| |
He came out of nowhere she sang from “Wonderful, Wonderful Day” in her head as she and Flint cleaned up after they’d finished breakfast. The hint of attraction that nudged her yesterday had shouted at her today when he’d walked through the door, all adoring gaze and treats, literally and figuratively. She’d wondered for a moment when he’d started off kind of rude, but he’d quickly walked back from that in a way that gave her hint more than a clue. So she’d brought out her flirt game, a bit heavier on the sultry than she’d intended, but he didn’t seem to be taking it the wrong way, like so many men did.
His presence by her side and since he’d walked in the door caused a cocooning sensation that wrapped her in safety. Safety could be sexy, and it also made her want to know this man. Reports of him continued to prove misleading.
He put away the last dish and faced her, smoothing his light lavender-pink dress shirt. She liked that he was secure enough to wear a color the boys she’d known in high school tended to put down as “unmanly.” Some men never grew out of that phase.
“How much have you gotten to explore the town since you moved here?”
She wondered how he knew when she’d moved here. Maybe he’d asked Mrs. G or someone about her the way she had about him. “Not much. I’ve barely been here two months.”
“I know.”
She shot him a raised brow with a quirk of her lips.
“I mean...” He put up his hands, as if in surrender. “So, I asked my brother and Autumn about you.”
She let her smile free. “And I asked Mrs. G about you.”
“All good, I assume.” He winked and edged his hand across his collar.
“I wouldn’t go as far as that...” She patted his chest in a quick move and walked away. Her hand tingled from the feel of his hard chest and his warmth. She needed to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t explain the draw to him, and common sense told her to slow down.
His footsteps followed hers across the kitchen. His fingers grazed her arm and she turned to face him. Words suddenly failed her as his minty, coffee-laced breath washed over her. More than her hands were tingling now. She wanted him to kiss her, but it was too soon. He met her questioning look and his gaze said it all: he also felt the connection between them. He also wanted to kiss her. But he was waiting for permission. She shook her head in a quick movement. Not yet.
He stepped back, his fingers lingering on her arm. The warmth of his touch stayed and her sense of safety increased. Those rumors she’d heard were way off. Flint was a gentleman.
“I...” He shook his head. “I apologize for the unwanted touch.” He still grinned, a bit sheepishly now, and his words rang with sincerity. No petulance in sight.
A sense of lightness infused her torso. “Thank you.” His touch wasn’t unwanted, but she preferred to take the physical a bit slower than he seemed to be going. “Can we start with a hand hold?”
His smile beamed brighter. “I’d like that.” He followed her lead as they donned coats.
She locked up and faced the sunny day. Offering him her hand, she practically danced down the steps with him, their fingers intertwined.
“How about a walk through the town first, and then we can grab sodas before the wedding? How do you feel about hand pies?”
“If it’s pie, I will try.”
“My kind of woman.” He squeezed her hand as they walked toward the river. He stopped on a path that followed the waterway into downtown. “I like you, Mandy. I want to get to know you better. How do you feel about that?”
“Good. I want to get to know you better, too.” A cool breeze made her step closer to him. “Now, are you gonna show me this town?”
He linked her arm in his. “‘We’re going on the town,’” he sang in a voice to rival Howard Keel’s.
If she could swoon, she would. Instead, she leaned into him as they headed down the path, joining his song from the old Gene Kelly musical. “Can you dance too?” she asked as they reached Main Street.
“Yep. Mrs. G taught me. We used to watch musicals in between old Westerns.”
“I love classic movies. Even have a blog about them.”
“Yeah? Cool. Any favorites?”
“That’s a big question. How about we save it, and you can tell me about the town. Mrs. G said your aunt used to own a bed-and-breakfast on the hill?”
“Yep. I didn’t spend as much time here in Loving as my older brothers, but we’d come here some summers and holidays. Changed when the house burned down, my aunt passed, my mom too, and then my dad.”
“I’m sorry.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Loss can be hard.”
“Yeah. We got through it, with help from Mrs. G and people like the Georges and the Careys. And my brothers. We stick together. What about you?”
“I lost my parents too. We were all we had, so it was rough.”
He circled his thumb on her palm. They slowed as they reached the end of the river path. The leafing trees created a green bower overhead, sunlight filtering through the lacy branches, birds carrying on a melody with the light wind.
“You’re a strong person, to walk through that alone.”
She glanced at him. His serious, admiring gaze sank a sense of surety in her that she hadn’t felt from someone else in a long time.
“I had friends. And there’s a song I could sing for that.”
“Go ahead. Why not live in a musical if you can?”
She touched his shoulder. “My sentiments exactly. How about some exposition before another tune? I’d like to hear more about you and your family.”
“Same.” He began with a story about how his parents met, their courtship, and how he and his brothers spent some summers here and some on the ranch, learning to ride horses, rope cows, and run themselves around until they slept out on the summer porch in a bunch. Skirting over his parents’ deaths, he told her about his brothers and their wives and girlfriends, and how many of them had now moved to town, until it was only his oldest brother, Adam, his new wife Minnie, and Flint, left on the ranch. She shared some of her own stories, too.
“Have you heard the story of the town?” he asked
“I have. I’m glad Dr. George and some of her family are still here. I hear her relatives have a reunion every July and march in the parade, some dressed like their Buffalo soldier ancestors.”
“Yep. We used to watch the parade as kids. I’d like to treat you to the Careys’ ice cream special and watch the parade with you.”
“We’ll see. Sounds fun.” Her heart flitted like one of those musical birds because he wanted to include her in future plans.
He nodded. “There’s my aunt’s old place.” He pointed to the hill overlooking Main Street. “Want to go up? It’s got a great view. My brother Dean lives in the cottage now. He and Ethan are thinking of rebuilding the B & B, though maybe just as a private house again.”
“Sounds like a lot of changes in your family.”
“I roll with it. How’re you settling in here?”
She felt into his question. It had been a hectic time, and she hadn’t taken much time to reflect. “Better now.”
“Tell me more about your family,” he said. He listened to her tales of her parents and their travels, and how she adjusted to her new life in college after their passing, as they walked across to Main Street, past Careys’ and some of the other quaint and quirky shops, the planters overflowing with spring bulbs and flowers and greenery, and up the grass-patched hill. A bench—make that two—were set looking out over the town and the river.
A tremor of doubt shook her when he stayed silent as they admired the summering landscape. The mountains in the distance still topped with snow, but the hills in town had lost their frost, ready for the coming season. This could be home, this beautiful place.
Glacier National Park had been the last vacation she’d taken with her parents, which was why she’d chosen college in Montana, even though it put her far away from the dance career she’d once envisioned for herself in New York or San Francisco or Paris. High school frenemies had accused her of being not brave enough to forge ahead as a plus-sized dancer, but she’d been ready for that challenge. She supposed she’d already been moving away from those dreams to new ones even when she started college. Six years later, she was twenty-four, a waitress, a film blogger, a soon-to-be dance teacher, and happier than she’d been since that vacation.
He asked if she wanted to sit, so they did, and he asked about her blog. That got her going, and soon the sun shone high in the sky, at least an hour passed, she and Flint trading favorite film quotes and scenes, best snacks to pair with a movie, and making each other laugh with goofy impressions and strange comments they’d received from others who didn’t share their love of classic movies.
“We better get lunch.” They rose and he raised their hands up then dropped them again. “Any hope I have anything to do with that better now feeling?”
“There’s hope.” She bumped her hip on his. “Need to see how you do on the dance floor.”
“Ready for the challenge.”
“No competition, no pressure.”
“I don’t mind a little pressure.” He smiled and pointed to his cheek.
“Are you asking me for something?” She knew what he wanted: a kiss. And she wanted to give it, but she liked people to be explicit in asking for what they wanted.
“A kiss, if you please?”
She smiled, leaned up and brushed her lips on his warm cheek. The clove and citrus scent of his aftershave coupled with the fresh breeze made her lean into him, her bones jellifying. No brief kiss had ever had such an effect on her. He held her loosely, but close. Their breathing synced and he rested his head on hers for a moment.
Home, she was home. Her parents had talked about this feeling that came with love: a sense of safety, of coming back to yourself, of knowing. And she knew, knew this could be the beginning of something beautiful.
His stomach growled, making her giggle.
“Hey, I didn’t get much breakfast,” he said. “There was a certain woman flustering me with her allure.”
She turned, grinning up at him before batting her lashes and doing her best vamp pose.
“You’re quite a woman, Mandy Thurmburg.”
“I know.” She flitted her fingers across his chest.
He grasped her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers in a quick movement. A tingling sensation shot through her hands and to her heart, increasing her certainty that Flint was worth her time, and that with more time together, something special could happen between them.
“What about that lunch?” she asked, cupping his hand in hers.
“Let’s get to my truck and I’ll give you the driving tour.”
She nodded. She’d follow him anywhere, like Chérie said to Beau in Bus Stop.
They walked down the hill, and though the warm fizzies stayed, she let go of the urgency of wanting him. This was no movie, it was life, and while she liked to be spontaneous, she didn’t do causal when it came to romance. They had time, and she’d enjoy today with him.
He pointed out more town landmarks and gave tidbits of local lore as they ambled to his car in a roundabout way, behind Main Street and up Willow before ending at Mrs. G’s street. He held his truck door open for her and handed her into the cushy seat. Once he was settled, they drove out the old highway. Flint named the ranches and businesses, the hills and creeks. Eventually he stopped at a red-painted farm stand with a covered area lined with shelves and produce stalls, and a seating area filled with picnic tables.
“I come out here at least once a month when they’re open,” he said as he helped her out of the car and up to the farm stand. “Good to support other local businesses, and we buy some of the produce for the restaurant at the lodge from Becky and her husband.”
Walking the rows, her hand found Flint’s again, and that well of safety and certainty deepened. She tugged him along as she exclaimed over the huge heads of broccoli and the shades-of-amber honeys, the locally made soaps and bright sunflowers, the mushrooms and herbs.
Flint grabbed a basket and loaded it with everything she admired. “Need groceries?” she asked with a wondering glance at his overflowing basket.
“Hoping you’ll come to dinner tomorrow. Will you?”
Her stomach fluttered along with her lashes as she glanced at him. His cleft chin and sparkling gaze flooded her with warm honey. It seemed soon to go to his house for dinner, and she really wanted to. “Just the two of us?”
“What would make you comfortable?”
She worried her lip. “Mind if I think about it?”
“Take your time. The invitation stands. How about those pies?” He stopped in front of a bakery case inside a small building that backed the more open area.
She peeked in, perusing the various golden, small pies. “I’ll take a spinach-feta.”
“Hi, Becky, how are you?” he asked the woman behind the counter.
“Flint, good to see you again.” She eyed Mandy with a friendly curiosity.
“This is Mandy.” He introduced them and explained that Mandy worked at Gallagher’s.
Polite inquires exchanged, he ordered a pork-greens pie, hers, and a spiced sweet potato square, as well as two huckleberry sodas. She offered to contribute to the bill, but he declined, paid, and left what looked to be a generous tip in the jar on the counter after thanking Becky.
Mandy carried the soda bottles and they found a table that looked out over the fields and to the mountains and evergreens in the distance. Flint sat next to her and they chatted about the scenery, the food, and movies, and ate and drank the just-right soda.
Everything about this, the moment, the setting, being with Flint, seemed just right. Like home.
She shifted in her seat, a raincloud of doubt moving in. She felt everything she wanted to, everything her parents had shared about love. But she also knew real love took time, and she and Flint had only just met. It seemed too soon to be so sure, so comfortable and anticipatory and happy. It was a wonderful day. And she wanted more, one wonderful day after another with Flint Manning by her side.