Polly stood in the short line for Indigo Bay Resort’s cottage check-in, eager to get to the little blue cottage she’d rented along the shores of the Atlantic. It had been a long drive to the airport that morning, followed by a long flight from Canada down to South Carolina. She wanted to break open the bottle of wine she had bought in the duty-free store, dip her toes in the ocean and just breathe.
She only had to endure waiting for the man in front of her with the large duffel bag to finish asking if pets were allowed in the cottages and she could get on with it.
As the man bantered with the woman behind the desk, his deep voice rolled with humor, welcoming and warm. Even though she was feeling a tad impatient, there was something about him that made Polly want to step a little closer. She wanted him to crack a joke that would make her smile, too. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on who. The man was tall, his shoulders square in a lean, strong way that spoke of physical labor, his movements smooth and easy. Judging from his cowboy boots and hat, Wrangler jeans, and plaid, long-sleeved shirt rolled up to expose tanned, ropey forearms, he worked on a ranch. She would definitely remember him if she’d met him.
Daphne’s parting words about having a fling fluttered through Polly’s mind, like the temptation of ice cream on a hot summer’s day when you were struggling to morph your body into a dress two sizes down from your current state of existence.
And all you could think of was ice cream.
Chocolaty goodness with bits of caramel and chunks of… Oh, why was she thinking about ice cream? She had booked an entire week away so she could work on figuring out who she was, not add more padding to her hips by indulging in sweet carbs and sugars.
Or to have a fling. Her gaze trailed down the man’s strong back once again. She bet he knew who he was, as well as how to bring joy to a woman.
Whoa, okay.
She shook herself. She was not the kind of person who had meaningless flings.
This was her life she was trying to put back together. There was no time for mistakes or distractions. She’d gone straight from high school to the University of Toronto, then off to become an investment broker. She had been flying through the ranks, determined to accumulate a sizable financial cushion even if it was leading her directly to burnout.
Then she’d treated herself to a wonderful Italian vacation, and met her vacationing now ex-husband, Chuck, who had swept her off her feet, resulting in a swift marriage. She had believed it was love that had made her move so quickly, but in hindsight it had likely been more about partnering with someone who had already obtained financial security, as Chuck was an established real estate mogul who had promised her he would take care of everything. Mighty tempting when you were smitten with the man and facing burnout at work.
Not long after their marriage she’d quit her job in the city to stay home and play the role of a High Society Wife. Meanwhile, Chuck had—unbeknownst to her—blown through most of their investments on too-good-to-be-true property deals. Her training had taught her better than to put everything in both their names, and yet she had still made that fool’s error of granting her partner entirely too much trust, and allowing her own insecurities about feeling as though she wasn’t contributing get in the way of her investor knowledge. Now the bulk of her income came from alimony, which was not the kind of safety net she had set out to create for herself.
At the check-in counter, she leaned around the man in front of her to address the clerk, giving up on her mental vow to eat healthy this week. “Excuse me? Is there somewhere nearby that I could buy an ice cream cone? Preferably chocolate with chunks of good stuff in it.”
Polly could have sworn she felt the man beside her smile, but she didn’t dare look to see if his expression matched the way his body language had opened up to her ever so slightly.
The woman pointed toward a gift shop not too far from where they were standing.
Polly thanked her, then reconsidered ditching the line as a large group came in behind her.
“Hello!” A woman took the station to her right, having come over from the guest services desk. “Welcome to Indigo Bay. I’m Zoe. I can help you over here.”
Polly stepped forward, standing beside the cowboy as she gave Zoe her reservation info. While waiting for her to pull it up on the computer, she took a quick visual sweep of the cowboy, collecting data.
Sexy stubble. He hadn’t shaved today, meaning he was either a bit of a slob who didn’t care about his appearance or he knew exactly how sexy a dusting of facial hair looked on him.
Laugh lines.
Oh, she loved a good set of laugh lines on a man. Happiness was like an aphrodisiac that pulled her in every single time.
He had a familiar profile that was likable, friendly and open, like his body language. The cowboy probably had women swarming to him like seagulls to a packet of abandoned French fries.
And apparently he traveled with a dog, too.
He’d definitely be swarmed.
Despite the possibility of a lot of female competition that likely had made him a touch cocky over the years, Polly liked him—not that it mattered. Their paths weren’t likely to cross while at the resort. She had several fix-your-life and who-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up workbooks tucked into her suitcase that had her name on them. As did a beach chair and a bottle of wine. This was her holiday and she was looking forward to it.
She let out a long sigh and the cowboy glanced over at her. As their eyes met a spark of recognition flared to life within her, stronger than the one before.
She rested a hand over the warm spot that had formed in her belly. She felt an urge to launch herself into his arms, but still couldn’t quite place the hatted, stubbled stranger. “Do I know you?”
“I’m that memorable, am I?” His lips were twitching in amusement and she wavered on the brink of discovery.
“Apparently not.”
He propped himself against the counter, resting an elbow there while crossing one booted ankle over the other. He tipped his hat up, his grin growing. “You told me I was your first kiss and that you’d never ever forget me.”
Polly felt every cell in her body light up and she had an incredibly strong urge to explode into his arms. So not cool. They hadn’t seen each other in what? Twenty years? Twenty-two? She couldn’t scream like a teenager and launch herself at her first love.
She said primly, hoping she came off as incredibly flirty and sophisticated, “The Nick Wylder I knew had better manners than to wear a hat indoors.”
He quickly plucked his cowboy hat off and set it on the counter with a crooked, not-quite-apologetic grin. “Been on the ranch too long.”
The man didn’t even have to try. Even with hat head he still looked sexy. He probably looked even more delicious after rolling out of bed in the morning.
She smiled up at him, placing her hands on his arms to hold him in place so she could take him in, wishing it hadn’t been so long that she couldn’t just give him a tremendous hug.
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.” Her eyes began tracing their way over him again, cataloging the changes, despite willing her focus to stay on his face. She had a feeling if he clued in to how hot she found his adult self she’d never hear the end of it.
Not that he hadn’t been hot as a teen, but he was manly hot now. Capable. Raw. And…she really needed to stop thinking about him or she’d end up having to fan herself despite the room’s very capable air-conditioning.
She noted that his gaze was trailing leisurely over her curves, and she felt a flash of self-consciousness that made her want to wrap her arms around herself like a shield. What had once screamed high-maintenance, envy-inducing beauty—her hair, her nails, her clothes, her jewelry, her eyelashes, her lithe and toned, plucked and tanned body—was now a middle-aged train wreck.
No. That wasn’t fair. She still looked okay, just…rounder and more…plain. Nondescript. Just a woman with a ponytail lacking highlights, and roomy travel clothes that looked as though she’d borrowed them from the man that should still be in her life.
She cleared her throat and took a step back, struggling to keep her smile from fading.
“How’ve you been keeping?” Nick asked.
“Okay,” she replied. “How about you? I didn’t realize you were going to be here. But of course you are—it’s your uncle’s wedding and you’re practically one of his many sons.”
“Family’s still important to me,” he said softly.
She was taken back to their last summer, where he’d been struggling with the idea of his new stepdad not really caring for him. It had been just him and his mother, Jenna Mae Wylder, for so long that he’d been as close to his uncle Roy and his boys as though they were immediate family.
Polly was touching Nick again, unable to help herself. The flesh hiding under his shirt was taut with muscles, alive with vitality and slightly irresistible. With a jolt of pleasure she realized she was happy to see him, happy that his sweeping look had been one of approval rather than disregard, like it often was when she ran into people from what she called her “old life” with Chuck.
“Gosh,” she said, wincing at how the word made her sound like an overwhelmed, innocent preteen. “Those were the days, weren’t they? Summers. Here in Indigo Bay.”
Old memories were flooding her now. The feel of wind in her hair as they rode their bikes around the small oceanside town, eating ice cream without a thought to the size of her thighs, pranking the uptight socialite Lucille Sanderson and summoning the courage—thanks to Nick, of course—to jump off a very small cliff into the ocean at high tide. The two glorious Julys she’d spent in Indigo Bay had been freeing, and some of the most fun she’d ever had. And a large part had been due to Nick’s easy and fun-loving company, and the way Roy had simply added her to the large Wylder family vacation like she’d always belonged with them simply because she was spending time with his nephew.
Those summers she’d felt as though she’d been able to live and breathe, her arms stretched out, her head thrown back. Carl Stowe, her mother’s cousin in Charleston, had generously welcomed the two of them into his oceanside summer home for a few weeks each July, not questioning the amount of time Polly spent with the Wylders, who managed to slip away from the ranch each summer while relatives took over.
The night before Polly had left Indigo Bay for the last time, Carl had taken her down to the beach to roast marshmallows over a fire. Her mom had dozed on the blanket as Carl told Polly the story about how he’d once been poor. She’d asked what had happened, as the man had two homes, numerous cars and a wardrobe stuffed with expensive clothes.
He’d simply said, “I partnered with the right people and changed my life.”
It was then that Polly had realized she had a choice. She could choose to have more. And she could find a man who felt the same way.
“Are you here with anyone?” Nick asked, breaking into her thoughts, his eyes slipping to her bare ring finger.
Polly gave a small shake of her head, dreading the look that would certainly follow. But which one would it be? Pity? Judgment? Curiosity? Or would Nick assume there was something wrong with her for being single at their age? Unlike in her twenties, nobody seemed to assume she was alone by choice.
He caught her rubbing the empty spot where a large diamond used to sit. She’d sold it and invested the proceeds. The amount hadn’t been as high as Chuck had always bragged it was, either.
“I’m here alone, too,” Nick said softly.
His kindness was disarming, and despite herself, Polly laughed at his earnestness. “Are you?” She’d overheard the check-in clerk mention he was expecting other guests—likely his usual entourage of Wylder cousins. There were nineteen in total, although she recalled that Nick mostly hung out with Roy’s five back home, as well as here in Indigo Bay. There had been some sort of arrangement between Roy and his brother Danny, where one of them would take the ranch so the other one could take off for a while. It had always seemed kind of perfect to her.
“Well,” Nick said, then paused as though just remembering, “I am here with a friend.”
“A friend?” she teased, knowing he meant a dog.
“Four-legged.”
“You brought your horse?” she said.
He muttered a quiet correction, “Well, three-legged.”
“They don’t count as pets, you know—no matter how many legs they have. And they really should be kept outdoors. They’re too hard on the floors.”
Nick smirked as he replied, “These days cowboys tend to ride trucks when they come to town.” He leaned closer, his tone confiding in a way that made her all too aware of how near he was standing, as well as how good he smelled. “My dog came along for the ride.”
“Man’s best friend,” she said softly. “Can’t leave home without him.”
A shadow crossed his eyes and he leaned away, his flirtatiousness gone. “You checking in?” he asked, indicating with a casual wave of his hand that Zoe was still waiting.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” How had she become so wrapped up in Nick that she’d forgotten about the check-in clerk? She turned to Zoe. “How rude of me.”
“Meet you for a drink later?” Nick asked, tapping her arm and sending her heart racing. He’d taken a step away from the counter, pocketing his cottage key.
“Name the place and I’ll be there,” she replied, realizing from the twinkle in his eyes and the grin that widened his mouth that she’d probably sounded way too eager. “You know, if you have time. I’m sure you have family commitments.”
Nick gave her a questioning glance.
“With the wedding,” she added quickly, doubting herself. What if he was married? What if he wasn’t waiting for the Wylder boys, but for his wife and a gaggle of kids?
Nick gave a sharp shake of his head. “Nope. Nobody else has arrived yet.” He lowered his voice, and said meaningfully, as though reading her thoughts, “No family.”
Despite the odds, Nick Wylder was single, too.
He glanced questioningly at Zoe, who flicked her attention to her watch, then suggested, “The Tiki Hut bar on the beach is open. There are drink specials all this week to celebrate its reopening after last fall’s hurricane.” She knocked on the counter and added quietly, “Let’s hope this hurricane season takes it easier on us and the beach.”
“Tiki Hut it is,” Nick said smoothly to Polly, his eyes locking on hers and causing her to forget her surroundings again. “Thirty minutes?”
She nodded, adding breathlessly, “I’ll be there.”
As Nick strode through the lobby like he owned the place, Polly realized that there was definitely no doubt about it: Nick Wylder could still make her pulse race, and where good judgment was concerned, he was probably still trouble.
Nick sat in his truck for a moment, his large bag resting in the back once again. The map that directed him to the outer reaches of the resort lay spread over the steering wheel, but instead of studying it, he stared into space.
“Polly Morgan got hot.”
Beside him, his dog panted, his head out the open window.
Polly had always been cute. But now? It would be impossible to ignore how gorgeous she was. How utterly perfect she looked even in baggy, casual clothes. She was indescribable. Like she had a polished side, but also this conflicting vibe, as though she’d be happy to sit on the beach, laughing and sharing a beer. Tough but real, with a hint of something else that made him want to protect her, hold her generous curves against him on a cool Texas night.
She’d never gotten that barely-noticeable chip on her incisor fixed, either. They’d been trying to create a human pyramid with Penn, Melanie and Dallas outside Sweet Caroline’s café and she’d slipped off his shoulder. He’d caught her, but the chunky seashell necklace she’d been wearing had flown up and knocked off a tiny piece of her tooth. He’d insisted she go to a dentist, but she’d felt the area with her tongue, said it didn’t hurt, and that it was simply something to help her remember the summer.
“I invited her for a drink,” he told Ralph. The dog licked his nose, as though uncertain. “Yeah, I know. Probably a bad idea.”
Wait. Why was it bad? They were barely even exes. They’d been kids the last time they’d seen or kissed each other. She’d been a good kisser. Tentative and nervous at first, like the late bloomer she was, but then sensual and teasingly patient, driving him a tiny bit wild every time their lips touched.
He cleared his throat and centered his thoughts.
A woman like Polly was too smart and sophisticated to start kissing a cowboy while on vacation—especially a homeless one at that.
And what was with the poorly disguised spooked look darkening her eyes when he’d asked if she was here alone? It hadn’t been discomfort, thanks to the way he’d been flirting with her—she’d started it, anyway. And even if she hadn’t, she had that something that made it impossible not to flirt with her.
But that look. She wouldn’t be falling for him, or for anyone else, for some time. She was like a horse that needed to learn to trust man again. She might seem fine, and would allow herself be led out onto the trails, but then when you were least expecting it something would trigger her fears and she would buck you off, tearing into the hills like something was after her. He could practically feel the kicked-up dust gritting between his teeth as he picked himself up off the trail.
He shook his head and nudged his hat farther back.
A woman like that was trouble.
“We’ll just catch up, shake hands and part ways,” he told Ralph, not entirely feeling the resolve of his words. Maybe because she was the first woman to capture his heart, Polly was someone he’d never quite stopped thinking about over the years, and the idea that someone had broken her heart and her trust left him wanting to protect her, fix her. Love her.
Nick started his truck, tossing the map onto the floor of the cab. As they rolled down the gentle slope that led away from the resort’s main building, he leaned an arm out the window, taking in the scenery.
Palm trees. Ocean. Blue sky. Pretty, but not quite his town of Sweetheart Creek back in Hill Country, Texas, with its rolling hills, lakes and trees.
“I bet she’s still way up there in Canada, too.” No doubt happy there, as well.
Although alone.
Nick turned to his dog. “Why isn’t Polly with someone who’ll treat her like a princess?”
She still had that patient, smart-girl vibe where he could tell a million things were going on inside her head. She’d helped him with Dwayne the Pain back when he was a teen. She’d listened to him complain about his stepdad, then paused thoughtfully before informing him that Dwayne saw him as a threat. Not a physical one, but someone who could steal his new wife’s attention at the drop of a hat. As Polly had pointed out, you were a lot more likely to fall out of love with your spouse than with your own kid.
Nick had laughed at the idea. The big, burly auctioneer and king of the town? The guy who wasn’t afraid to yell at Nick over stupid stuff? He was hardly someone who would be insecure over a sixteen-year-old who had yet to finish filling out.
But he’d trusted Polly’s words, and instead of fighting Dwayne, had focused on gaining more of his mother’s attention. He’d made her laugh, smile, and dance in the kitchen just about every night. Dwayne had practically lost his mind, upping his antagonistic game. So Nick simply got himself into trouble. More attention from Mom. It had worked beautifully right up until his eighteenth birthday, when Dwayne had given him his packing orders.
He’d roamed around for years, not settling anywhere other than his mother’s couch after Dwayne left. Eventually Roy had taken him in and become the father figure he’d always needed.
Nick kind of owed Polly, didn’t he? Maybe he could match her up with some guy with a Rolex.
He glanced at his dog, who was watching him intently. “You should have seen her legs.” Finding her a man would be easy. “The trick will be finding her a good one.”
Ralph had begun panting louder at the word legs, which happened to be his favorite thing. Human legs. Particularly those of strangers.
Nick scolded, “Stay away from her legs.”
He turned right onto a narrow road that took him away from the beach and toward the cottage driveways. Sand seemed to be everywhere, palm trees stretching for the sun, gulls circling and playing on the tangy ocean breeze cooling the truck’s cab. The twenty-hour drive to South Carolina hadn’t given him a single idea on what to do with his life now that he was off the ranch.
He found he missed it. The routine, the certainty, the constant fresh air and the physicality of it all. He scrubbed a hand over his face, realizing he hadn’t shaved since Texas. This morning he’d simply woken up and begun driving again.
“You should have told me to use a razor before presenting myself in public,” he grumbled to the dog. He probably still had horse manure from the stables stuck to the bottoms of his boots. He flipped down his visor and winced at his reflection. “I look like a bum.”
How had Polly, that golden-brown young girl with the sun-streaked strands of hair framing her face, become this beautiful woman with a glint of sadness in her eyes? She should own the world.
He rubbed the dog’s ears reflexively, wondering what kind of man she was looking for. It would probably be a fairly confining lifestyle. Suits. Ties. High-powered business meetings and a few degrees hanging on the office walls. Something new sitting in the driveway. A home.
A home would be kind of nice. And a woman there waiting for him as she finished up her own day doing whatever she loved.
Maybe that was what was missing from his life.
A home and a woman.
That’s what Polly needed, too. A home and someone to come home to. He nodded to himself, filled with resolve. He’d find her someone suitable. She was like his mom after her breakup with Dwayne the Pain—lost. Polly needed a warm body to prop her up, make her smile, forget herself as well as her worries. He knew how to do that with a few good questions and a patient ear. He’d get her laughing, full of joy.
And he’d dare her. He’d get her to widen her blue eyes like when he’d dared her to pick Miss Lucille’s prize flowers and leave them in a jar on her step. Man, how did that feel like only yesterday?
The two of them had definitely earned the label of Troublemaker together that summer. He’d always believe she was about to back out of his dares and pranks, and that he’d have to pull them off alone, but then she’d sprint into them like she was born to raise trouble.
He smiled at the memory. Yeah, he’d get her back where she needed to be. He just had to find a way to convince her that she should spend her week hanging out with him instead of someone else.
Polly’s large cottage had a crushed-seashell driveway and two palm trees reaching toward each other over the front porch, like Michelangelo’s figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Inside, the fully-furnished abode was cozy and comfortable, with an overstuffed couch, modern kitchen, and a spacious bedroom toward the back. Hardwood floors and a great air conditioner kept the place cool throughout.
Laid out on the counter were coupons for some of the local restaurants, including Sweet Caroline’s, a café she remembered from her youth. They’d spent some time hanging out with the owner’s son, Dallas Harper, integrating themselves into the world of Indigo Bay for a few weeks each summer.
Polly idly flipped through the resort’s brochure, which boasted numerous cottages, a little motel, conference and wedding spaces, pool, indoor and outdoor restaurant, as well as two bars, a spa and a workout room. Would she be doing the exercises her trainer had printed off for her? She’d brought her gear in case she felt the need to kill herself in an attempt to achieve her old trophy wife body size.
She snorted at the thought and put her bottle of wine in the empty fridge. She supposed that if nothing else, exercise would be a good way to burn off the frustration and endless thoughts that spun through her mind whenever she thought about her future.
It was here in Indigo Bay that she had decided she would do whatever it took to not be poor ever again, and it felt fitting that she’d returned, looking for a second chance to get it right.
She closed the fridge and checked a few of the kitchen cupboards. Maybe after her drink with Nick she could sit with her toes in the water.
Noting the time, she grabbed her suitcase and chucked it up onto the bed. She had fifteen minutes until she was due to meet Nick. If she changed out of her baggy, off-the-shoulder knit top and shorts would it look as if she was trying too hard? But to show up like this said she didn’t care at all.
Nick had been wearing boots and jeans. Surely in this muggy heat, he would be swapping the outfit for something cooler.
Hands on her hips, and feeling a tingle of anticipation as if she was preparing for a first date, she surveyed her wardrobe options.
Why did she even care? Nick was the guy who had caused her to jump off boulders into the frothing ocean, pick Miss Lucille’s prize flowers, and generally live up to their dually earned troublemaker reputation. But fun things, too, like seeing if she could eat an entire ice cream cone while hanging upside down on the monkey bars.
She couldn’t. The ice cream had fallen off the cone into the sand below, sending Melanie and Penn into hysterics. She wondered what had happened to them and whether they’d ever gotten married like they’d teased her and Nick about doing. So misguided—she and Nick would never get it together for something like that, even though he’d been good at getting her to live life more fully. He liked to challenge her, but if she didn’t jump into dares, he’d coax her only a time or two, then go off without her, leaving her back in the land of nonadventure.
Keep up or get left behind. That was hardly what she was looking for in a husband.
Why was she thinking about him like that, anyway? And there was truly no reason to put this much thought into her outfit, either. He obviously wasn’t a man who would pause long enough to care about what she wore. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even notice.
Her phone dinged with a text message from Daphne, asking if she’d met any men yet.
Polly rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat involuntarily.
Ridiculous.
It was just Nick—a man who obviously would have better things to do this week than hang out with a divorcée trying to sort out her life. And she was no longer a fifteen-year-old with a crush. She could quit blushing already.
“I found trouble,” she told her phone, dictating the message to Daphne.
A message came back immediately. The promising kind of trouble?
Growing up in Muskoka, Canada’s answer to the Hamptons, both women understood summer flames. They burned quick and bright, then died just as quickly when summer ended and everyone went back to their normal lives.
As teens, there had been what they called a good kind of trouble, which Daphne had gotten herself into with her first love, her first child’s father. And then there was the bad kind of trouble that ended in heartbreak and drama. Unfortunately, Daphne’s good trouble had turned into bad. She had gotten her daughter, Tigger, out of the deal, however, and despite the heartache and sacrifices, in Polly’s mind it hadn’t been a bad trade.
“I’m not sure yet,” Polly said to her phone, after thinking about Daphne’s question for a moment. “Probably the bad kind. He was my first kiss.” Nothing good ever came from revisiting an old relationship, especially not a fairy-tale teenage one. They were perfect in one’s memory and could be tarnished in seconds with one quick reality check.
Daphne’s reply was instant. Nick!
She’d told her about him? When? And why?
Daphne added, You never did shut up about Mr. First Love and how dreamy he was.
“I barely even mentioned him,” Polly replied, her cheeks still hot.
Is he still gorgeous and fun? Good kisser?
Polly couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. He was probably even better, having the benefit of age and experience. He could probably alter the pace and pressure in ways that made a woman’s knees grow weak, by barely taking the kiss past chaste. She’d bet a lot of money on him being incredible.
She shook off her thoughts and dictated into her phone, “It was all just infatuation. Nobody is perfect and our quick drink tonight will help illustrate that.”
A drink! He’s not married? Hello-o-o…
He was single. Like her.
She hated herself for it, but began mentally asking all the questions she despised seeing go through the minds of others when they found out she was single. Why wasn’t he in a relationship? Did he have issues? Had he messed up somewhere along the line?
“He’s bunking with his cousins in a cottage. They’re not here yet. He has a dog.”
Why was she telling Daphne that?
Because that old flicker of infatuation had come back to life after a two-minute conversation.
She sighed. She didn’t believe in love being possible for her any longer, so why was she allowing herself to play with the idea of him as someone romantically viable?
So? Daphne pressed.
Did he have potential? Had he grown bald? Did he laugh too loudly at his own jokes?
Those were the questions her friend was really asking.
“Still totally hot,” she dictated reluctantly. “Cowboy.” She stopped for a second, thinking about how Nick had made her feel in those brief moments at the check-in counter. She’d felt like she was the center of everything important. As though nothing could pull his attention away. Nobody—even Chuck—had ever made her feel like that.
Nick probably had a woman in every town.
She deleted the message before sending it and sat on the bed’s patchwork quilt. Through the large window she had a beautiful view of the distant ocean’s rolling waves and people walking the beach.
She was here to fix her life, she reminded herself. Not to relive an old crush or get caught up in the past.
Anyway, she knew what love felt like, having been married to Chuck for ten years. It ebbed and flowed and was never explosive. The time she’d spent with Nick as a teen had felt a whole lot different, because it hadn’t been love. It had been a temporary infatuation, and the only reason her lips tingled now thinking about Nick’s kisses was because he’d had the upper hand—the advantage of being the first. Someone new and exciting, as well as incredibly intoxicating. He’d been part of a youthful summer of fun that wasn’t in the same category as marriage.
One was freedom mixed with the heady experience of becoming a woman, of exploration and discovery, whimsy and spontaneity. The other…not. Marriage was grown-up and serious.
Are you smiling right now? Daphne asked.
Polly’s spine straightened and she realized that she was in fact smiling.
“He’s hot and I’m meeting him for a drink. Yes, I’m smiling, but I’m not bringing him home, and I’m not having a fling. I’m being polite.”
Her friend sent about ten different-colored hearts in reply, as well as a set of kissy lips.
Polly laughed. “He’s fun, Daphne. Trouble. But fun.” No second-chance-romance stuff happening here.
Make sure that drink lasts all week. You deserve a little “polite” trouble and fun with a hot cowboy.
Polly laughed automatically before her imagination caught up with her. A week with Nick? What would that be like? Would he help her blast away that brick wall that seemed to be stuck like a stubborn elephant between who she was now and the woman she wanted to be—her true self?
She considered the idea, but was already shaking her head.
He wasn’t going to help her find herself, and pulling pranks and riding bikes around town like they had as kids was just too…in the past. She hadn’t come here to get lost in a fantasy or to hide from reality. She’d come here to face it.
A drink with Nick would be quick, and quite likely fun, but nothing beyond that. She was not going to be lured into any playful distractions that wouldn’t solve a thing.
It would just be a drink. Nothing more.