Chapter Eleven

Nick woke early to head to a work meeting. He kissed Sophie good-bye as he tucked her further under the covers. She looked beautiful as she slept, the anxiety he’d seen on her face last night erased. She rolled over with an unintelligible murmur, not fully waking up.

As he hurried home to shower and change for a plan-review meeting with the hospital board, he couldn’t dispel the uneasy sensation in his gut. It troubled him.

In the past, if a woman had shared the fresh emotional trauma she’d suffered, he’d have done one of two things: he’d either have turned tail and run, unwilling to get involved further, or he’d have kept it straight sex.

Impossible with Sophie.

His chest tightened. He couldn’t imagine not seeing her again. Nor could he detach his emotions and only enjoy her in bed.

Not that he was a guy who spent a lot of time analyzing his feelings. He was a guy, after all, but he’d found himself daydreaming about her. Visions of the future with her, the desire to protect her, the need to see her all the time. When she’d told him about her ex, he’d fantasized about hunting the guy down and making him pay for the way he’d treated her.

He hated how negative she’d sounded, how doubtful about her own worth and beauty. The asshole had obviously played a number on her.

Therein lay the problem.

She’d only just arrived in Laguna. Yet, their connection started the first day he saw her muttering to herself in front of the cottage. When he’d helped her up, the heat between them shocked him.

Oh shit, he was falling in love with her.

It was fast. It made no sense, but he also knew himself, and no woman had ever engaged him body, mind, and soul like this.

He wanted what his parents had together. Always a touch of the hand or a caress, always laughing and smiling at each other, always there for each other in times of difficulty or challenge.

They had been madly in love, even after twenty-five years of marriage. Dying together in the fiery car crash was probably no coincidence. Nick doubted one could have survived without the other.

Was that what was happening with him and Sophie?

Just his luck to meet a woman who had him considering a real relationship and she was on the rebound.

The timing sucked.

Time—time was the answer.

Friendship.

The day to day.

Romance.

Where to begin?

Flowers, of course. Flowers. He’d send her a huge bouquet—women loved flowers.

He’d romance her and hold back on the physical side—even if it killed him—and show her he was one of the good guys, a worthy partner. He’d demonstrate that he truly loved her.

Shit. He loved her. His chest tightened as the epiphany hit him. He wanted to marry Sophie. He wanted her to be his forever.

“Marriage.” Even saying the word out loud didn’t cause him to break into a cold sweat. Terror didn’t overwhelm him. Instead, energy surged through him, eager to show her she was his.

Starting right now.

He picked up the phone and dialed the florist down the street from his office.

****

When Sophie woke up, Nick was gone. She vaguely remembered him kissing her good-bye at some ungodly hour this morning. She wished he’d stayed so they could have had coffee together and she could see in the light of day how her revelations had affected him.

Affected them.

She sighed as she rose out of bed. The conversation had been tough. Being vulnerable wasn’t her forte, but she’d delved into her inner strength. Honesty and trust were vital. They didn’t need secrets between them. She wouldn’t allow herself to slide down the slippery slope and wonder.

Her cheeks warmed recalling how after he’d asked to keep seeing her and to be exclusive, he’d swept her off her feet. And taken her to bed.

She stretched like a cat, enjoying the lingering soreness in her muscles. None of her steamy romance novels prepared her for the real deal. He was the most amazing lover she’d ever had. No pirate fantasy needed.

Revitalized, Sophie leapt out of bed. New day. Time to get down to business. She couldn’t wait to power on her computer and delve into her book.

As she was pouring her first cup of coffee, her phone rang. Seeing the name popping up on the screen, she frowned. Crap, her mother. Could she handle a dose of Martine Monceau this morning? She took a fortifying breath and answered.

“Sophie, I’m so glad I caught you. I’ll be there in a few hours, and I’ve made reservations at Splashes for lunch.”

She rolled her eyes. Just like her mother to make reservations without consulting her first.

“Hi, Mom. Did you consider I might be busy for lunch?” Of course not.

“Busy? You quit your job, ran away to play at being a writer, and you have no man—what could you possibly be doing? I’m heading to LA, and I want to check in on my only daughter.” Her mother managed to inject a note of hurt into her accented voice.

“I’m not playing at anything, Mom. You know this is my new career…” Sophie prayed for patience.

“Non, non. Sophie, please be realistic, and you’ve got to be practical. Let’s not argue. We’ll discuss your return to San Diego and a new job opportunity I’ve found for you. Meet me at eleven thirty.”

“Mom, I’m not going back to San Diego… Mom?” Her mother had hung up. Never listening to a word she said—nothing new.

Sophie sighed and headed to take a shower. At least she had a few hours to build her defenses.

She put the finishing touches on her makeup; it was easier to polish up for her mom than listen to criticisms about her appearance. The doorbell rang. Crap, didn’t her mom say to meet at the restaurant?

Her formerly languorous muscles tightened. What if Doug ignored her and showed up? Holding her breath, she peered through the peephole.

Sophie heaved out an exhale. A young boy sporting a backward baseball cap, slouchy jeans, and an enormous bouquet of flowers waited on her doorstep. Flowers. Who would send her flowers?

Had Doug somehow found her and was now attempting to send flowers, his usual MO when he’d messed up? Well, except for the ultimate mess-up at the end. This bright bouquet didn’t appear to be his usual two dozen pink roses, so who knew?

She accepted the flowers from the gangly teenaged boy, and bemused, carried the bouquet into the kitchen. A vibrant mix of sunflowers, bird-of-paradise, and violet-colored accents, it was like a burst of tropical sunshine. She sniffed the fragrant flowers and smiled.

She ripped the envelope open.

Thanks for being

such a bright ray of sunshine.

Nick.

She hugged the card to her chest and waltzed around the kitchen. Cracking open one eye, Zack watched her joyous dance and seemed to smile at her. Wow. Flowers just because. Not for an apology, not for a birthday, or an anniversary. Just because he was thinking of her. Without hesitation, she dialed his cell to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

“Hello, Nick’s phone,” a woman’s voice answered.

Sophie’s smile faded. Who was answering his cell phone?

“Um, can I please speak to Nick?” She hated the tremor in her voice. Wimp

“Can I tell him who’s calling? He’s in a meeting right now.”

Was this Heather? Answering his cell phone? It was one thing for her to be answering the office phone, but his personal cell?

“Yes, it’s Sophie.”

“Sophie?” A long pause ensued. “Oh, the tenant. Is there a problem with the cottage?” Boredom dripped from her tone.

Sophie gripped the phone, struggling not to crush it as she fought back a rude retort. What a bitch. Apparently, Nick hadn’t informed Heather that he was seeing her.

“No, nothing wrong with the house. Just tell him I called, please. Thanks.” She hung up, the initial elation over the flowers deflating.

Maybe Nick was only trying to cheer her up after he’d learned about her breakup. If Heather, who worked with him daily, had no clue they were involved, maybe she’d read too much into last night. She shouldn’t assume anything from his note or gift.

Hell, the flowers were probably a send-off gift. After sleeping with her, he was probably sprinting for the hills to escape the woman with the steamer trunk overflowing with issues. What healthy, awesome man would want to be with her?

Glancing at the clock, Sophie cursed her mother. Going to a fancy lunch held about as much appeal as a root canal. Oh well, at least it would distract her from obsessing over the Heather situation. She grabbed her keys and headed down into town.

Pulling up at the Surf and Sand Hotel, she squared her shoulders and prepared herself for an hour of Martine. She wore a simple ice-blue summer sheath and strappy nude sandals, a far cry from her daily attire in the last few weeks. Her mom waved at her from a table nestled by the balcony overlooking the powerful Pacific Ocean.

Her mother looked beautiful as usual, a petite, glamorous redhead with a china-doll face. In a nod to her mother’s French heritage, Sophie greeted her with a kiss on each cheek.

“Ah, you look lovely, Sophie. Very elegant.” Her mother sounded relieved. What did she expect? That she’d show up in her pajamas?

“Thanks, Maman. What a surprise to see you. How’s everything?” She settled into her seat and picked up a menu. The faster she ordered lunch, the sooner she could escape.

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about you. This impulsive tantrum has gone too far. You’ve got to move back to San Diego and get a job. Nobody will take care of you but yourself, and you can’t squander your savings while you run after pipe dreams.” Her mother leaned closer, her dark eyes intent.

Sophie recoiled, shifting back in her chair at the assault. So much for being the ladies who lunch. She inhaled deeply. Exhaled.

“Nice to see you too. Look, I appreciate your concern, but everything’s going well for me here. I’m healing. I’m independent. I’m making a life for myself.” Sophie smiled because it was true. Why couldn’t her mother see?

“Ah, I am glad you’re feeling better after what happened with that idiot who humiliated you. Didn’t I tell you he would cheat on you? Leave you?” She sat back, a knowing expression marring her beauty.

“Mother…” Deep breaths.

“I told you. Men are all alike. Just like your excuse of a father. He ran off with some salope, some slut, left us high and dry without a cent. You know this, and yet you got engaged to someone just like your father—a charming snake.” Her mother’s ivory complexion suffused with color as she warmed to her favorite topic: never trust any man.

“Yes, you were right. Does that make you happy? But I don’t remember my father, so how could I pick someone just like him? I’m getting over my mistake. I refuse to believe that all men are evil.” Sophie gripped the edges of her chair, struggling not to scream at her mother.

A waiter approached the table, and her mother flicked him away like a pesky fly. He scuttled back, not eager to join the lively discussion at the table.

“Look, I love you. I only tell you this because I want you to be happy. But you need to be practical. You’re twenty-eight years old, not a child. Believing you can write a book and make enough to live is ridiculous…” Her mother threw up her hands in disgust.

“Enough. I didn’t come here to be attacked. You’re right. I’m not a child, so don’t treat me like one. I’ve never asked you for a dime. Ever. I’ve worked since I was fifteen years old and saved my money. This is my dream. If I fail, well, that’s my problem. What I won’t do is live my life based on fear. So don’t ever tell me again what I have to do.” Tremors shook her whole body, but she wouldn’t back down now.

“Do you think becoming a famous novelist will bring back your fiancé? Your father? That they’ll be impressed?” Martine compressed her lips into a tight line.

“I’m done here.” Sophie shoved away from the table and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. Away from her mother’s bitterness and scorn.

Away from the past.