Chapter 7
Something was wrong with Nick.
Merry wasn’t sure what, because she didn’t know him that well. Maybe he regretted inviting her to stay now that she was here.
They ate their soup in the kitchen with a near wilted salad that came from a bag, and a bottle of chardonnay. The dog lay curled and snoring at Merry’s feet.
Merry looked at Nick. He smiled, but seemed distant.
“I told you it was a bad idea to come to his lair,” Skyblossom whispered to her sisters. “He’s beautiful, but his eyes aren’t green anymore. They’re gray as a stormy sea, and he looks like he’s thinking of faraway things.”
Maybe he regretted asking her to stay. The thought made her suck in a breath, and she inhaled a diced potato an instant later. She coughed and guzzled water while Nick patted her back.
“Sorry,” she rasped out. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
“What were you so deep in thought about?” he asked when her breathing returned to normal.
“I was thinking about the Foundling Faeries.” She set down her soup spoon and regarded him. “You said something yesterday that made me think you might be familiar with my books. Are you? Familiar with them?”
“Yes, of course,” he said after a lengthy pause. “They’re popular books.”
It seemed to Merry that he squirmed a little, and she bit her lip, afraid to ask what she really wanted to know. His attention slid from her eyes to her cheek and back to her eyes.
“Do you think they’re—” She cut herself off, aware of the heat creeping up her neck and into her face like a thief, stealing her tattered composure. “Never mind.” She picked up her spoon. Was it her imagination, or did Nick look relieved?
“Your dog is really cutting some Zs,” he said. “Cute little thing.”
Way to change the subject. “I noticed while we were bathing her that she’s got a couple of those soft lumps on her belly that older dogs get. I don’t think she’s young.”
“Maybe not,” Nick agreed.
“So, uh . . . you ever been married? Have any kids?” Merry asked, reaching for a conversation starter.
“No.” Nick met her gaze and held it. “I don’t have an aversion, just waiting for the right lady.”
Another blast of heat shot upward from Merry’s chest and neck into her face. Nick’s slow grin made her cheeks burn hotter, and she dropped her attention back to her soup.
“What books do you read?” The words squeaked out, and she was annoyed with herself for behaving like a teenager.
“All kinds,” he said, “but I’m really more of a movie guy.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Play it again, Sam,” he said. “Casablanca.”
“Your Bogart is spot on,” Merry said.
“Thanks.” Nick grinned. “Did you know he never actually says that line in the movie? It’s a misquote that became famous.”
“Don’t toss me out, but I’ve never seen Casablanca.”
“What?” Nick’s brows shot up. “Are you joking? It’s the best classic movie of all time.”
“You know the truth about me now. My cinematic education is lacking.”
“Not for long. We’ll watch it together soon. Did you know that this resort was named by the owners as a nod to the movie? It’s their favorite, too.”
“Pretty sure it’s the favorite of a lot of people,” Merry said, giving him a look.
Nick laughed. “Okay, you’ve got a point. I’ll give you a pass on this one. But we still have to watch it together. What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Princess Bride, hands down.”
“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” Nick said, quoting the famous line from The Princess Bride, in character.
“Typical man,” Merry said, laughing. “You would go straight to that.”
“What else is there?”
Merry fixed her smile in place with effort. Somehow they had edged into territory too personal to discuss, and the rapid pulse in her throat made it hard to breathe.
Nick’s grin faded. Merry looked away too late. His hand covered hers.
“What is it?”
She shook her head and blinked back quick tears, angry with herself for spoiling the mood. What the heck was wrong with her? She picked up her wineglass and brought it to her lips.
“You wonder what’s wrong with you? Too much wine, that’s what,” scolded Skyblossom. Moonflower and Sunbloom stood beside their sister, shaking their heads at Merry and frowning. “It makes you emotional and you talk too much.”
“Sorry.” She set the wineglass back on the table and forced another smile. “Memories, that’s all.”
Nick held her attention with silence and a patient gaze, and the next thing she knew she was spilling thoughts, the words bumping into each other in an effort to get out.
“I was fourteen the first time I saw The Princess Bride with my baby sister Holly. Every time Westley gave Buttercup that look—you know the look—and said, ‘As you wish,’ in place of ‘I love you,’ my heart fluttered. I thought it was so romantic. I replayed those parts of the movie a hundred times, daydreamed about it for weeks. Oh, to be the recipient of that kind of unconditional love. It was nonexistent in our household. My mother took responsibility for nothing, and love, if you want to call it that, always came at a steep price. Anyway,”—she withdrew her hand from Nick’s and folded it with her other hand in her lap—“after watching The Princess Bride I realized that I wasn’t going through it all alone. I mean, Holly was there, too. I had always taken care of her, but had never given consideration to the fact that she was feeling all the same things I was feeling. I wasn’t the only one growing up with an alcoholic mother. Holly and I both needed someone who would say ‘as you wish’ and mean it.
“It was a hallelujah moment when Holly asked me to do something one day and I responded with, ‘As you wish.’ She didn’t get it. I mean, she was only eight, so that part of the movie didn’t touch her the way it did me. But I knew what it meant. I knew, every time I said those words, ‘as you wish,’ that Holly was receiving that unconditional love from someone she could trust. No one ever said those words to me, but I could say them to her and mean it from sister to sister. As you wish. Such a simple phrase.” Merry let out a relieved sigh and when she smiled this time it wasn’t forced. “I’ve never told anyone that before, not even Holly. She’s a grown woman and she still doesn’t know, probably doesn’t remember me ever saying it to her. But it was the start of the Foundling Faeries. The reality of unconditional love and how that holds people together even when they don’t know it.” She expelled a little laugh. “Now you know Merry Sunjoy’s darkest secret. Not very dark or very exciting.”
“I’m honored that you told me, and you can trust me not to breathe a word to anyone.”
Embarrassed by her own verbosity, she laughed at herself and, with a flick of her hand, waved away the importance of what she had shared. “Go ahead and blab to whomever you like. It’s so corny no one would believe you anyway.”
The dog’s snores chose that moment to rise from gentle to epic, and Merry and Nick exchanged a chuckle as they carried their bowls to the sink. They washed and dried without conversation.
Nick refilled their wineglasses, and Merry accepted hers wondering if she should have declined. The wine she had consumed earlier had already loosened her tongue way too much, and her self-doubt with it, and now she was itching to ask his opinion of her books, assuming he had even read them. But why would he? They were children’s stories, and he was a sports columnist. Even in the unlikely event that he had read her books, and that was a big if, it was rude to put him on the spot about it.
And hadn’t he already answered the question, told her he wouldn’t have enjoyed her books when he was a boy, that he preferred darker themes? Said her books didn’t reflect his childhood reality.
She sipped her wine as they settled back on the couch. Sure enough, her tongue was loosened up, but good, because she looked into his hazel eyes and blurted, “Please tell me how you’re familiar with my books.”
“I’ve read your books to my niece,” Nick said without hesitation. “All of them, and more than once. She’s eight, and she loves the Faeries. She can never decide which one is her favorite. Telling her I’ve met you will immediately up my cool factor.
“Since you’ve told me about your mother’s addiction, and along with everything else you shared, I understand now where your stories are coming from. They’re an allegory for how you and your sister tried to help your mother, how you never wanted to give up hope that she could be cured of it. And, of course, there is the aspect of unconditional love. There is none deeper.” He set his wineglass on the coffee table. “I imagine writing the Foundling Faeries books is cathartic. They aren’t simply stories. All of your childhood fears and dreams and heartaches are poured into them. They help you make sense of the senseless. I understand that, Merry, how writing is the best form of therapy. They may be stories for kids, but you’re writing for the child still inside of you, trying to make peace with the past. Believe me when I say I understand that concept better than you might think.”
Stunned, Merry stared at him. Nick got it. He got her.
No one else ever had.
Everything inside Merry opened like a flower turning toward the sun. Her chest ached from the joy of it, the simple thrill of knowing that someone understood. It was a gift, and she accepted it with open arms.
She gulped back the rest of her wine, set down the wineglass, and launched herself into Nick’s arms.
***
Nick’s surprise lasted a nanosecond, overrun by immediate desire. This mercurial woman was like a roller coaster ride, each dip and turn as unexpected as the last. One minute she was distant as the moon, then sharing secrets, adorably embarrassed, now coming alive in his arms. At the moment, her soft lips were fused to his, her body supple and throbbing against his own. Her warmth seeped into him at every point of contact as his hands traced her ribs and spine, the flare of her hips. The subtle scent of warm vanilla filled him, made him hungry for more of her.
Nick drew her against him, shifted them both until she lay across his lap and in his arms, her body open to his hands and mouth, drawing both like moth to flame. Their lips and tongues played hungry games, and he tasted the skin at the precipice of her jaw and below her ear, the alabaster column of her throat and the staccato pulse at its base. Merry gripped her hands in his hair and drew his mouth back to hers, desperate, it seemed, for more. The lady liked kissing, and Nick was happy to give her what she wanted, even as his hands explored the flushed softness of her body. She arched against him, and he thought he might explode with need.
Thunder boomed. Its vibration quivered through the villa, rattling the walls and flickering the lights.
The small dog yelped and jumped onto the couch. She scrambled across the cushions to invade the closeness of her human companions.
“Oh, poor baby,” Merry said to the terrified dog, and much to Nick’s chagrin, she abandoned him to cuddle the pooch.
“She’s so scared,” Merry said, shifting from Nick’s lap to sit beside him with the dog in her arms. “Poor little thing. I wonder how long she was on her own.”
Nick stared at the dog that had just tossed the equivalent of a cold shower on the mood and ruined his evening, but couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at the little fluff-ball. He stroked the animal’s shaking body and murmured low, calming words, knowing it would take more than human petting to ease her innate fears, but hoping to impart what little comfort might be offered by it.
“She’s lucky you found her,” he said.
Merry turned her attention from the dog to Nick, and her dimple popped into view. The blue of her eyes deepened as she watched him comfort the dog.
“Thanks for inviting us to stay.”
She laid her hand against his cheek and found his lips with hers. Nick smiled against the softness of her mouth and delivered a kiss he hoped she’d remember days later.
It was clear that whatever mood had sent her into his arms had shifted, so he settled for simply drawing her against him and the trembling dog with her. He had promised that his invitation for her to stay came with no expectations, and he meant it, not that he wasn’t disappointed by the sudden change in activities. But there was something about Merry that brought out the best in him.
And she trusted him.
He buried his guilt, kissed the top of her head, and settled in to wait out the storm.
***
Sunshine beamed through the villa windows, kissing Merry’s face. She kept her eyes closed and snuggled deeper into the warmth enfolding her, becoming aware by slow degrees that she was pressed between two breathing bodies.
Without moving, she opened her eyes and stared across the broad expanse of Nick’s chest. Her hand rested over his heart and rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. The paleness of her skin stood out against the faded black of his tee shirt. Along her spine, the little dog lay sandwiched between her and the sofa, emitting soft snores and occasional twitches.
There was no help for it. She would either have to wait them out or risk waking them to move, and considering she had to pee, it was going to be the latter.
She needn’t have worried. The minute she removed herself both man and dog shifted. Nick turned on his side facing the back of the couch. The dog stretched onto her back, still sandwiched between human and sofa cushions, paws up. She emitted a mighty snore. Nick didn’t even twitch.
Merry afforded herself a moment to appreciate the picture they made, Nick and the white ball of fluff. Her gaze settled on Nick’s jaw, now shadowed with morning whiskers, and it was enough to tighten her belly. She hoped he didn’t wake up before she returned from the bathroom, because she was curious to know what color his eyes would be when he opened them. Green? Gold? Amber? What was his morning color, and would it match his mood? And what might that be? Whatever it was, she didn’t want to miss it, so she kept her bathroom visit brief—although she did take time to brush her teeth and comb her messy hair. Better than nothing.
She dropped her toothbrush and comb back into the overnight bag, gave herself one last glance in the mirror, and tiptoed down the hall to the living area. The couch was empty of dog and man.
A breeze swirled in from the open French doors. Merry followed it out to where Nick stood on the patio, hands in his pockets, yawning, and waiting for the dog to finish doing her thing.
“Good morning,” Merry said. Heat flushed her cheeks the moment Nick turned her way.
Gold. His morning color was gold.
The Gulf breeze ruffled Nick’s hair and rustled through the bushes and palm trees. Merry smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears. Nick smiled back.
“Looks like everything is intact out here in spite of the storm,” he said, and nodded at the dog. “She’s sniffing around like she owns the place.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it, how fast things can change? I mean, yesterday, she was lost and abandoned, hungry, scared. Now look at her. Clean and fed, well rested.” Merry smiled up at Nick. “What a big difference a few hours can make.”
Nick slid his knuckles across her cheek, a gentle stroke, and her cheeks flamed hotter from the skin-to-skin contact.
“Thank you for last night,” she managed to say through a throat constricted by a leaping pulse. She hoped he understood the broad brushstroke of the statement. Thank you for taking us in, thank you for being kind, thank you for not pressing your advantage—thank you, thank you, thank you.
“Happy to help.” He bent to scoop up the dog when she trotted over and gave him a happy woof. Nick laughed and turned his face to dodge the dog’s tongue. He pet the curling fur on top of the animal’s head and grinned at Merry. She lost herself in the sparkling gold of his eyes.
“Be careful,” said Sunbloom. “You’re going too fast.”
“One platonic night does not a hero make,” Skyblossom said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Anyone can be nice for a few hours. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Whatever you do,” Moonflower warned, “don’t fall in love.”
Merry looked at Nick and melted beneath the warmth of his smile.
“Oh, no,” said Sunbloom, shaking her head. “She’s a goner.”