Just One Kiss (15 page)

11

A
NGELA
FOLLOWED
Daniel
,
risking her very life biking behind him because she kept being distracted by his rather gorgeous butt, muscles she knew to be very strong and very solid, working to power his cycle down Pine Street. They were on their way to the Seattle Art Museum to hang out in the wacky sculpture garden, then maybe get some ice cream.

Daniel was clearly honoring his word to take their relationship slowly. An after-work bike ride during which it was downright dangerous to get any closer than about three feet? Decidedly platonic. Sculpture was cerebral. Ice cream, with no alcohol to decrease inhibitions? Lamb-innocent.

So. He’d respected her concerns and she was safe.

Yes, sir. Safe as a snowball in Antarctica. A raindrop in the Amazon. A fireball in hell.

Wonderful. Ju-u-st wonderful.

Left onto Second Avenue, right onto Union, left on First. Daniel pulled up next to the rack closest to the museum, where they secured their bikes and walked around the building to the Olympic Sculpture Park, built on waterfront property reclaimed from industrial use, a green area for strolling and viewing art. The park was peaceful and surprisingly quiet, given its downtown location.

They strolled down the grassy steps of the Bill and Melinda Gates Amphitheater and wandered around and through a series of undulating metal sections of wall comprising a sculpture called
Wake
. Angela stopped between two of the massive shapes, gazing up at the sky outlined between them. She had to keep her gaze on the sky because after about three seconds of vainly trying to lose herself in a sculptural experience, a warm, male body had come up behind her. Close behind her. Painfully, wonderfully, magnetically close.

“I’m not really art-savvy.” His voice was low and too near for comfort, but plenty near enough to make her want to lean back into him, feel his arms sliding around her, encasing her in his warm strength, to savor the gentle pressure of his lips against her neck. “But I love this sculpture. It’s awe-inspiring, both in size and concept.”

“Yuh.” She barely managed that brilliant analysis without choking on it. Her shoulders had pressed into his firm chest for one brief moment. Had he swayed forward or had she swayed back?

How was Angela supposed to keep power on her side when around this man she turned instantly and rather pathetically slavish? Was she genetically doomed to being a simpering doormat? Yes, she’d rejected further intimacy with Daniel, a powerful choice, but what good did that do her if she spent every second in his presence craving it? Maybe it had been a mistake to say slow down. Maybe she should have said stop.

And yet…

Even the idea of not seeing Daniel again sent a blade of pain through her.

His hand landed on the small of her back, then slid away, the tips of his fingers barely brushing across her bottom. “Let’s move on.”

No, stay. Put your hand back where it—

Yes. Move on.

They toured the rest of the garden, sweet air drifting in from Puget Sound, the temperature truly springlike for the first time that year. Sun would be nice, but Seattle’s residents knew better than to hope for miracles too often. It made those miracles all the more special when they happened.

“I think this one’s my favorite.” He pointed to what looked like a bizarre rubbery pink unicycle wheel, except where the seat should have been, a wiry bunch of bristles shot up, like an old-fashioned twig broom turned upside down. “My grandfather had one of those.”

“Typewriter eraser or giant sculpture of one?”

“Ha. Eraser.” He shifted and his hand bumped hers; she had to stuff her fingers into her jeans pocket to keep from grabbing it and holding on. “Imagine having to erase.”

“Imagine.” She was imagining something very different. Namely, what it would feel like to make love to Daniel outdoors, with a lovely sea breeze caressing their bodies.

This was nearly hopeless.

“Were you close to your grandfather?”

“I barely knew him.” His arm made contact, stayed pressed against her shoulder for a split second, then he took a step away. It was all she could do not to follow. “He died when I was ten, we didn’t visit often.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” At least Angela could stop lusting long enough for genuine sympathy. When she imagined Daniel as a child, he was always sad, quiet and alone, which put fault lines in her heart. When she pictured her own childhood, she was always centered in a giant clump of loving—and loud—relatives.

“How about you?” He touched her forearm. “Wait, I know this one.
Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Yes, you were close to everyone.”

“Figuratively and literally. Parents, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews…”

“I envy that.”

She turned to him, shading her eyes from the sun setting behind him, lighting strands of his hair gold. “You were lonely.”

“I guess, yeah. For family anyway.” The words came out hoarsely, a difficult confession. Automatically Angela’s hand began to extend toward him, and she had to push it back to her side.

“How about now?”

“Right now?” His hand had no compunction about completing its journey across the small space between them; it pushed aside a lock of hair breeze had sent tumbling across her forehead. His fingers lingered, slid down the side of her cheek.

Angela nearly stopped breathing. “No. I meant. In general. Do you see your mom and dad? How about Kate’s family?”

His ex-fiancée’s name had the intended effect. Daniel turned and started out of the park, toward sculptress Louise Bourgeois’s father-son fountain on the corner of Alaskan Way and Broad Street.

“Not really and not really. My parents are my parents, and I think it was too hard for Kate’s family to keep me around. But when you grow up without something, not having it feels like more of the same, not a big hole.”

They stood for a minute by the fountain, watching the jets of water covering first the statue of father, then son. Angela felt a deep longing to go back in time and give child-Daniel what he didn’t have.

Oh, Angela.
Bad enough she couldn’t stop wanting another taste of his body. Now she wanted responsibility for his whole psyche, too?

“I never asked if you had brothers and sisters. I’m guessing not?”

“Not.” He took a few steps away to view the fountain from a different angle. Angela managed to hold her ground for about five seconds before she followed him like a puppy. “How did you get along with your brothers?”

“Well, for the most part.” She laughed, thinking of the four of them, Alex, Chris, Nick and Stephan, all older by five years or more. “They actually morphed from being my biggest tormentors to my biggest champions and protectors. We’re in touch, very loving, but I wouldn’t say we’re extremely close anymore. They have their own lives, all married. Alex is in Portland, Chris is in Chicago, Nick and Stephan stayed in Iowa.”

“Any of them bakers?’

“Hardly. Two farmers, a stockbroker and an insurance agent.”

“Would you care to sit on an eyeball?”

“Why I’d love to, thank you.” She sank on the seat extending from the back of one of the oddly disturbing pair of giant stone eyeballs on the sidewalk. Daniel sat on the one next to her, crossing his long legs. She wished he’d move farther away. Or much closer. She didn’t seem to be doing so well with this middle ground.

“I’m curious.” He extended his arm along the back of his eyeball. “Why expand your offerings at the bakery when the goods you’re selling now seem to be doing really well?”

She gathered her lusting thoughts into platonic cohesion. It was very important Daniel understand.

“I told you about the high-end European bakeries I fell in love with on our honeymoon. Walking into a place like that is like stepping into another world. As if you’ve left the ordinary part of yourself and your life behind, and you’re part of something beautiful, special and exclusive, where there are no pesky annoyances or mishaps or conflicts.” She glanced at him, awkward and vulnerable, sharing what probably sounded like a completely over-the-top reaction to a place selling flour, fat and sugar. “I’d like to give people that experience. And hell, I’d like to live there part of every day, too.”

Daniel listened attentively as he always did, but not as if he were enjoying her description. Rather as if it troubled him, which troubled her. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“You sound the same way talking about this bakery ideal as you did about Tom’s family.”

Angela felt a jab of annoyance. “But this bakery would be mine. I never could have said that about his family.”

“Okay.” He was clearly unconvinced. “Don’t get me wrong, I think the idea is great. I was just wondering why that one particular aspect, the sophistication, is so important to you.”

Angela shifted irritably on her eyeball. “Because it’s wonderful and special. Anyone can make cookies.”

“Not like yours.”

“Well, thank you.” Instead of pleasure at his compliment, more annoyance. “But I want more than that.”

“I hope you get what you want, Angela.” He was watching her; she was watching the fountain. “I really do.”

But…
The word was so obviously left off the end of his response he might as well have shouted it.

Angela stayed still, trying to quiet her feisty inner warrior, recognizing that this conversation was grating on a very sore point, nothing Daniel could be aware of. Now that she’d finally dragged herself out from under Tom’s influence, she did not need another lover casting aspersions on her goals and ambition. Which made it even more important that she stay away from Daniel physically, so she’d keep her overly romantic nature at bay and pay close attention to what kind of partner he’d really be.

Because, as she’d discovered in her marriage, all the sexual attraction in the world wouldn’t sustain a relationship if the foundations of respect, understanding and support were missing.

* * *

“
O
KAY
,
SO
THEN
after the museum and ice cream on Tuesday, you went out for coffee yesterday, and tea and sandwiches today, and he said goodbye each time having totally honored your request to take things slowly.”

“Yes.”

“And you are miserable because…?”

“I’m
not
miserable.” Angela stroked another coat of mascara onto her eyelashes. She and Bonnie were in her bedroom getting ready for a night out dancing with friends. “What makes you think I am? This is exactly what I wanted. I’m completely—”

“Miserable.” Bonnie turned this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing her leopard-print minidress. “Quick question, how long have I known you?”

“Bonnie.” Angela sent her an exasperated look. “I don’t know. Eight years. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t think after that long I’d know when you’re not yourself?”

“Who else would I be?”

“Gee, I dunno. Maybe Ms. Fooling Herself? Or how about Ms. I-Don’t-Know-How-to-Admit-I-Never-Wanted-Platonic-With-This-Guy-Anyway? Or, no, no, plain old Ms. I’m-In-Love-and-All-Shook-Up.”

“Stop that.” Angela capped the mascara and tossed it back into the wicker basket she kept on top of her dresser for her everyday makeup. Bonnie was making her extremely cranky, mostly because she was probably right. Spending time with Daniel had been wonderful torture. Every time he’d sat near her or part of his body had bumped, brushed or slid past hers, which had happened with truly agonizing regularity, she’d sailed either into memories of their lovemaking or fantasies of future lovemaking. Telling herself how important it was to get to know him really well before they continued a sexual relationship didn’t work at all on her subconscious, which continued to be slavishly infatuated. Even her dreams were invaded. She’d decided there was nothing more depressing than waking up blissfully in a man’s arms after a night of exquisite passion, turning to kiss him…and waking up for real, alone in bed after another night of solo snore ’n’ drool.

She couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give. The obvious two options were to tell Daniel she was sorry but she couldn’t see him anymore, or to invite him somewhere private, rip his clothes off and hop on for the ride of a lifetime.

Neither was preferable. She still hoped some miracle third solution would present itself so she could have her chocolate-cupcake man and eat him, too.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Bonnie fluffed up her beautiful red hair, which was dead straight and refused to fluff, but which never stopped her trying. “Or no, I’m not really sorry. But I do understand. And I’m one to talk, since I’ve got some of the same issues with Seth. But I’ve been working like mad to be honest with myself. This month has been weird between us again.”

“I sensed that.”

“I know, I know. Going out for drinks with him was a mistake. Letting Jack take that picture was a mistake.” She turned from the mirror, biting her lip. “I do want you to know that I appreciate you looking out for me, Angela. For warning me I was playing gasoline-covered chicken with the big bad bonfire again. It really did make a difference. I think I’m doing better, not letting him get to me so much. At this point my feelings for him are mostly a habit, and I’m determined to break it.”