A Timeless Romance Anthology: Spring Vacation Collection (30 page)

Kevin moved to let me pass, but I went the same direction he did, so we spent the next three minutes trying to negotiate a path. It was probably only fifteen seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. Finally I had the sense to stand still until he picked a direction. I hurried past, eager to put some distance between us.

“Let me help you bring your bags in.”

I tried not to laugh as I pictured my purse and small travel bag with room for little more than a toothbrush, which were waiting for me in the car. “No, I got it. I travel light.”

“Since when? I seem to remember you made Girl Scouts look unorganized.”

I gave him my sweetest smile over my shoulder. “I’m evolving.”

He returned my smile. I tried to ignore the way my heart instantly picked up its pace. “Just trying to be a gentleman.”

If he tried any harder, I’d fall for him all over again, and that simply wouldn’t do. I couldn’t let him know I was even a tiny bit interested. “Good for you.
Trying
is a definite improvement, and I should know. Looks like you’re evolving too.”

As I walked to the car, I prided myself on recovering the upper hand while attempting to ignore the little voice saying that just because you can have the last word doesn’t necessarily mean you should.

Chapter Four

When I came back inside, Kevin was nowhere in sight, for which I was grateful. The door to his bedroom was closed. He was probably in there pouting. I went to the unoccupied bedroom and put my meager luggage on the bed before flopping down next to it. This was a disaster.

I really should have left before things got any worse.
The momentary high from outwitting Kevin had already faded into something that felt remarkably like guilt. What I said earlier was true—when we were dating, he had the annoying habit of always thinking he knew what was best for me. But he’d never been anything but a gentleman, and I felt bad for implying otherwise.

Still, no matter how guilty I felt, I couldn’t go to him and say I was sorry. Because then he’d give me that easy smile of his and say he’d never been bothered by it in the first place, and I’d end up flustered and lose any semblance of control I now felt over the situation. No, I had to cling tightly to the slight advantage I’d gained; better to be the Ice Queen than end up feeling like an idiot. The irony that I was acting more childish than Kevin wasn’t lost on me.

I let myself sink back into the mattress, curling up on my side and pulling my feet under me. The quilt smelled a little musty, but it was pleasant. The scent reminded me of the time I came to stay here as a little girl and the cabin had been shut up for too long without fresh air or people in it. This was a much less confusing smell than that of Kevin’s jacket, which I’d abandoned on the couch when I came back inside. Confusing or not, I still found myself wishing I was still wearing the jacket. Now that I was alone, drowning in the memories associated with the cologne didn’t seem like such a bad way to spend an afternoon …

A knock on the bedroom door shook me out of my daydream. I sat up quickly. “Yeah?”

Kevin’s head poked through the door. “I’m going fishing. Want to go?”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay here and hang out.”

“Come on, you love fishing!” He walked into the kitchen, and I followed him. He knew if he walked away, I would follow. I’d follow him anywhere; I always had—until the last time, when he had walked away for good. Even then I had a feeling he wanted me to go after him, but he hadn’t seemed surprised when I let him go. We’d both had enough.

What to do now? I did love fishing, but I could think of multiple reasons why this excursion wouldn’t be smart. For one thing, it was really cold outside, and it was only going to get colder as the afternoon wore on. When Kevin realized this t-shirt was the warmest clothing I brought, he would tease me mercilessly. I didn’t need anyone to tell me it was silly—I mean, I could see the snow on the mountains with my own eyes. But my associations with the cabin were sunscreen and swimsuits. I couldn’t help that my dominant logical side had been momentarily overridden by nostalgia. I think I’d expected to arrive to find my corner of the woods stuck in perpetual July.

Then there was the idea of having to make small talk for hours on end. It was one thing managing to dredge up a few words when I passed Kevin in the hall, but standing next to each other fishing with nothing to say for a whole afternoon was quite another. No, as much fun as fishing would be, staying in the cabin would be much safer.

“I wish I could go, but I can’t.”

“Why?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

“Because my shoulder is screwed up.”
A health issue—that’s brilliant, Rose! Can’t argue with that.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I can’t lift anything or make any repetitive motions.”

True confession time: I am a really good liar. It’s a gift. I don’t like to make a habit of it, but when necessary I can look anyone in the eye and instantly come up with a story that would pass a lie detector with flying colors.

There was one exception to this rule, and unfortunately, he happened to be standing in front of me. However, now that we weren’t a couple anymore—without all those messy emotions tied into it—I was confident I’d be able to pull this one off.

“Says who?” He raised one eyebrow, but I was determined not to let that old trick rattle me.

“I have a note from my doctor.”

“You brought it with you?” he said, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Who were you planning on showing it to? The squirrels?”

Okay, so maybe there was still one emotion I was going to have to get around: annoyance. I gave him the frostiest look I could manage. “I didn’t
bring
it with me. It just happens to be in my purse.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “All right, let’s see it.”

“What?”

“Let’s see your doctor’s note.”

Was he seriously calling my bluff? Anyone else would have bought the story. When people claim to have health problems, who demands proof? “I’m not going to show you my doctor’s note,” I huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s silly.”

“You don’t have one, do you? You made it up.”

“Of course I have it. Why would anyone make up something like that?”

“Because you needed an excuse not to spend time with me. What if I had suggested that we play cards? Would you also have a doctor’s note saying you’ve developed a rare gambling allergy?” Although he was having way too much fun with this, his eyes looked sad.

“Whatever. I really am hurt, okay?”

“Then get your note. I want to see it.”

“You want to see the note? Fine. I’ll get the note.” I stomped off in the direction of my bedroom with a sick feeling in my stomach. Great. Now what was I supposed to do? I felt like an airplane going down with both engines on fire and no parachutes. I said a silent prayer that somehow there would be a doctor with a prescription pad waiting in my room.

There wasn’t.

I briefly considered climbing out the window and heading for someplace where no one knew me and my penchant for making up stories, someplace I could start over.

Maybe Prague…

Probably not. No, there was nothing to be done but face the music. Unless I could come up with a better story…

I took my purse into the living room and started rifling through it, trying to buy myself time while I concocted Plan B. Kevin stood with his back against the wall, waiting, arms folded, smirking like a guy in an underwear ad who knows exactly how charming and good looking he is.

The worst part is he knows you know it.

I made a big show of going through all the pockets, searching my wallet, flipping through my appointment book, all the while knowing that what I was looking for didn’t exist. And Plan B wasn’t happening; I couldn’t concentrate. My heart pounded in my ears, and I could feel my face getting hot. It appeared that lying to Kevin was still out of my depth, relationship or not. I felt like a lunatic, but I’d taken this whole charade way too far to back out now. I was going to have to go through the motions until the bitter end, which, by my calculations, was right about… now.

I snuck a look at Kevin, only to discover that his smirk had gotten … smirkier. I dropped my purse on the couch. “I can’t find it.”

“Hmmm. Could that be because it never existed in the first place?”

“It must have fallen out of my purse when I stopped for gas on my way up here. Now I’ll have to take a day off work and go to the doctor to get a new one.”

“Oh, Rosie. Please.”

“What?”

“Why can’t you admit that you made it up?”

“Because I didn’t.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Nothing makes a good liar angrier than getting caught. “Go on then, make your case. You can’t just accuse me of lying without the proof to back it up.”

“You’re proving it for me. Look how flustered you are.”

I put my hands in my pockets and willed them to stop shaking.
Act casual.
“The symptoms of frustration can be remarkably similar to deception. Try again.”

“Everything is science with you, isn’t it? Cause and effect, deduction and analysis.”

“I like science. I can conduct the same experiment a hundred times and always get the same result. People aren’t dependable like that.”

Kevin was smiling, but there was no joy in it. He shook his head. “Okay, how did you hurt your shoulder?”

“How did I hurt my shoulder?”

“I may not be dependable, but if you’re injured, I’m concerned. How did it happen?”

“I strained my rotator cuff climbing a tree.”

Kevin laughed.

I glared at him. “What? You don’t think I could climb a tree?”

“Obviously not very well, since you’re wounded. So why were you climbing a tree in the first place?”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

“You have to admit it’s a little bizarre. I’m wondering why you did it.”

By now I had come to terms with the certainty that there was no way I was going to come out on top of this story, so I said the first thing that came into my head. “To pick apples.”

He paused for a minute and looked straight into my eyes. It was hard not to squirm, but I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“Red or green?”

I was focusing all my attention on winning our staring contest and the question threw me. “What?”

“Were the apples red or green?”

I threw my arms in the air. “What difference does it make?”

“I’m curious.”

“Green. The apples were green, okay? Satisfied?” I could feel the pulse hammering in my neck, and I wondered how long it would take for an ambulance to reach the cabin if my blood pressure continued to spike and I had a stroke.

Kevin walked over until he was directly in front of me, so close that I could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes. I was having a hard time reconciling my conflicting emotions. I was so angry at him for backing me into this corner, but heaven help me, at the same time, I wanted him to grab me and kiss me with those magic lips of his until I couldn’t breathe. He leaned in and for one terrible, blissful moment I thought he had read my mind.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he whispered into my ear.

I pulled back. That arrogant… I couldn’t believe I’d been so close to surrendering only a second ago. “And what scientific finding has led you to that conclusion?”

“You hate green apples.”

I made a noise that was a cross between a scream and a growl. “Not as much as I hate you right now!” I picked up my purse and pushed past him, putting one foot in front of the other on autopilot until I got to my bedroom, where I slammed the door so hard I thought the hinges might break.

Chapter Five

Alone in my room after our argument, I pulled out my sketch book and pencils and began to draw—a sort of frenzied marathon of pages at the beginning when I was still angry that eased into careful, sure strokes once I’d had a chance to calm down. I heard the front door open and close as Kevin went off in search of his fish and felt myself relax even further, my shoulders deflating as the tension drained away.

Drawing always was therapy for me. Pencils were one of the few constants in my life, something I could control. I’d never be a great artist, but I knew I had some talent, and it pleased me to start with a clean, blank page and create something. Back in school, when I’d first fallen under the spell of a box of newly sharpened colored pencils, I had notebooks full of sketches, mostly nature—leaves, flowers, fish, birds and other animals. In college I had books crammed with clippings and drawings, bits of plants and feathers pressed in. Parts were beginning to crumble now, but I still thumb through them occasionally to remember my rambling walks and my battered copy of
Walden
, from the days I thought anything was possible.

I was a middle school science teacher. Well, science and art. I loved the research with the why’s and eventual explanations, the detailed notes of the successes and failures. But for someone who prides herself on being a rational scientist, I was certainly behaving foolishly. It had to be because of Kevin. He always brought out the petulant six-year-old in me.

I sketched pages of apples—green
and
red—whole and sliced open with all the secrets spilling out. I drew seeds and stems and leaves, but I found that it was impossible to capture the fruit inside. No matter how I tried, the texture of the creamy middle was somehow lost on the page. Still, to any average observer, it would appear a perfectly serviceable apple. Only I could see the flaws.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me how long it had been since I’d actually eaten anything, but I wasn’t desperate enough to track down the flattened protein bar yet. As I stubbornly continued in my relentless pursuit to create an apple that would leap off the page, I let my mind wander to the day that I met Kevin and the kiss that would irrevocably change my life.

The school I taught at had an annual neighborhood Fall Carnival as a fundraiser, and I had been recruited to work one of the booths. In the planning meeting, one of the younger men on staff requested a kissing booth, but the principal tactfully explained that a kissing booth was no longer politically correct. This was followed by a rebuttal from the teacher, who suggested that anyone who wanted to purchase a kiss could sign a waiver, thus relieving the school of any liability. We all laughed until, slowly, everyone realized he wasn’t joking. The subject was dismissed, and we quickly moved on to other assignments before he could propose anything else.