We bought a bag of popcorn. Jami opened it and took a quick peek over her shoulder. “Feeling kind of paranoid about those vigilante seagulls now. I’ll bet this is just their kind of snack.” She pushed a few pieces in her mouth and held the bag up for me.
A country band was playing on the portable stage they’d set up for the fair. We stood under the shade of an awning and listened, while we nibbled kettle corn. An elderly man was playing a fiddle, but the instrument sounded like a wailing, horny tom cat compared to Jami’s violin. I gripped the handle of the case tighter. “This violin—I’m assuming you didn’t just buy it at Music Mart at their half off holiday sale. It almost sounded as if it was—”
“Alive?” She peered up at me. “When I’m holding Stuart, we share a heart and a soul. He senses the music in me, and I can feel his pulse as I play. And you’re changing the subject, so I can only assume you don’t remember the kiss scene, which is disappointing.”
“Stuart? Your violin has a name?”
“I told you, we are connected by a heart and soul. I couldn’t very well call him violin. And no he did not come from the store. Stuart wasn’t manufactured. He was crafted.” There was just enough pout in her bottom lip to make me want to kiss her, and not the donut kiss but a real kiss.
I grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed it around in my hand. “Fort William Henry was under attack by the French and Hawk-eye and Cora meet amidst the smoke and blood and the sadness. He takes her hand and leads her behind a stack of barricades and they kiss. And I agree, it’s one of the best kiss scenes on film.” I popped the kettle corn into my mouth.
Jami wrapped her arm around mine. “It’s settled. I’m now a firm believer in birthday wishes.”
I laughed. “An abrupt change of subject, but you have my full attention.”
“I should preface this story with the ugly little reality that I had an unusual childhood, hence me giving a name and personification to the violin in that case. Stuart was one of my closest companions growing up. Just a side note to explain my weirdness. Anyhow, when I was twelve, my mom bought me a birthday cake. Yes bought. The woman couldn’t griddle a pancake to save her life. The cake was white with blue flowers and it had a big candle in the middle. I was twelve, and boys were slowly becoming front and center in my mind.” She patted the case in my hand. “It was a dark period for Stuart. Anyhow, I closed my eyes and wished for a guy who was all the Disney princes rolled up into one perfect boyfriend. Prince Ferdinand in Snow White for his magical kiss.” She winked up at me. “You’ve already scored on that one as previously noted. Prince Charming for his looks.” She waved a hand in front of me. “Enough said on that. By the way, I might add that he really wasn’t all that charming. That title really should have gone to Prince Eric of Little Mermaid fame. But Prince Eric has that great black hair. Like you. The Beast, otherwise known as Prince Adam . . .” She paused. “Well, what girl doesn’t want a bit of a beast now and then. Plus, when he morphed back into the prince, he was quite the hottie. Always wondered what would have happened if the spell had worn off and this little, toady looking guy with a hooked nose and crossed eyes had appeared.” She tapped her chin. “Who am I forgetting? Of course, duh. Only the bravest of all, Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, another magical kisser, and he can really ride that horse. But in your case it’s a motorcycle. Which is just as cool as the horse riding thing. Or maybe even better. Well damn, I think I just came up with a new pitch for the next Disney film.”
I gazed down at her. It always took me a second to find my tongue when she was looking up at me with those round blue eyes. “You are such a curiosity, Jami. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Uh oh. Have I scared you off already?” She licked some of the sticky sweet from the popcorn off the tip of her finger, an innocent gesture that made me stop breathing for a second.
I shook my head. “The opposite, in fact. But before you get too sure of this wish thing or my perceived perfection, I should confess that I watched Last of the Mohicans for the action and to learn the story. We had to read the book in tenth grade and I decided watching the movie would be easier than reading the cliff notes. Guess that takes me down a few notches on the list. Just thought I should be honest.”
We reached the bike path that would take us back home. “Don’t sell yourself short, Denver. Besides, you had me at Paganini.” She stopped and swung around to face me. The ocean breeze pushed a long strand of her cocoa brown hair across her lips. I reached up and brushed it off her face. Her expression looked slightly sad for the first time, still daylight but with a pale shadow. “I left home to free myself from my own homegrown version of Maleficent, my mom, and her just as evil sidekick, my stepfather. I hadn’t expected to meet someone like you, Denver. Thanks for being downstairs. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed a friend”—She smiled weakly at the violin case in my hand—“at least one who can kiss and laugh and share popcorn with me, until I met you.”
She spun back around, and we kept walking.
“You know something, Holliday? I think you were just what I needed too.”
Chapter 8
Jami
Denver’s white t-shirt stretched across the muscles on his back as he worked on the shower valve. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him, unabashedly. I even threw in a shrill whistle when he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the water drips off his face.
“I’m rather enjoying this role reversal,” I said. “The girl ogling and teasing the construction worker. Hey, baby, want some shake with those fries?”
Denver’s deep laugh echoed off the shower tile as he peered back at me over his shoulder. “I think you mean some fries with that shake.”
“Oops. Guess I’ve still got a lot to learn. Still, it’s incredibly intoxicating watching a strong, intelligent man work with his hands. You should have one of those home improvement shows. Women would be tuning in just to watch you work.” My phone buzzed. I reluctantly pulled it from my pocket and walked out of the bathroom. “Harold, I told Mom that for the next five weeks you can only call me if there is a true emergency.”
“This is an emergency.”
“What’s wrong? Is Mom all right?”
“She’s fine. You need to cut this trip down to three weeks. We need you back here. You’ve been booked for a performance in London at the end of the month.”
“Well unbook me because I’m not going. We agreed that I could take this time off. You have no right filling my calendar without my approval.”
“The royal family will be in attendance. You need to be there.”
I walked into my room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Not happening.”
“Damnit, Jami, you are the most stubborn, pigheaded, ungrateful—”
“Thanks. Coming from you I consider that a compliment. Now cancel the booking. We agreed on five weeks, and I’m not taking a day less.”
“Look, we can fly you to London. The performance is two consecutive nights. Then you can go back to your silly little ‘finding myself’ bullshit trip.”
I blinked back tears. Harold was the one person in the world who could make me lose my cool, and I wasn’t going to be goaded into it this time. “Harold, just fuck off,” I said with as much hatred in my voice as I could muster. “I’m not doing the show.” I hung up and threw my phone. It smacked right into Denver’s chest as he stepped into the doorway. He caught it before it fell to the floor.
He stared down at the phone on his palm. “Was it something I said?” he asked.
I forced a smile. “Sorry, you just happened to step into the path of my phone throwing tantrum. But it’s over.” I hopped off the bed. I realized that my mood had lightened just at the sight of Denver. He had that kind of presence.
“Bad news?” he asked. “You look a little less sunshiney than usual.”
I
shook my head. “Too many people fighting over my puppet strings. All I want to do is rip the strings and become a real girl.”
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “If there’s anything I can do to help with that, I’m your man. No job too big or too small.”
I stepped closer to him. Even his scent, soap and man, made me lightheaded. “Just standing here with you already makes me feel more real and alive than I’ve felt in a long time.” My words silenced him for a second, and I hoped I hadn’t scared him off.
“Shower is all fixed. Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing because I’ll sort of miss the distressed damsel wrapped only in a bath towel phone call.”
“I’m sure I can find other reasons to call you up here when I’m clad in just a towel. Or maybe no towel at all.” I had five weeks, and I was going to live every damn minute of them. I reached up and wiped a bead of water from his neck. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said.
I nodded in disappointment.
His hand went around my waist, and he pulled me against him. “I’ve got a beach date with a large blanket, a bottle of wine and an incredible girl who seems to think she’s not real. Yet, she feels all too real in my arms.” His mouth covered mine and he kissed away all the dreary feelings, all the grim realities and the greedy people hanging from my heels.
Chapter 9
Denver
“You could not have planned a better first date.” Jami sighed as she leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the night sky. There was just enough moon to add a warm glow to the beach and just enough lack of it to let the stars shine brightly. Other than a cat walking along the wall of the bike path, we were the only signs of life on the entire stretch of sand. “Guess I expected no less from you. Even your wine choice was perfect. Feeling just enough tingle everywhere.”
I leaned back to join her. “Tingle everywhere. That was my goal. But I think you’re propping me up on too high of a pedestal. When I do make a misstep, which you can pretty much count on with me, the fall is going to be fast and hard.”
“Humility, another likable trait. The list keeps growing.” She lowered her head to the blanket.
“This coming from a musical prodigy who told me she played ‘a little’.” I rolled onto my side and stared at her. Her tiny nose had just the slightest up turn. I reached across and pushed my hand under her shirt to caress the silky skin of her stomach. “Can’t imagine what it must have been like for you growing up.”
She continued to gaze up at the sky. Nature’s night light cast a glow across her flawless skin. “I was young and so much of those first years still float around in my dreams as if they were all just part of a storybook, a fuzzy, kind of crazy storybook. My grandpa had given me a kiddie piano and guitar for my birthday. I loved them. They were my favorite toys. I’d plunk around on them and make up my own tunes. One night grandpa had come for dinner. He heard me in my bedroom playing one of my self-made concerts.” She turned her face to me for a second. “Let me just say there is no better and less judgmental audience than stuffed animals. My stuffed polar bear was always particularly complimentary.” She turned back to face the sky. “I’ll never forget the look on Grandpa’s face when I glanced up from my piano and found him standing in the hallway listening. The next day he came over with a real violin, a kid sized version, one that fit my small hands and arms. After that, he came over every day to work with me. I couldn’t wait to get home from school so we could practice. My dad was still alive at that time, and he would sit and listen and the two of them would exchange these looks of disbelief. I truly hadn’t realized I was doing anything special. All I knew was that I loved to play. Then my dad died and my grandfather ended up suffering a stroke. My life kind of went to shit after that. By the way, your touch on my skin is making those wine produced tingles even more intense.”
She reached down and took hold of my wrist and removed my hand from under her shirt. She brought my palm to her mouth and kissed it. Her thumb brushed over the ugly, thick scar running alongside my wrist. She lifted my hand to get a closer look at the scar. “Holy moly. Shark? Pit bull? Fight with a garbage disposal?”
“Compound fracture of the wrist. Sometimes defying gravity comes with a few broken bones and trips to the emergency room. That was a particularly gnarly trip. I fell a good twenty feet from the air and somehow, during that drop to earth, I decided my left hand would stop my entire body from slamming the ground. It didn’t. I slammed the ground but not until after my wrist had snapped in two. Took me a second to figure out just what the hell was jutting out of my arm.”
“Was your doctor blindfolded when he sewed you up?”
“Wonder that myself sometimes. It’s ugly, I know.”
She brought my hand to her mouth again and pressed her lips against the scar. I could feel the heat of the kiss all the way through my body. “I rather like it,” she said.
“Yeah? Then I’m sorry I don’t have more than the wrist scar and one on the inside of my thigh—a fence climbing mishap, not a motorcycle crash. Most guys in my sport have a scar on every limb and shoulder. Rodeo claims that I have less because when I’m about to wreck, I plan out exactly how I’m going to fall so that I can avoid too much damage. My wrist accident obviously did not line up with his theory. But I do tend to get ridiculously logical when I’m flying through the air.”
She laughed. “That is so cute. Most people close their eyes tight and wait for impact, but you’re heading toward solid ground having a mind debate about which way to fall. Guess you could be called a smart crasher.”
She sat up, and I sat up next to her. We grabbed the corners of the blanket and brought them up around our shoulders. It wasn’t actually cold out, but it was a great excuse to get closer. Not that we needed it. I had a hard time not touching her when she was near me.
“When will I get to see you ride your motorcycle through the air? Although, I will be watching like this.” She lifted her hand to her face and spread her fingers out like someone trying to avoid the gore in a horror movie.
“I’m going to Cole’s house tomorrow to practice if you want to come along.”
“I do. And I’ll try not to be too big of a sissy.”
“So, you were telling me about your surreal childhood.”
“After my dad died, my mom took up with Harold, a man who started as my agent and quickly became my wicked stepfather. I was no longer Jami. I was a commodity to be used and sold and rented. I had little say in my life. Playing the violin was the only bright spot, but even that became an ugly chore when I was told what, when and where to perform. The most ironic part of all was that they controlled every aspect of my professional career, setting boundaries for me at every turn. Yet, they set no parameters on my social life. They were so busy counting their money, they had no interest in actually parenting. I had private tutors for most of my school years, and I was thrown into the adult world long before my eighteenth birthday.”
She tossed off the blanket and hopped up to her feet. “I just realized that the shoreline isn’t visible from most of the sand.”
I stood up next to her and stared down toward the water. It wasn’t summer yet and a hazy fog was coasting inland. The first five to ten feet of water was hidden behind a hill of sand. “That’s pretty normal for any beach. The tide erodes the sand and produces that shelf of dry sand. It makes for a natural barrier between dry and wet land.” As I finished my nerdy explanation, I caught a sparkle of light in her eyes that hadn’t been there just a second before. “Guess you weren’t really looking for an explanation.”
“I wasn’t, but that scientific, brainy thing makes you extra hot. Which brings me to my original reason for bringing up the hidden shoreline.” She glanced around. We were still the only people on the beach. It was well past ten, and most everyone had gone in for the nigh
t.
Jami kicked off her shoes and started running toward the water. “Let’s go for a swim,” she called back to me.
“The water’s really cold.”
She stopped, spun around and yanked off her shirt. “Suit yourself but I’m going in.”
Chapter 10
Jami
I’d stripped down to my panties and bra long before I’d actually stuck my first toe in the water. It was cold enough to shock the breath out of me, but I was half naked and I’d been the one to come up with the brilliant notion of taking a dip. I had no choice but to clench my teeth and jump into the waves.
My reluctant moon-bathing partner stood with a slightly agape mouth as he watched me. It was rare for Denver to be anything but smooth, but when he saw me standing in the water in nothing but my flimsy wet panties and bra, he jumped into action. In his urgency to yank of his shoes and jeans, he lost his balance and fell back onto his butt.
I was holding back a grin, but he saw right through my pathetic attempt.
“That was humiliating,” he muttered as his feet hit the water. “Shit that’s cold.” He sucked in a sharp breath as he waded toward me in nothing but his boxer briefs. He was so finely carved and built, I refused to blink. I didn’t want to miss a second of watching him.
I was standing waist deep in the water, and my chin had already started to tremble with the cold. “I’m beginning to think this wasn’t the best idea.”
“Too late.” Denver reached me. I laughed as he swept me up in his arms. My legs floated up as I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He carried me farther out and then stooped down beneath the surface. “It’s actually warmer under the water than being wet in the night air. Having an extremely hot body in my arms helps too.”