“She lives in Thunder Point. I can’t exactly carry her books home from school,” Matt said irritably.
“I understand that. Just so you’re not confusing her with Natalie,” Corinne said. “They’re not alike.”
“I know that,” he said. “I’m going to go clean the mess in the barn. Then I’m going out.”
“Of course. Friday night,” Corinne said. “No dinner tonight?”
“I’ll take care of my own dinner.”
“Have a nice time. I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I put in a long week.” He wasn’t going to share dinner if they were going to be watching him.
“You did. I think you worked harder than Paco, not easy to do. The farm is quiet for now. You should take advantage of it.”
“I was catching up. I’ll see you soon. And you’re welcome for killing ten hens. Nasty work.”
“You made a quick job of it.”
Why couldn’t she thank him? he wondered. All his parents could do was get in his business.
He scrubbed up in the barn, then got in his truck. He had a problem with “that pretty Ginger.” First, he had granted himself a couple of days to think about things, about her. Then he realized he had ignored her, hadn’t called when he said he would and probably either pissed her off or hurt her feelings, and that took a couple more days of silence. Here it was Friday and last Saturday night he had promised to call her the next day. When he was younger he’d have pretended that he’d forgotten or he’d have made up some excuse.
Ginger was too smart to fall for that. He’d been all knotted up inside because he was starting to need her, want her so much, maybe love her. He wanted to examine that for a little while, privately, with none of the confusion that came with having those long, quiet, intimate talks. Or the scent of her skin. Or the taste of her lips. Or her softness. Or the way she felt in his arms. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t setting both of them up for disappointment before he went one step further.
Then his mother, who knew everything, said, “As long as you don’t confuse her with Natalie.” And he snapped out of it. Ginger had emotional sturdiness; she knew how she felt. She wasn’t always thinking of herself first. In fact, how she could help others seemed very important to her. Whether they talked or kissed, she was so honest about her feelings, far more honest than he had been. This was a high-quality woman. And he’d been screwing around, wondering what to do next?
Before leaving the farm, sitting in his truck, he called her.
“This number is no longer in service.”
He tried it five more times. Then he called Peyton, who was still at the clinic. “Hey, Peyton, Ginger’s phone is disconnected. Something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. She got a new number.”
“Huh? Okay, I need the number,” he said.
“Why? You lose it?”
“Ah. Yeah. Lost it.”
That hesitation ruined him. “You liar,” she said. “She didn’t give it to you. Why didn’t she give it to you? Did she get a new number because of you?”
“No! No! I think it was her ex. She said he called her...or something.”
“When did you talk to her last?” Peyton demanded.
“Come on, is this really your job, deciding who gets her phone number? Give me a break, will you? I want to talk to her. Right away.”
“You screwed this up, didn’t you?”
“Peyton,” he said in a threatening tone. Then he calmed himself and took a breath. “Okay, listen, I might’ve done a stupid thing...”
“Shocker,” Peyton said.
Matt wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her. “Okay, listen, we were together last Saturday night after the wedding. I took her out, we had a great time. I wanted to see her again right away, it was that great. But I thought maybe I should think this through since my track record is, you know—”
“Shitty?” Peyton filled in.
“I was going to say spotty. Jesus, could you be any less supportive? I took a little time to think it through, okay? I was starting to have those feelings, you know? I scared myself a little. I made a big mistake with Natalie. I didn’t want to do that to Ginger. She’s too sweet to have some idiot like me make a poor decision and get her into something not good for either one of us. So yeah, I shouldn’t have waited to call her, but I had to think it through. So that’s it. I know Ginger isn’t like Natalie and I’m not like I was with Natalie and I thought about things and...I need that number now.”
“Wow, that’s kind of mature, Matt. Fessing up like that. Admitting you’re wrong and everything.”
“So? The number?”
“No,” she said. And disconnected.
He looked at the phone and told his sister he hated her.
It took him a while to get the number for the flower shop because he couldn’t remember Pretty Petals. Then when he called, Ginger didn’t answer. He assumed it was Grace and he said, “Hi. Is Ginger there, please?”
“Sure. Can I tell her who’s calling?”
The moment of truth, he thought. “It’s Matt. Matt Lacoumette.”
“Oh, hi, Matt. Hold on. She’s pulling in displays.”
He heard Grace summon Ginger, and then she came on the line. “Hi, Matt. How are you?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me. Did you change your number because of me? Because you’re angry?”
“No, of course not. I changed it because it needed to be changed and no, I’m not angry. But I can’t really talk right now—we’re closing up the shop and it’s busy.”
“When can we talk?”
“Hmm, let’s see. I have plans tonight, right after I get cleaned up. I’m going out to dinner with Ray Anne and some friends. Maybe I could give you a call later, if it’s not too late.”
“Ginger, I was calling you to tell you I know I screwed up. I didn’t call when I said I would. I hardly answered your text. I ignored you. You really scared me when my call wouldn’t go through. I should explain. I was thinking about us, about whether—”
“Matt! Matt! I can’t wait to hear all about it but I really can’t talk right now. It’s a little busy here and I don’t want to keep my friends waiting. I have to sign off. We’ll catch up later.”
She disconnected.
Matt sat there in shock. All confidence was gone. The Ginger he was falling in love with just announced it to the world. She would not be taken for granted. She wasn’t going to put up with vague messages and broken promises. She’d already been there once. She was all done with that.
And like a shotgun blast he understood everything. The whole time he was getting closer to Ginger he’d been focused on Natalie and a relationship that hadn’t worked from the start. That was mistake number one. Then he’d built a barrier of self-protection, aloofness. Distance from the woman he knew better after a couple of months than he’d known his own wife in a year. Mistake number two. So, mistake number three would be sitting there like a doofus, acting confused and licking his wounds.
A little fight replaced his sudden lack of confidence.
* * *
Ginger hung up and went back outside the shop. She rolled up the awning and dragged a big pot of colorful mums into the store. She stopped dragging when she ran smack into Grace.
“It’s not as though I meant to eavesdrop,” Grace said.
“Bull. You probably wanted me to put it on speaker.”
“That would’ve been helpful. So—what did he want?”
“Apparently he wants to grovel. I wonder when he figured it out? I think about ten minutes ago. I have to say, I’m very relieved...”
“What’s his story?”
“Well, obviously I don’t have the whole story, but I think the gist is—Matt’s a little gun-shy. He married the wrong girl. I think he sort of knew it all along and married her anyway, and of course it didn’t work out. And he likes me, which I think scares him. My educated guess is he doesn’t want to screw up aga
in. You’d have to understand his family a little better to appreciate where he’s coming from. I know you met them, but it’s entirely different when you sit down to Sunday dinner with them. They’re so enmeshed in each other’s personal lives, it’s hard to have a secret. I imagine they’ve all given multiple opinions about where Matt went wrong with his first wife. Matt pretends to be completely independent and to not really care what anyone thinks, but trust me—he doesn’t want his family to see him make another mistake.”
“And so? He didn’t call for almost a week? What was he doing?”
“Brooding,” Ginger said, going back outside to fetch a couple more displays.
“I guess you snapped him out of it,” Grace said.
“Possibly,” Ginger said. “But the important thing was to snap me out of it. There’s nothing more pathetic than a girl with a ridiculous, moody crush, singing love songs to herself, kissing her own hand and fantasizing, checking the phone every five minutes to see if he called yet. I tried just turning off the phone, but then I’d turn it back on to check for messages every fifteen minutes. You want to make out with me in the bed of a pickup truck then string me along for a week? No, not going to happen.”
Ginger went back outside, pulled in another pot of colorful summer flowers, stopped short just inside the door.
“All this happened in the bed of a pickup truck?” Grace asked. “Ginger, might you have left out some details before.”
“It was so lovely. He had a sleeping bag to spread out, a cooler of soft drinks, a couple of blankets because it gets cold when the sun goes down. He said it was how his parents used to go to the drive-in movie and it was fun. And then all the other people who had driven to the lookout to watch the sunset were gone and it was just us—talking, laughing, kissing. A trooper pulled in to make sure we were all right.” She laughed. “Good thing it hadn’t gone any further, right?”
“Will you call him tonight?”
“Sure. If it isn’t too late when I get home. I’m not playing games here. I don’t mean to punish him. I just think guidelines are important.”
“You could just give him your number,” Grace said.
“I could have, couldn’t I? When I talk to him next, I’ll give it to him if he asks.”
“You might not be playing games,” Grace said. “But you were sending a message, don’t bother to deny it. And he got it.”
“I think we’re done out here,” Ginger said, speaking of the front walk in front of the shop. “Ready for the closed sign?”
“Ready. I’m just going to clean up my office and shut down the computer, then I’m headed home. I suppose you’re going upstairs to wash off the flowers before dinner with the girls?”
“I am. By the way, have I told you how much I love it up there? It’s like a little cocoon. It’s just perfect for me. I nestle in at night, flip through the channels or listen to music, relax, read, check emails on my laptop, fall asleep in my little nest. It’s so wonderful, Grace.”
“I know,” she said, grinning. “You tell me five times a day. Have I told you how wonderful it is having you in charge of the shop, opening and closing, taking orders, giving me so much freedom?”
“Five times a day,” Ginger said.
Ginger went upstairs to shower and change. Tonight was dinner at a Greek restaurant in Bandon and she was looking forward to it very much. It would be Ray Anne, Lou, Carrie, Gina and Gina’s daughter and stepdaughter, Ashley and Eve. Three generations, more or less. With the college girls home for the summer, their group had grown and become even more fun. Ginger got the biggest kick out of these college girls and their stories, even as their mother, grandmother and aunt cringed. She was feeling much better about herself since she started living independently and, in truth, since Matt had tracked her down and apologized. She looked good, felt good and didn’t look at her watch even once.
She was home at a little after nine, kicked off her shoes, dropped onto the couch while still chuckling over one of the funny stories told over dinner. And she thought, Look at me—I have a life. She would not have believed a few short months ago, when she was mired in depression and hopelessness, that she could have this—laughter and enthusiasm and anticipation. She couldn’t believe she’d ever look like she was among the living, much less look in the mirror and actually admire the reflection.
She heard tapping at her back door and wondered if Ray Anne needed something or if someone was looking for flowers. But she opened the door to Matt’s frowning but so handsome face.
“If you don’t want me in your life anymore, you have to tell me to my face,” he said.
She laughed and stepped back so he could come in.
“That’s funny?” he asked irritably.
“Well, yes. Not talking to a guy never worked for me before. Usually they could care less. I just got home, Matt. You came all this way? I was going to call you.”
“You were?”
“I said I would,” she told him. “And there is no reason I wouldn’t. You came all this way because I got a new phone number?”
“I came all this way because I have to apologize,” he said.
Again she smiled. Their first dinner together, the beginning of a most unexpectedly lovely relationship, had been about apology. “Since you really excel at apologies, I look forward to it.”
He shut the door behind him, slid an arm around her waist and deftly brought her mouth up to his, kissing her. She was bent over his arm and hung on to his shoulders to keep from crumpling to the floor. His kiss was hot and demanding and delicious. Then he moved, his hands on her face, holding her against him, covering her mouth with an almost desperate heat. Her lips opened for him, and he swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, and she not only allowed this but welcomed it. She held him close, moaning. Sighing. It was a very long time before he let her go even enough to speak. He panted eagerly.
“Well. You’re pretty messed up,” she said. “We really have to talk. Maybe a little later...” And she went back to his lips, her arms around his neck.
“I couldn’t give you up if I wanted to,” he whispered. “I don’t want to.” Then he sighed and put his lips against her neck, holding her close. “God, I thought you’d given up on me.”
“But you’re the one who disappeared, not me.”
“I know. I know. I’m not good at this, haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She laughed as she ran her fingers through his thick, black hair. “Oh, I don’t know, you’re pretty good...” She pulled back a little so she could look into those troubled, coal-black eyes. “I don’t know what you’re holding inside, but if you don’t get it out pretty soon, you’re going to start getting headaches.”
“Worse headaches. How did you know?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t have headaches anymore.” She kissed his cheek tenderly. “If you can’t trust me with whatever it is, there must be someone you can talk to. A priest, maybe?”
He laughed. “Definitely not a priest.” Then he kissed her neck, holding her against him. “I feel better already.” He ran his hand down her back and over her butt. “Much better.”
“Maybe we could sit down. Would you like something to drink?”
He looked down into her eyes. “Can I have something to drink later? Right now all I want is you. And I want you real damn bad.”
“You should have given me a little notice...”
“For what? You feel like velvet and you taste like...hmm. Heaven. What is that smell in your hair? It’s like dessert.”
“Vanilla. I don’t have any birth control...”
His laugh was deep and a little evil. He looked into her eyes again, and his were getting fiery. “I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I’m prepared.”
She shook her head. “How does that not surprise me? Don’t most men bring flowers or champagne or chocolates? Okay, forget the flowers...”
“I’ll do that next time. This time—I was in a little panic.”
&
nbsp; She pressed herself against him. “I think the panic has passed.”
“Are you ready for this? I’ll be careful. I’ll take good care of you.”
“I trust you, Matt.”
“Then why? Why the phone number thing?”
“After,” she said. “We’ll talk when there’s less distraction.”
“Good idea,” he said, lifting her into his arms. He carried her into the tiny living room, eyed the couch and moved on past it to the bed. He set her down gently, sitting down beside her to kick off his shoes, get rid of his belt and shirt, then turned to take her into his arms again, delivering kisses that were hot and strong. He slid the straps of her dress down over her shoulders, pulled it down and kissed her breasts for a long time. She held his head there, his mouth sucking gently, then not so gently.
She turned into soup. She felt the hot and molten passion inside her flow through her until she was almost aching for him. And that made her squirm. She pulled him down on the bed and reached for his jeans, struggling to find the snap or button or zipper but after a moment of that, he stilled her hands. “Easy,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
“I thought it would be slow,” she said with a shade of embarrassment.
He pulled condoms out of his pocket before tossing the jeans aside. “It’ll be slow next time,” he promised. “Right now I think I should take care of you. Orgasm.” He laughed. “Great icebreaker.”
Her dress came down to her waist, up to her waist, and there she was with a whole bunch of clothing around her waist while everything above and below lay bare to his hungry eyes. “Aw, Ginger, I love those little panties. I think I’ll take them off. With my teeth.”
“No teeth!” she said, laughing.
“Okay, no teeth,” he said. They were white lace, fitting around her hips. He tugged them down and said, “Well now.”
“Natural blonde,” she confirmed.
He got out of his boxers fast. He suited up right away, leaving nothing to chance, then he lay down beside her, brought her into his arms and, kissing her, his hands explored her whole body from her knees to her neck. Finally, frustrated by the cumbersome folds of that discarded sundress, he tugged it lower, down her legs and off. He tossed it. His hands on her were much freer and deeper, and she pushed at him with her hips, so ready. But it was when she tried to close her legs against the pressure of his hand on her that he stopped. He looked into her eyes and said, “Uh-uh. No.” He pushed her legs apart once more and put himself there. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way. You want to come, don’t you, my love?”