In a Moon Smile (41 page)

“Now when, darling, do you think you could submit the first draft for the series?”

“What?” Chesney blushed, trying to focus on Gloria’s magenta smeared mouth.

“I’ll want to pitch the idea to the publisher while the first book is hot in reader hands,” Gloria said. She leaned forward, smelling of too much perfume. Her drawn-on eyebrows were crooked. The general public would never guess Gloria Brewer to be one of the most sought after literary agents in the city. “I'm not trying to rush you, of course,” Gloria thoughtfully flipped through her calendar. “I just want a general idea.”

“I'll get back with you about the book,” Chesney stalled. “I haven't developed a complete outline yet. I've been involved in so many other projects.” She bit her tongue but wanted to tell Gloria that she didn't feel inspired at all right now. She didn’t want to touch the damn book or the series. All she wanted was to go home so she could lust after Dalton while he worked wonders with a jigsaw. But instead, Chesney reverted back to her old days. No backbone. She sipped at the coffee, watched Gloria incessantly talk and an hour later, she was finally on the elevator with John Peoni, headed to the studio on the sixteenth floor.

While she underwent make-up and hair, Chesney zoned out. By the time her face was completely decorated with shadows and powders and rouge, she had decided what type of window treatments she wanted for the library and parlor. She was then introduced to a lanky young photographer named Mico who proudly swung his waist-length dreadlocks around until they slapped Chesney in the face. When he hugged her as a greeting, Chesney detected the faint scent of cannabis on his white gauze shirt.

“Wonderful, fresh face,” Mico smiled and ran his hand along her cheek. “Let your hair go wild, dear.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Chesney said. “I just came from the stylist. She used at least two gallons of hair spray on my head.”

Frowning, Mico said loudly, “This won’t work.”

John Peoni came running, face white, eyes alarmed. “What’s the problem?”

“I hate this hair,” Mico snapped. “I refuse to do the shoot with this awful style. This is not at all how I see Ms. Blake.” Then Mico stared hard at Chesney. “What do you think of the hairstyle?” But before she could answer, Mico shouted. “Of course you hate it, too, correct? This hair is ridiculous. It will not work.” In a frenzy, Mico reached for Chesney’s head and began to remove all the hair pins. In one motion, he undid the carefully prepared updo. “Much better now.” Mico smiled as he purposefully mussed Chesney’s hair, allowing the curls to go wherever they chose.

“Ready now,” he announced as if he was royalty. And then studio assistants appeared from several doors, rushing to fill the studio with props.

“Tilt your head to the left,” Mico said as Chesney perched on a shiny black stool in front of a gray backdrop. “Give us a sexy grin, Chesney.”

Good grief, she didn't feel sexy. She didn't feel sane or civil, either. Chesney gritted her teeth to keep from screaming as Mico again fluffed her hair around her shoulders. Then he rearranged her necklace and straightened the neckline of her dress, accidentally on purpose allowing his left hand to cop a feel of her left breast.

“Feeling a bit tightly wound this morning, Chesney?” John asked nervously.

“Just tired,” she answered softly even though she actually wanted to spank John with Mico’s dreadlocks. “I’m just tired. I'm fine, though.”

“Terrible eyes,” John barked. “Big, black saddlebags under those eyes, honey.”

“Thank you, John,” Chesney sighed with an eye roll. “You know just how to get a girl in the mood for a major photo shoot.”

“How's the love life?” Mico asked as he walked back behind the camera.

“Still staying away from stuffy old what's-his-name?” John asked.

“Are you talking about Jack? He’s old news, I’m forever away from him,” Chesney said. “He’s long gone.”

“And what about new prospects?” John asked. “You'll probably never meet a new man since you’ve relocated to the absolute bowels of hell. You’ve gone rural. And people drive nasty old pick-up trucks and eat bologna and mustard sandwiches there, don’t they?” John shuddered dramatically and Chesney grinned. “You haven't met a new man out there in the Indiana boonies, have you? Tell the truth, sweetie. You can’t find a man in the hills, can you?”

Dalton's sweet face, that sheepish grin, those silly, faded overalls, entered her mind. Chesney saw him across the pond, laughing in the rain as she threw a temper tantrum about the dead doe in the water. She saw him wiping paint smudges from her cheek and smiling sweetly when she offered him morning coffee.

“Nice, soft eyes all of a sudden,” Mico said. “Hold that pose. Don't change your expression, Chesney. Whatever you're thinking about, honey, don't stop.”

“I don't think I can stop,” Chesney smiled wickedly. “Believe me, I've tried to stop.”

By mid-afternoon, she was happily buckling into the window seat of row
seventeen
, on an airplane headed south. Her cell phone showed three messages from Bec, but she just wanted to go home. She would call Bec once she was safely back home and settled again where she now knew she belonged.

Once the airplane landed in Indianapolis, Chesney rushed through the airport to her car, barely taking time to buckle the seatbelt before rounding the parking lot exit gate. Driving south, she envisioned Dalton waiting for her on the front porch swing. He would wave and smile as she drove closer. He would embrace her and twirl her around in the front yard weeds, insisting he nearly lost his mind because he missed her so much.

“You are so incredibly stupid,” Chesney muttered under her breath. “What in the world is wrong with you? The man doesn't feel anything romantic toward you. And he shouldn't, really. You're an emotional train wreck.”

Trying to forget about Dalton, Chesney conjured up a vivid scene of Grace's secret love affair with Ben. She imagined how sweetly they walked together, hand in hand along the bank by the pond. She imagined them sipping sun tea on the back porch swing, looking lovingly at each other. Sunset wasn’t far away by the time she reached Chesney Ridge. She sighed happily as she turned onto the tree-lined lane. The porch light was on. And the kitchen light was on. But Dalton's truck was not there.

Stop with the instant clinical depression, psycho woman. The handyman doesn’t live here, so of course he’s not here. He’s at his own home. Get over it. Don’t think about him anymore.

She stepped out of the car, stretched and took in a deep breath. That slight chill in the air made her excited about the next season and how it would feel to spend the fall in her new home. She was so thankful to be back that she nearly cried from relief. Blossom bounced happily at the back door as Chesney happily tossed her purse and bag on the kitchen counter, kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her dress on the way up the stairs. Her plan was to soak in a hot bubble bath. When she walked into her bedroom to get fresh pajamas and a robe, she stopped to check phone messages.

“Chesney? It's Mom. Yesterday, I ran into Becca at the deli. She had to be the one to tell me that you’re off to New York. I left a message on your cell phone. Why don’t you ever call home? Call me, please.” There was also a message from Becca, begging for a return call. She was dying to tell Chesney something about Deke. And then Dalton's voice filled the air: “I couldn't remember exactly what time you planned to get back into town, Chesney, so I won’t start work tomorrow until after ten o’ clock. I’m sure you need rest. It’s time to clean gutters before the leaves start falling. Hope you had a great trip. Blossom missed you.”

Yawning, but smiling too, she pressed the repeat button on the phone and stretched out on her bed waiting to listen again to Dalton's voice. She wished Dalton added to the message that Blossom wasn’t the only one who missed her. After tossing her clothes in the hamper, Chesney tied back her hair and sank into the hot water. She closed her eyes, wondering how to get Dalton Moore off her my mind.

Chesney would never admit to Dalton that her trip to New York was haunted by a highly inappropriate obsession with him. An hour ago, she had been pissed off that he hadn’t yet shown up for work. But since he always called if he was running late, she was now worried about him. She was also more than a little bit disappointed. Dalton obviously had not pined away for her while she was gone.

Last night I dreamed that you came in here wearing only your tool belt. I have become a sexual pervert. I’d say my fantasies are safe though since you don’t acknowledge that I have a vagina.

Where was he? Half an hour later, a disappointed Chesney made a plan. Instead of painting the trim work in the guest bedroom, she decided to shop for artwork and maybe some new dishes. Before the snow started to fly across the meadow, Chesney planned to finish several projects. She would spend the winter in her office, writing sequels. No matter how terrified she was about writer’s block, her professional reputation was on the line. By the time buds popped next spring, Chesney knew the pieces had to be complete. She couldn’t let Gloria down. But most of all, she couldn’t let herself down.

“Try not to eat any more shoes while I'm gone,” she smiled at Blossom and grabbed her purse and car keys. When she opened the back door to leave, she bumped into Dalton Moore's amazing chest.

“Good morning,” he laughed. “You were leaving?”

“Shopping,” Chesney nervously looked up at him and took a step back. “I was planning a trip to Nashville...in a little while.”

“You have your keys in your hand.”

“
Umm-humm
,” She looked down at the keys as if she just now noticed they were clutched in her palm. “Well, I was, I was going out to my car. I misplaced something.” She ducked under Dalton's arm and stepped out on the porch. “I'll be right back,” she said quickly. “Then I'll share my last bit of morning coffee with you.”

Feeling Dalton’s eyes still watching curiously from the door, Chesney marched across the yard, opened the car door and pretended to look for something in the backseat. “What are you doing?” she hissed at herself. “You're making a fool of yourself. Why don't you just get in the car and drive away? Why is it so difficult for you to at least act as though you have a brain in your head?”

But she couldn't drive away. She hadn’t seen Dalton for three days. She wanted to sit in her kitchen with him to sip coffee. She wanted to hear him laugh. She wanted to watch the way his eyes sparkled when he spluttered about renovation projects. She wanted to focus on his beautiful lips and fantasize about kissing them.

Oh, my gosh, you are definitely winning the dumb ass of the year award. Stop acting like you are thirteen years old. Go back in the house and pretend to be sane.

Fearing that Dalton might be watching from a window, Chesney kept her head down. She searched under the car seats hoping to find a stray key or some kind of receipt. She couldn’t go back inside empty handed. He would immediately know that she was a stalker. But she was now sweating like a pig, which meant if she didn’t get her head out of the hot car this very moment, her hair would be ruined. Her mascara was already smudged, she was sure of that. Okay, fine, she would drum up another lie by the time she got to the back door.

“Well, I can't find it...” Chesney sighed loudly, trying to look disgusted. “I'm always losing things.”

“What were you looking for?” Dalton asked.

His question caught her off guard. “Lipstick,” she said finally. “I, um, I can't find my lipstick.” She hurried to hide her face behind a cabinet door in the kitchen, pretending to search high and low for two coffee cups. “Oh well, I’ll find it later. Anyway how did everything go while I was away? Did I miss anything?” She looked over her shoulder at Dalton, who seemed to be in a bit of a trance. “Are you feeling all right? You don’t look well. How about a bagel and cream cheese?”

Dalton did not answer. In fact, he didn't seem to hear the question. He turned one of the new kitchen chairs around to face her then straddled it. Something was different about him. He seemed nervous or maybe preoccupied or maybe both. His stare was so intense. Her heart fluttered. Was something wrong? She pretended to swipe coffee grounds into her palm, all in an effort to avoid Dalton's eyes and that very odd expression on his face. Maybe he didn’t want to clean gutters or repair the barn door. Maybe he wanted to announce that he was getting married and moving back to Boston. She had no idea what was going on, but immediately hoped that Dalton wasn’t getting married or leaving town. She also hoped that he couldn’t somehow read her thoughts. For a crazy moment, Chesney asked herself if she should tell Dalton that something seemed to be happening between them. Perhaps she should just blurt it out. Confess that she felt it the very day they met. It was an excruciating moment but she kept her mouth closed. She just stood there, wiping the already clean counter over and over again with a dry cloth. Tension clouded the kitchen. Every time she dared to look in Dalton's direction, her stomach knotted and her throat got tight.

“So tell me about the trip to New York,” Dalton finally broke the silence.

“I had to do a photo shoot for my book cover,” Chesney said. Why did everything feel so strange? Why did she feel like Dalton wasn’t actually saying what he was thinking?

“What else?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“You seem worried or hurt or something,” Dalton said.