Another Summer (25 page)

  A
NDREW WENT FROM THE LIVING ROOM
into the kitchen, a paintbrush in one hand, a damp rag in the other. It was his final pass-through. He looked for places that still needed touching up with the trim color they’d used on the windowsills and baseboards. He wanted the painting finished by that afternoon to give it a few days to dry before the new carpet was installed.

Paul came out of the bedroom, his face sprinkled with sunshine yellow freckles from the roller he’d been using on the ceiling. “Done,” he announced. “And another career choice bites the dust.”

Andrew smiled. “Decided painting’s not your thing, huh?”

He looked down at his paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans. “If I had to pay for the paint I spilled, I’d never be able to make a living.”

They’d had to use the last drop in the bucket after Paul stepped off the ladder and into the freshly filled roller pan. “It’s the finished product that counts, and the room looks great.”

He grinned. “Yeah, it does.”

Spotting a bare corner on the window over the sink, Andrew made a quick swipe with the brush, checked the coverage, and stood back to check the other corners. “Have you talked to Maria in the past couple of days?”

“Yesterday.”

“Did she say whether Enrique was coming around yet?” Initially, only Maria and Juanita had come to talk to Andrew and see the house. Maria had been a nervous wreck when she introduced her mother to Andrew and during the entire time he showed her around the greenhouses. Juanita was hesitant in the beginning, looking for reasons the move wouldn’t work and asking a hundred questions about working for Andrew.

Instead of being put off by her questions, Andrew was encouraged. Juanita was interested and enthusiastic and looking for something long term. If she had the same innate feel for plants that Maria demonstrated, in a couple of years she would be as invaluable as Alfonso, allowing Andrew to be away from the nursery for more than a week at a time.

Just when it looked as if the job and house were a done deal, Enrique announced he wasn’t moving. He didn’t want to leave his friends in Oakland.

Paul took the roller to the sink and dropped it in a bucket of water. “Maria said she talked him into giving Santa Cruz a year. After that, if he still wanted to go back, she would help him find a way.”

“If he’s anything like I was, all he has to do is meet the right girl, and he’s here for the duration.”

Paul laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

C
HERYL STOOD BACK AND LOOKED AT THE
table setting. Everything was perfect, from the linen to the crystal to the silver. The candles were ready to be lit, the champagne cooled and ready to open, the lobster casserole ready to put in the oven.

The only thing missing was Andrew. He was late. But then he had no idea she was at his house waiting for him. She’d come down a day early as a surprise and was beginning to wonder if he’d gone to Oakland a day early to surprise her.

She was about to call the nursery when she spotted his truck coming through the forest. After a quick check of her reflection in the front window, she went outside to greet him.

He parked behind her car, got out, and stopped midway down the driveway to look at her. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He shook his head in wonder. “How did I get so lucky?”

She smiled. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I put a spell on you.”

He came forward and took her in his arms for a long, slow kiss. “Nice surprise. Thank you.”

“I couldn’t wait.” She touched a streak of white in his hair. “Been painting?”

“Getting the house ready for Maria and her family.”

“Have I thanked you enough for what you’re doing for them?”

“Purely self-interest. If Juanita works out as well as I think she’s going to, I could turn the place over to her in a couple of years …” He tucked his chin under hers and nuzzled her neck. “Then I can spend all my free time doing things like this with you.”

She tilted her head to make it easier for him to kiss her, sighing when he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

He let her go, took her hand, and led her into the house. Spotting the table setting, he smiled. “Give me five minutes for a shower, and I’m all yours.”

He was out in four, dressed in khaki slacks and a chambray shirt, his damp hair finger combed. Cheryl was at the kitchen window staring at the beginning of what promised to be a spectacular sunset. Andrew came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him. “Hungry?” she asked.

“For a lot of things,” he murmured against her hair. “Want me to make a list?”

“It scares me to think how easily we could have missed this moment. If I hadn’t gone to the reunion, if you had listened when I told you I didn’t want to get back together.”

“None of that matters,” he said. “I’ve decided we were destined to find each other again.”

She turned to look at him. “Do you really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. There isn’t one logical reason I chose this place to settle and start a business except that I wanted you to be able to find me if you ever came looking. I was willing to wait forever.”

“You know you could have looked for me.”

“I talked myself into believing I gave up that right.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “However, I’m not sure how much longer I would have gone down that noble road.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I don’t care how we got here. All that matters is that we did.”

He put his hands on her arms. “Mother Nature is putting on an amazing show for us out there.” He’d wanted the perfect time and setting for this night, and nothing he could have come up with could match what was happening outside. “I think we should show our appreciation.”

Instead of watching from the deck, Andrew grabbed a throw off the sofa, and they headed for the beach. He spread the plaid blanket in the shelter between two large rocks, sat down, and held out his hand for Cheryl to join him.

“I’ll bet you think I don’t remember this place,” she said, sitting between his legs and leaning her back into his chest, her head into his shoulder.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

This was where they’d made love for the first time, where they’d vowed to love each other forever. The sunset that night had been glorious, too.

The sun wore a belt of dark blue clouds and the sky around it was awash in pink and orange and purple. A slowly moving line of pelicans flapped and glided in silhouette against the finger-painted background. In seconds the sea would reach up and snag the brilliant ball. Cheryl waited for the magical moment when they would meet and merge and let out a soft sigh.

Andrew leaned to his side to dig something out of his pocket. His chin on her shoulder, he held an open velvet box in front of Cheryl. In it, a large blue sapphire caught the light, and for a moment it seemed as if it, too, belonged in the sky.

“You remembered,” she said, her voice a low, emotion-filled whisper.

The last time they’d been together in San Diego, they’d window-shopped while waiting for the bus that would take Cheryl home. She’d stopped to look at wedding sets in a jewelry store window and loftily told him she’d decided diamonds were for ordinary people and ordinary lovers. She wanted a sapphire, dark blue and emerald cut.

The very ring he held in front of her now.

“I guess I should make this official,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

She nodded.

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded again, afraid to trust her voice.

Andrew took the ring out of the box. She held up her hand for him to slip the two-carat sapphire on her finger.

She held her hand against the vivid sky. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.” She shifted to face him. “And I’m happier than I thought possible.”

“Do you need more than a week to plan a wedding?”

“One week?” She couldn’t have heard him right.
“This
week?”

“If that’s too soon, we could make it the end of the month. I just figured the adoption would go easier if we were married a month or two first.”

She put her hand to her chest in an attempt to still her wildly beating heart. She had never loved him more than she did at that moment. “Are you sure?”

He smiled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“We don’t have to do this. I’d understand if you didn’t want to. It’s a big step. We’ve only just found each other again. It may be too soon.”

“Who are you worried about, Cheryl, me or you?”

“You,” she admitted. “Me, a little, too. I don’t know if I have it in me to be the mother this baby needs. What if I mess it up?”

“I’ll be there to help you.”

“You sound so confident.”

He considered what she’d said before answering. “I learned firsthand the wrong way to raise a child. I’d like a chance to do it right.”

“The baby will be here in three months. Do you realize what that means?”

“That she’s going to feel cheated because her birthday is so close to Christmas?”

“You’re serious about this,” she said, dumbfounded.

“Given a choice, I would have given us a year or two alone, but life has a way of setting its own timetable. We either act now or regret not acting for the rest of our lives.”

She came up on her knees and threw her arms around him. He fell backward. Raining kisses on his eyes, his cheeks, his chin, and finally his lips, she breathlessly said, “I love you, Andrew Wells.”

He caught her face between his hands and kissed her long and deep. She responded with a soft moan, moving against him suggestively. Her hand went to his thigh and then to the front of his khakis. He stopped her.

“Not here,” he said, pressing his lips to her palm.

“Why not?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “Because you don’t want sand to get in the way for what I have in mind.”

Cheryl immediately stood and smiled. “Race you.”

“And if I win?” He stood beside her, suddenly serious. “Never mind,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I already did.”

They tumbled into bed as the last drop of sun dripped into the horizon … unnoticed.

GEORGIA BOCKOVEN
is an award-winning author who began writing fiction after a successful career as a freelance journalist and photographer. Her books have sold more than three million copies worldwide. The mother of two, she resides in Northern California with her husband, John.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2001 by Georgia Bockoven
ISBN: 0-380-81865-5

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