Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) (15 page)

“It’s really beautiful here,” she said, pulling back the curtain on the window. “Thanks for suggesting we sail down.”

“Thanks for coming. Like I said earlier, I would have never done this if you hadn’t said yes.”

“Okay, but it was your idea.”

Stu adjusted the volume on the stereo. “Yeah, well … I have to confess. I was just trying to impress you. If you’d hesitated even a little, I would have turned the boat around and we would have spent the day sailing around the Pamlico Sound.” He looked past the curtain she continued to hold open, then back to her. “This is way better.”

Through the portal he saw the lighthouse beam make another revolution, its brilliance momentarily illuminating the anchorage. But he was far too intent on studying the curves of her face to peer out the window at the stars on the water.

Kate Winston was, simply put, unbelievably beautiful, and not just physically. No wonder she sells stun guns, Stu thought. Bet she gets hit on all the time.

“I should probably light the grill,” he said, but not wanting to leave her.

“Good idea. You want me to pour us some wine first?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind. If you look in the – ” She smiled and held a hand up, stopping him.

“Already found it. While you were tying off the dinghy, I snooped. Sit, I’ll get it.”

She’d read his mind somehow, and he felt comforted knowing how easily they worked together as a team.

The full day on the water, plus swimming after the dinghy, had left him exhausted. He dropped into a captain’s chair and took note of the elegant way she stood on her toes to gain leverage with the wine opener. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and thought how right it felt to be with her, to have her aboard as his partner.

“Shall we take these up top?”

Stu opened his eyes. She held a glass of red wine in front of him.

Forcing himself to stand, he followed her up the companionway steps. They moved to the back of the boat, both leaning against the stern railing while gazing at the other boats in the anchorage. Mast lights reflected off the water. The crescent moon had finally risen, its yellow sheen bleeding across blackness. A peaceful silence descended upon them.

Looking past the bow of the boat, he remarked, “You know, this is not how I expected things to go.”

“Oh? You had a plan?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stu answered. “I never do anything without a plan.”

“So what exactly did you think would happen when you invited me to stay last night?”

“Not this.” He took a sip and studied the shape of her lips. “Not in a million years did I see
this
coming.”

She threw her head back and ran slender fingers through her hair. “I’m glad I ruined your plan.”

He swirled the wine glass and sipped. Once more, he felt uneasy as if he were living a lie. And he hated himself for it. The call from his editor while he’d been at Page Me Books had rattled him, sure, but this business … with her—with Kate—it was different, important. Not that making a living wasn’t. But he could get another job.
Heck, I can always go back to the paper mill. But can I find another her?

He took in the smells of steak grilling, the scent of garlic and spices from a neighboring craft. Staring off the stern at the phosphorescent algae swirling in the current, he refused to look in her direction. “There was something I didn’t finish telling you. The thing with the dinghy interrupted me before I could finish.”

She rested her hand next to his on the smooth metal railing, their pinkies touching. “I know. But I decided I wasn’t going to bring it up again. I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Her waiting eyes met his in the moonlight. Placing his wine glass on the cockpit seat he leaned toward her and caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his fingers. He detected the sound of a halyard slapping an aluminum mast from a nearby sailboat. Waves rolled up on the beach, a soothing, continuous roar. But all the sounds faded as she spread her fingers behind his head and pulled his face into her neck.

* * *

Kate surprised herself by taking his wrist and pulling him close.
This is so not like me, what am I doing?
His fingers brushed the side of her throat, tracing her neck so lightly that it felt almost like a feather against her skin.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.” His lips caressed her neck. “Trust me, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She gave in to the tingling feeling surging within her and felt her body tremble with anticipation. He pushed back her bangs, which hung long on the sides of her face, and kissed her softly on her cheek. The stubble of his chin rubbing against her skin heightened her sense of anticipation. With his fingers moving along her spine, he found the small of her back and applied just enough pressure to cause her breasts to press against his chest. His lips brushed against hers and moved away, once more playfully nibbling on her ear lobe.

“When you’re ready,” he said softly, “I am here for you. I will always be here for you.”

Once more, he kissed her gently on the neck and released her.

She opened her eyes. He’d already moved toward the grill and was reaching for the lighter.

Frustration rushed over her. “And what makes you think I’m not ready now?”

He set the grill top on the teak grate. Ripping open a bag of charcoal he dumped briquettes into the small grill. With a set of tongs he spread the coals, then looked up as if nothing had happened. “What?”

She bent over him and deliberately rested her breasts against his shoulder and arm. “You said when I’m ready. What if I’m ready, now?”

“Trust me, you’re not.”

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

He laughed under his breath and took both her hands in his. “No. You did everything right. But something you said last night stuck with me.”

“Something
I
said?”

He pulled her hands down. They stood close, face-to-face as if reciting wedding vows. “Yes. About you making your first husband wait. That notion seems so … old-fashioned.” He cut his eyes toward her. “And precious. Call me crazy, and believe me I feel foolish saying this out loud, but I would never want to make you any less than what you are right now. Does that make sense?”

“I … guess.”

“Good. Glad we got that settled. Now, while I get this fire going, how about you start work on the salads?”

Once Stu had the fish on the grill and the table set, he joined her in the galley. With dinner preparations underway, a comfortable silence settled upon them. The simple act of slicing carrots with him eased some of the disappointment she felt after he’d left her all tingly inside … and unsatisfied. For the first time in a long time, maybe since she was a child, she felt comfortable around a man who wasn’t her brother. While she put the carrots in the salad bowl Stu stepped into the cockpit to check on the fish.

Five minutes later they were seated side by side at the table.

“You know, Miss Winston, this is the second meal we’ve shared. I think it calls for a toast.”

“Third, if you count the pimento cheese sandwiches from lunch.”

He tipped his glass towards hers. “Here’s to new romances and slow dances, the power of a sunset, and the passion of two becoming one.”

“Ah, isn’t that sweet. Which book?”

“Book?”

“Yes, which of your novels?”

“I, ah … forget. I know it’s on the back cover of one of them. But I promise you, I won’t forget this.” His eyes grew smoky. “Not ever.”

Chapter Seventeen

Stu heard the bilge pump kick on. He listened to its gurgling as the drowsy edge of sleep wore off. When at last the motor cut off, he rolled onto his side with every intention of going back to sleep. Instead, he pictured Kate relaxing in the cockpit with a steaming cup of coffee.

He had dreamed of her several times during the night. Not in an erotic way, but in a pleasant, prairie and buggy, standing on the front porch of a farmhouse with flesh-eating, zombie-Martians-marching-toward-him sort of way. Still half asleep, he smiled, sighed, and then blinked his eyes until he was fully awake.

The purple-blue sky of dawn filled the crease in the open deck hatch above his bunk. He’d left his door open to keep the breeze flowing through the boat. Now, lifting his head, he peered into the main salon. Empty. But within seconds, he heard Kate bumping around in the aft cabin, intermittently humming. He slipped out of his bunk and hurried into the small bathroom in the short hallway outside the forward stateroom.

Minutes later he emerged feeling almost awake. While he waited for the water to boil, he saw that cell coverage was four bars. He activated his phone’s hot spot app and slid into the seat at the small navigation work desk. Selecting his phone’s Internet connection on his laptop, he watched as email appeared in his computer’s inbox. One from Hattie, several that could wait until later, and another with the Subject Line: My Sister Thanks You. He opened the email from Hattie, first.

Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you at church yesterday. I know we talked about you finding a love story and writing about it, so the way you got that girl to spend the night at your cottage and then come with you to the Bible study … I thought you were just taking advantage of her. But this morning during my quiet time the Lord impressed upon me that I was judging you by questioning your motives with that girl. I’m sorry. I sinned and I’m asking you to forgive me.

Stu smiled. It was so like Hattie to ask for forgiveness when, as far as he was concerned, she hadn’t even done anything wrong. That was one of the things that he loved about his holy ghostwriter: she didn’t focus on the faults of others; she looked inward and tried to change from the inside out.

Now, about that chapter you wrote.

Well, sir, I wish I could write and tell you the chapter was good, but I cannot. What I can say is, it’s great! (Please excuse the exclamation point.) You will see in my comments (those blue boxes you like
J
) that I made a few suggestions for ways to improve and tighten the writing. Nothing major. I will say this: your writing has improved immensely from when I first met you. (Also excuse the use of the adverb “immensely.” Remember Hattie’s rule: one adverb or adjective per scene.)

Keep writing, son. You’re well on your way to a blockbuster. And remember what I told you about that girl: don’t break her heart. When you let her down, do it gently. Else you’ll have to deal with me.
J

Stu clicked on the document and read the opening pages of his new novel. Even with hours removed from the writing, the story still kept his attention, though he easily identified ways he could improve the dialogue and bring out more emotion. But it felt good to know Hattie was impressed. Even if her latest work was a Western-Sci-Fi-Amish-Prairie-Romance that had sent his editor rushing to her medicine cabinet for a bottle of Rolaids.

He heard water boiling in the pot, eased out and assembled the French press. Moments later, encouraged by Hattie’s positive comments, he was back at work on his manuscript, typing away.

She gave in to the tingling feeling surging within and felt her body tremble with anticipation. He pushed back her bangs, which hung long on the sides of her face, and kissed her softly on her cheek. The stubble of his chin rubbing against her skin heightened her sense of anticipation. He moved his fingers along her spine and found the small of her back, applying just enough pressure to cause her breasts to press against his chest. His lips brushed against hers and moved away, once more playfully nibbling on her earlobe …

Stu paused. Though not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, even he could not bring himself to write what his mother would call soft porn. He imagined Hattie reading his story and saying to him, “Massage her heart, son, not her body parts. She is a woman made in God’s image, for crying out loud.”

Stu hit the backspace key and deleted the last sentence, the one before it, and finally everything back to “
kissed her softly on her cheek
.
”
Sipping coffee, he tried again, this time aiming for the emotional bond of two God-ordained soul mates without the sexual overtones.

* * *

Kate awoke to the sailboat’s gentle rocking. Through the open deck hatch she heard the hum of a motorboat trolling past. She sat up, pulled the sheet to her chin and peered out a port window. Sunlight bounced off the shimmering green water. The anchorage appeared smooth as a glass tabletop.
Sunday morning in Cape Lookout Bight and I’m sleeping on Stu Summers’ yacht. How many women can say they’ve done that?
Following a quick trip to the small bathroom, she fished her phone from her purse and called her brother.

“What?”

“Morning, Rog, guess where I am?”

“Home, I hope. I need to get my script. I left it at your place the other night and I have an audition this afternoon.”