”

  “Eleven years and a lot of…” She gave a wry smile. “Pounds.”

  “Exactly!” Gussie said, coming closer so fast her neon-green maxi dress swooshed. “And look at you. You’re perfect.”

  “Hardly.” But she only battled the same ten pounds that many women went to war with, and she knew it.

  Ari got next to Gussie in a show of solidarity. “Willow, you are your past. I’m sorry, but you can’t disconnect from it even if you really want to, any more than you can disconnect from the earth under your feet or every thought you have during a day. It’s part of the tapestry of you.”

  Gussie nodded. “She’s right. You didn’t emerge from the sea, fully formed as this new person. I think it
’s kind of wonderful that he knew you before. I wish we knew you before. Don’t roll your eyes, Willow. I’ve never even seen a picture of you when you weighed more.”

  Nor would they. “You’re not missing anything.”

  “Don’t say that.” Ari’s eyes sparked. “I mean it when I say your past is everything about you. History and time and events all fold together into one spirit—”

  Willow sliced the air with her hand. “Please, Ari. Can the woo-woo. If my past is everything, then I am nothing.”

  They both stared at her, slack-jawed, making her realize just how harsh and wrong and stupid that sounded. But they didn’t understand what it was like to hate—truly, deeply, madly hate—yourself for most of your life. They didn’t understand what it was like to use food to escape the manipulation of a woman who lived to manipulate.

  Willow had finally let go of that hate and had grown into tolerance, even like, for herself. Nick Hershey brought all the self-loathing back to the forefront. Everything would be easier if she could get away from Nick, the human embodiment of one of the Worst Days of her life. The only person who might send her reeling even further back would be her mother, and Misty certainly brought that possibility to the forefront.

  “Much as you’d like to make it out to be more, this guy’s nothing. He’s not an issue. He’s leaving today, and if Misty chooses Casa Blanca, he’ll be back in a month for a weekend wedding, and then this will have been nothing but one afternoon of shopping and ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” Gussie gasped.

  “He got you to eat ice cream?” Ari asked on a choke of disbelief.

  Willow gestured toward the candy. “Should have bet on that.”

  Gussie shook her head, hands on hips. “Neither one of us is dumb enough to bet on you and ice cream.”

  “I can’t believe you ate ice cream,” Ari teased. “Next, you’ll be breaking the pact.”

  “What pact?” Lacey Walker, owner of the Casa Blanca resort, tapped on the frame of the open door to announce herself.

  Brown eyes twinkling and her reddish-blond curls tumbling, Lacey was an unlikely resort owner. But her status as a lifelong resident of Barefoot Bay and a survivor of a hurricane that had made way for Casa Blanca gave her tremendous street cred. Plus, she was a damn nice lady who’d given them an office and welcomed an on-site wedding planning firm with open arms.