The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel) (18 page)

“No, it’s for you. I just want you to taste it. Just stay until she arrives. She might stand me up, you know. Though it’s not likely.” He threw Elliott a grin that shed five decades off him.

“Who is this? Is it someone coming on the night ferry?”

“No, she’s someone who lives here. But I just decided I had to ask her out right away. Couldn’t wait another day. Time is of the essence, you know.”

“You have Senior Prom coming up. That’ll be another occasion to ask her out.”

“I should have said time is of the essence when you’re old. I don’t want to wait all the way until Senior Prom.”

“But it’s only a couple months away.”

“
Old
, I said. That’s a couple months I wouldn’t be with her. And I’m not guaranteed those months. You’d do wise to follow that advice, too, young man, even though you’ve been drinking for only seven years and don’t know how to order a proper martini.”

The live quartet struck up a song in the corner of the bar room. Elliott and the Colonel both glanced in their direction.

“Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you can waste time,” the Colonel suddenly said. “When you find someone you’re interested in, you need to
move
. Life’s too short to waste time drinking bad martinis or being away from the one you love.”

The waiter came then and plopped the two martinis down. “Taste that,” the Colonel said, pushing Elliott’s toward him.

Elliott took a small taste and let it swirl in his mouth a minute. He wasn’t usually a fan of gin, but he had to admit, this was delicious. “That’s good.”

“Always order it that way. None of this sugary crap you young people drink. Chocolate and
vanilla
! We’re not making ice-cream cones here. Martinis should be
DRY
.”

“So tell me about that Medal of Honor.”

“Ah, I don’t want to talk about the war.” He looked away and settled back in his seat.

“I’m just asking about the medal because I admire that kind of courage.” Elliott took another sip of his martini. Damn, it really was good.

“That’s not courage, son. That’s called ‘doing your job’ when you’re in a war. Courage is stepping up when you aren’t expected to. You know what the scariest day of my life was?” the Colonel asked. “Asking my wife to marry me.”

“No.”

“Yep.”

“How long were you married?”

“Fifty years.”

“Kids?”

“Two. One lives in Virginia, and one’s in Florida.”

“What happened to your wife?”

“She died of cancer. 1995.”

“Did you ever marry again?”

“No. She was it.” He took another sip. “Until now. I might have found my second chance.”

“It’s never too late, right?”

“Actually, it
can
be. If you don’t act. Especially when you’re my age. So that’s why I’m acting now. But this kind of stuff . . . this first-date stuff . . . this is a kicker. The first time’s always the kicker—when you know she’s the one, and you ask her out. Terrifying.
That
takes courage.”

Elliott twisted his martini stem and thought that over. “How do you know this one’s the one?”

“I know. And you’ll know, when it happens to you. She’ll make your palms sweat. She’ll distract you in ways you didn’t know you could be distracted, and you’ll wonder why you can’t get back to your normal life. She’ll make you stupid.”

Elliott leaned into his chair. Natalie was a little like that. She made his palms sweat. She made him stupid. At least when he was in her presence. When she wasn’t in his presence, he felt strangely alive, just thinking about her. And he’d been more distracted thinking about her in the last five days than he’d been with anyone he’d ever met in his life . . .

“Why do you admire courage so much?” the Colonel suddenly barked.

Elliott glanced up from his drink, startled out of another reverie about Natalie. As his mind tried to wrap around the new topic, he didn’t know how much he wanted to admit to the Colonel.

“Most men who admire it feel they don’t have enough themselves,” the Colonel said.

Elliott looked away. “There might be something to that.”

“Something happen in your past?”

Elliott didn’t know if he wanted to go there. He never talked about this. The only person who knew the whole story besides him was Nell.

But, for some reason, on this mild night at the top of this hill, with all the city lights below, he found he wanted to tell the Colonel. It felt like talking to his granddad again. Maybe the Colonel could give him some advice.

“I was part of a home invasion,” he finally blurted out. “My parents were killed. My sister hid me and her, and she got us out to safety. I was too scared to move.”

“Wow. Hard on a kid.”

“I was already seven.”

“A very young kid.”

Elliott shrugged. “I felt like I was old enough to have figured something out. I always wonder if I have what it takes if I’m ever in a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“Anything requiring courage.” Elliott moved his drink in a circle.

“Courage always comes with fear, you know. It doesn’t mean you’re fearless. That’s for fools.”

“I doubt you lacked courage when you earned that Medal of Honor.”

“Are you kidding? I was scared shitless. Fear is part of a thinking man’s life, son. Courage is what you exhibit in the face of that fear. What scares you now?”

Elliott pushed the martini glass back and forth on the white tablecloth as he thought that over. “Not doing my job well enough, I guess.”

“What happens if you don’t do it well enough?”

“A lot of animals die.”

“And there’s a possibility you might fail?”

“Definitely.”

“In front of everyone?”

“Yep.”

“But you’re doing your job anyway?”

“Of course.”

“That’s courage, son.” He took another sip of his drink.

Elliott kept moving his glass around. Was that right? Was that all it took? The ability to face your fears? Elliott had enough fears to go around, for certain, but if all he had to do was face them every day, he could possibly handle that.

“I feel like there’s something else,” the Colonel said.

“Like what?”

“Something involving a woman.”

Elliott lowered his eyes. Everyone knew he was on all these dates—Jim, Nell, Natalie, the Colonel—but his heart was yearning for someone else altogether. The Colonel didn’t know that part. Maybe that made him a coward most of all.

“I’m not very good in the love department, Colonel,” he finally said, hoping to shut down this avenue of conversation. He looked around the room. “This is a cool place.”

“That’s why it takes courage.”

“What?”

“Love,” the Colonel said, leaning back in his chair. “Takes a lot of courage. How long do you think it took me to write that card there and put it out on the table for her to see? Once she sees it, there’s no turning back. Takes a lot to put yourself out there on the line, your chest open, your heart exposed, waiting for the bullet.”

Elliott took a drink. Is that what was going on here? Was he just scared to put himself on the line? Maybe Natalie was the one for him, but he was too scared to let her know?

“We might start by making sure you know how to dance, though, son. You’re terrible.”

Elliott chuckled. “I won’t argue with that. But I don’t usually go out dancing, so I think I’m safe.”

“You kids have no idea what you’re missing. Nothing is better than dancing with a woman for the first time—holding her in your arms when she’s not quite yours to hold, imagining, hoping. I saw you on the floor tonight, and you seemed to catch a little of that.”

Elliott wasn’t sure which dance the Colonel was talking about—when he was date-dancing with Becky or accidentally dancing with Natalie. But the Colonel was right on one point: Elliott
definitely
felt something dancing with Natalie. Holding her close, smelling her hair, having his lips close enough to her neck that he thought about kissing her there, just once, for real. He took another swig of his martini and decided to say nothing.

“And you’re probably not a good conversationalist—smart, quiet kid like you. Not good at small talk, right?”

Elliott shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Believe it or not, that can work to your advantage. Skip the small talk and go straight to what you want to know—the deep stuff. Ask her about her family, what she wants out of life. You can skip questions about the weather. You know . . .” The Colonel looked toward the entrance. “Ah, here we are.” He stood abruptly. “Beat it, kid. I think we’re ready to roll.”

The Colonel straightened his jacket, then leaned across the table and yanked a rose out of the vase, holding it in front of him.

Elliott turned to see who the Colonel’s date was, lifting himself out of the chair, and was surprised to have his eyes light on none other than Marie, charging through the room in her USO getup, followed by none other than . . .
Natalie
?

Elliott swallowed hard and thought back to the Colonel’s use of “we.”

And then he wondered just what the hell the Colonel had been telling him all night.

CHAPTER 16

Natalie stopped abruptly when she saw Elliott and the Colonel both straightening their jackets.

What was
Elliott
doing here? And my God, Marie was seeing the
Colonel
? Marie picked up the pace and covered the entire expanse of white carpeting before Natalie could think of what to ask first.

She smoothed her USO costume skirt and finally followed. The small quartet behind her struck up a smooth violin tune.

“Hello, ladies,” the Colonel said with a bow. “Natalie, thank you for driving Marie. Could I have you two fine chauffeurs wait for just a moment in the bar? I already bought Elliott a drink, but, Natalie, what can I get you?”

“I’m fine, Colonel. We’ll just wait over . . .” She waved her hand back toward the bar, her mind still swimming about how she’d ended up spending an evening with her greatest temptation. Again.

Elliott followed her into the bar, where she quickly ordered a water from the bartender. Her flesh-colored Mary Jane pumps pinched her toes as she hoisted herself up onto the bar stool. When Elliott seemed to finally settle in next to her, she whirled on him.

“Did you know they were seeing each other?” she demanded.

“No.” He moved out of her striking range. “I, uh . . . I didn’t know it was Marie who was coming. And I didn’t know you’d be bringing her. I can drive them back, if you want.”

Natalie settled back down. “No, that’s okay.” Maybe this wasn’t some kind of manipulation. “You’re still on your date, aren’t you? I can drive them back.”

“I think I am.” He frowned at his drink. “I’m not sure.”

His neck was ruddy again. She took pity on him and gentled her voice. “How did things go?” she asked.

“I think okay.”

“Did she invite you over?”

“Yes.”

“Then things went
well
.” She tried to put some enthusiasm in her voice. “Sounds good. You should go. I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll just finish my drink.”

The four-piece band struck up a new number in the corner. Natalie and Elliott both glanced their way.

“The Colonel ordered me a perfect martini,” he said. “Want to try it?”

“What makes it perfect?” She took it from him.

“Dry. Only a little vermouth, swirled around the shaker, then poured out. Only olives as garnish.” He watched her carefully.

She tasted it and coughed a little. Strong gin. But not bad. Actually, it was quite good. She took another small sip and then met Elliott’s eyes over the rim.

“What are you staring at? Is my makeup running or something?” She took a small swipe around the corner of her mouth. This lipstick was a little much.

“No, I’m just thinking about something the Colonel said. You look . . . you look
great
,” he said.

She had a hard time believing that, with such a harrowing ride up the hill in the golf cart with the fog rolling in and frizzing her hair and misting all her makeup off. She kept rubbing beneath her eyes. “Thank you,” she said anyway, because Elliott was still staring. Was her mascara running? She took one more swipe beneath her other eye.

“So, tell me how you think things are going with Becky, generally,” she said. “You spent the whole evening with her. Do you feel like you want to spend more time with her? I think you two might make a good couple.”

“You do?” He stared at the quartet.

“You don’t look very enthused.”

“It’s the last blind date, at least.”

“Tell me what this whole thing is with the string of dates. Why is your sister setting you up anyway?”

The bartender brought her a glass of water, and she was grateful to have something to do with her hands.

“She worries about me,” Elliott said. “She just wants me to be set up with someone before she moves to Italy with Jim, so she’ll feel like I’m happy. Or taken care of. Or something.”

“Do
you
want those things?”

“Everyone wants to be happy, I suppose. But I don’t think that’s going to be my source. Even though Nell found happiness with Jim, I don’t think that’s going to be true for me.”

“What? True love?” Natalie couldn’t help the little bit of sarcasm that slipped into her voice.

He took a swig of his drink. “That sounded pretty cynical.”

“Yeah, I guess I agree with you on this one. People who are in love think it’s the right thing for everyone. My sister Olivia is like that. She wants me to have what she has. But they don’t see that some of us are fine on our own.”

“Right.” He moved the olive around his martini.

“I can handle life on my own. I don’t need a man to define me or make me whole.” Her lines sounded a little clichéd even to her own ears, but it still felt good to say them out loud.

“Your mancation is proving that.”

“
Exactly.
Yes.
I can certainly handle a mancation for three weeks.”

They both nodded into their drinks, lost in thought, perhaps, about how strong they were. Or maybe about how independently they could live. Or maybe how vehemently they were arguing their clichéd positions.

But Natalie reiterated to herself that she
was
strong, and she could definitely last for three weeks. She had to prove this to Paige. She had to prove it to herself.

“My sister thinks I’m some kind of commitment-phobe,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

She snorted. “Of course not. I’m just discerning.”

He nodded, and they listened to the cello ooze out a wistful solo.

He looked back at her. His expression was open, curious, nonjudgmental, compassionate. He blinked a few times and gave her just enough space that she could admit anything she wanted, or not say anything at all. She had the sense she could be whoever she wanted to be, and say whatever she wanted to say, and he’d continue to look at her in that same accepting way.

“Paige might be a little right,” she finally admitted.

He took a drink and gave her another brief nod that let her know he was listening if she wanted to go on.

She took a deep breath. She did.

“I have trouble committing to jobs. Apartments. Men. I almost couldn’t commit to this island. The idea of being so stuck somewhere . . . It just freaks me out.”

“What exactly are you afraid of?”

“Making the wrong decision. And being stuck with it.”

“I get that. In science, that could be a big fear, too, but we learn to take calculated risks. It’s the law of probability.”

“Mmm. And what’s the probability I’m not going to understand the law of probability?”

He smiled. “Zero. But what’s the probability I’m going to bore you to tears with this conversation?”

“Zero. Shoot.”

He took another gulp and shrugged. “We assess a situation, and if we’re seventy-five percent sure of a positive outcome, we take a chance.”

Natalie gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you saying that I should pick apartments and men this way?”

“I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m just telling you how we avoid getting stuck in the fear of committing to something that could be important, or good.”

Natalie stared at her martini stem and traced the condensation. That actually made sense. All her life she’d been afraid of making wrong decisions or committing to wrong things, but lately—with nothing of her own to speak of now—she’d started to wonder if she’d let some good things slip away.

“What’s the hardest thing you ever had to commit to?” she asked. “You don’t seem to have any trouble.”

“Not when it comes to things I believe in.”

“Your work?”

“My work, yes. Family—or who’s left anyway. My studies.”

She nodded. “But no women?”

“Not yet.”

“Not even short-term? I mean, everyone wants to have sex.”

Elliott’s neck went red. “I, uh . . . yeah. I don’t know. You want to make sure you both want the same thing.”

“Like long-term or short-term?”

“Right.”

“Are you looking for long-term?”

He shrugged and stared at his drink for a long time. “Maybe I am. I don’t know.”

The bartender came over and slid another martini across the bar to her. An olive bobbed at the edge on a bright-pink swizzle stick. “From the gentleman over there.” He motioned toward the Colonel. Then he slid a cocktail napkin to Elliott. “And for you.” Natalie glimpsed handwriting scrawled across the middle of the napkin.

She looked back at the Colonel, who was engrossed in what Marie was saying, but he glanced over and—when she toasted her glass toward him—grinned before riveting his gaze back to Marie.

Natalie took a sip. “That was kind of him. What’s that he gave you?”

Elliott was smiling. “A message.”

“What does it say?”

“Time is of the essence.”

“Why did he send you that?”

“I think he’s trying to tell me something.” Elliott folded it in two and shoved it into his pocket. “But I have to talk to someone else first.”

“What?” Natalie leaned closer.

“Nothing. So, you don’t think you want to fall in love? Have you ever been in love?”

Natalie reeled a little. “No. I mean . . . no. Definitely not. I’ve never been in love. Not even close.”

“More reason for the mancation?”

She decided not to answer that part and instead took another sip.

“Tell me about your parents,” he finally said.

“My
parents
?”

“Yes. I’m not very good at small talk, so I’m just jumping to the parts I really want to know. Your parents—are they still in your life? Do they live nearby?”

“Um, well, okay—my dad—he’s been out of my life for a long time. He left my mom when I was two. And my mom—she lives in Los Angeles. She runs an event-planning company for celebrities.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. This is after she ran a modeling agency. She’s very successful.”

“You sound upset about that.”

“She’s pushy. She wants us girls to be successful, too. And I didn’t want to be a model, so now she’s pushing me into the event planning.”

“You didn’t want to be a model?”

“I tried it when I was young, but I found it horribly uncomfortable.”

“You’re very pretty.” He threw her a quick smile and then stared back into his drink.

The compliment sent a little heat into her own cheeks. She’d been wolf-whistled at, gawked at, grabbed at, and stared down since she was thirteen, but somehow this shy man, who looked away and turned a deep shade of red when he said “You’re very pretty,” had delivered the compliment that did her in. Maybe it was because it was clearly uncomfortable for him and yet he said it anyway—a true gift meant for her.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

He didn’t look up, and she used the opportunity to stare more. She’d grown to love the way his hair fell into his eyes—it looked distracted and messy at the same time, which she found appealing for some reason. Like he was so lost in thought he couldn’t be bothered to notice his hair had fallen in his eyes. She also loved his forearms, and she could appreciate them now because he had his dress sleeves rolled up. She loved the way they looked muscled and roped, leading to hands that were strong and gentle at the same time. Natalie remembered the way those fingers had worked that point at the back of her knee, and she felt a residual flush.

She cleared her throat and tried to find her place in the conversation again. “Ultimately, I got out of modeling when I was thirteen. I didn’t like people looking at me, scrutinizing every feature.”

He finally looked back at her. “They scrutinized at thirteen?”

“Oh, yeah. Your waist is too long. Your nose is too short. Your arms don’t hang right, or don’t touch your thigh in exactly the right place. It was excruciating. And the men . . .” She shook her head.

“At
thirteen
?” he asked tightly.

She waved off the question. This was too personal. She didn’t mean to drag him back into this topic and certainly didn’t want to discuss aggressive men with him. “What about you? Tell me about your parents.”

He hesitated as if he didn’t quite want to leave the last statement alone, but he finally shifted on his bar stool and took another gulp of his martini. “My parents are dead, actually. I lost them when I was a kid. Home invasion and murder. Only my sister and I survived.”

Her heart caught in her throat. “Oh, Elliott! I’m so sorry.”

Images of a tiny little Elliott and a young sister and their murdered parents floated in front of her and brought tears to her eyes. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

A small gasp escaped her throat. “That’s how old Lily is.”

“Is she? Lily is
seven
?”

“Yes.”

“She seems so small.” He frowned into his drink. “I always thought I was old enough to have figured something out, or acted more bravely, but now that I see a seven-year-old from an adult’s perspective . . . I mean, I’d never expect that of Lily.”

“Of course not. I’m sure you were very brave. What could a seven-year-old do except survive that kind of horrible situation?”

He seemed to think that over for a second, frowning at the bar top. “I didn’t mean to bring the conversation down. I hardly ever talk about it. And here I just told it to you and the Colonel within a twenty-minute time span. Let’s move on.”

“So who raised you?”

He sighed. “No convincing you to move on?”

“I’m not easily convinced.”

He let slip a smile that had a slight sense of admiration around the edges.

“My granddad, mostly,” he said. “My grandmother, too, when she was alive, but that was for only a short time. We stayed with them a lot, and when they had failing health, we’d go to other relatives. I spent time in lots of areas of the country—Illinois, Wisconsin, two months in Minnesota.”

“This is the grandfather with all the hats and the acorns in his yard?”

“That’s the one.”

“You were very close to him.” She said this as more of a statement than a question, but Elliott nodded again.

“Especially after losing your parents.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes at the image of a lost little Elliott, moving from state to state, from relative to relative. “I’m so very sorry, Elliott.”