Waking Up to Love (8 page)

“You know what? Maybe. I'm a total idiot, right?”

Terry didn't agree. Instead, he shouted, “Look out!”

The BLM office was in front of them, and it was coming up fast. Scott slammed his foot on the brake. The dune buggy lurched to a stop, its back tires rising into the air. For an awful second, Scott felt like the entire vehicle was going to cartwheel forward, landing upside-down in the rock-peppered sand.

But the back wheels came back down, slamming into the ground and shooting dirt in all directions. Scott coughed up a lungful of desert.

“Sorry, man,” Scott said. “I guess I wasn't paying attention to the odometer.”

Terry jumped out of the vehicle, landing on wobbly legs.

“It's okay, dude,” he said. “But next time, I'll probably hitch a ride with Quinn and Miguel instead.”

As Scott approached the big stone lions outside the library building, he felt a wave of self-doubt. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't surprise Ramona at work. She'd read too much into it.

He knew he needed to talk to her, to thank her for everything she was doing—and everything she was going to do—for him and his family. And he needed to explain exactly what she meant to him.

No.

He couldn't. Not at her work. Not face to face.

Maybe he could just call her tonight. He was already asking too much of her. He'd already fake-proposed to her in front of the sick and wounded.

Why was he acting like such a chicken? His job was full of dangers and pitfalls. He constantly charged into difficult situations. Why did this stupid library make his pulse go all jittery?

He couldn't do it. He turned to leave.

“Scott?” a familiar voice called to him.

Crap.

He spun around. “Ramona. Hi. Crazy meeting you here.”

“At my work?” she said.

“Oh, you work here? I completely forgot.” Scott had a weird tendency to avoid an awkward situation by instantly dialing up the awkwardness and turning everything into a big joke.

“So are you interested in the new releases?” she asked.

She was glad to see him; he could tell. She crinkled her nose when she smiled. He hadn't seen her do that in forever, not since before his engagement. That one little expression calmed all his nerves.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to lunch,” he said. “But I don't know. You look busy.” He gestured toward the stack of books in her hand. “Maybe another time?”

Ramona dropped all the books onto the nearest shelf. “I'm ready,” she said, looking ready to charge into battle. She might as well have cocked a rifle and said, “It's game time.”

After a moment of lunch negotiations, they both agreed to eat at the trendy new place across the street. It used to be a deli they both liked, but had been remodeled in the last year to cater to high-end customers. Hopefully, the food would be as good as it used to be.

The restaurant was trendy, which meant expensive and busy and filled with abstract art. Their waiter tossed some menus onto the table. Apparently, “trendy” also meant rude. Before they could open the menus, the waiter asked, “Know what you want?”

“Hmm,” Scott said. “I'll have—”

Ramona cut him off. “He'll have the clam chowder and coffee. I know it's kind of a weird combo, especially in hot weather like this, but don't judge him.”

“You remembered!” Scott said. He was impressed, but not entirely surprised.

“Of course. It's just so weird.”

The waiter forced a smile, but Scott could tell he wanted to move on to the next table. “And for you, ma'am?”

Ramona looked at him, her eyes daring him to order for her.

He knew what she wanted, of course: egg salad on sourdough. Always egg salad. As long as there wasn't too much mayo, she was happy.

But did he really want to show her how much he knew about her? It seemed like that would cross some sort of friend/boyfriend line, and he wasn't ready to cross that.

Whatever. He might as well just order the egg salad. That was her favorite.

“Well?” the waiter asked.

“Roast beef.”

Ramona's expression went blank. She was always so good at hiding her disappointment, but Scott could see it—every bit of that disappointment—in the edges of her lips.

Scott looked away.

“My favorite,” Ramona told the waiter.

He quickly wrote down their orders and disappeared into the kitchen.

“So what did you want to talk about?” she asked. All business, as always.

“I just wanted to have lunch.”

“But your mom's not here.”

“I know.” He paused for a moment. He should've ordered her egg salad. That was what she really wanted. “Here's the thing. If we're going to get along, there's something I need to tell you.”

She looked hopeful. But hopeful for what, exactly?

“I just wanted you to know,” he started. “I mean, the last couple of days have been a little confusing, but I just wanted you to know that if I crossed any sort of boundary with you—”

“You didn't.”

“If I did, I'm sorry,” he said. Words weren't coming out right.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“Um,” he said. If this made-up relationship would ever work, and if he was going to continue having Ramona in his life, he needed to be honest with her. “Things have been weird between us for a long time. I started dating your sister, and it was like a switch turned off. You … kept your distance. And I spent my time with her. And then when the wedding happened—”

“It was so fast.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was. And things got even weirder between us after the wedding. I feel like we're finally getting back on track. As friends.”

“As friends,” she repeated.

Light streamed in through the restaurant windows, dancing across the loose curls of Ramona's hair. Her hair glowed with oranges and yellows. Sunlight was different in Arizona, brighter somehow. He knew it firsthand from working outside in the desert. And he knew it right now, looking at the soft curve of her cheek, the glow in her eye. Arizona sun was different. And it looked good on her.

The waiter came back with their food and refilled both their waters. Ramona looked at her sandwich for a second, just a second, and said, “Well, at least it doesn't have mayonnaise. You know how I hate that.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She looked at him funny.

“For being there for me,” he said.

“It's not that hard,” she said. “I care so much about your mom. I kind of have to help out, you know?”

“Not just this. Not just now.” He flicked at his straw. “I mean, always. You've always been there for me. So … thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“One of the hardest things about the last couple of months was that I couldn't talk to you about any of it.”

“You could've called me.”

“And talked to you about your sister? I couldn't. Things were complicated enough. And when she ran off, I knew I couldn't vent my feelings with you.”

“You could've.”

“Stop saying that. You know it's not true.”

“You're probably right,” she said.

Their food was getting cold really quickly.

“But now,” he continued, “it's just good to have you back in my life again.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on hers. “It's good to have you back.”

He had to play it safe. He couldn't lose her again. He wanted to kiss her—oh, God, he wanted to kiss her—but he knew that if he did—

Things would change.

Things would go bad.

Just like what happened with Nessa.

“As a friend,” he said. As the words came out of his mouth, they hurt. They caused him actual pain. But in his mind, he knew that he'd done the right thing.

“Okay,” she said. And this time, he couldn't read her expression.

• • •

“Can you help me with these cans?” Debra asked. The doctor had told her not to exert herself, yet there she was, standing on her tiptoes with several cans of soup in each hand.

“Stop,” Ramona nagged. “I told you I can put everything away. You're too—”

“I'm too what, dear?”

“Short,” Ramona answered. “You're too short to put these away. I've got a good two inches on you.”

Debra handed her the cans and pointed toward their destination, the top shelf on the right. “Nice save, dear.”

The back door creaked open. Ramona looked up just in time to see Scott McInney, his muscular arms full of groceries, walk into the kitchen. He had a smile on his face, at least until he saw his fake-wife leaning against the counter. A shadow passed over his face, and his expression morphed from carefree to businesslike.

Every time he entered a room, Ramona's brain stopped and started, like a computer screen blinking on and off. He was her virus, her glitch in the system.

And God, what a glitch. He still wore his BLM shirt, which was at least a size too tight. It clung to his body, smudged and sweat-stained, and the wide expanse of his shoulders and arms flexed underneath.

“Hello, ladies,” he said.

Ramona could've kicked herself. He wasn't supposed to see her staring at him like a piece of meat. It was too embarrassing, especially after their lunch date yesterday. He had made everything abundantly clear: He wanted to be friends.

Friends.

“Stop right there,” Debra demanded. And when Debra demanded something, you obeyed. “That's no way to treat your new wife.”

“No, it's not,” Ramona added playfully. Her cheeks blushed pink.

“Long day at work,” he mumbled, but that wasn't good enough for his mother.

“All the more reason to appreciate Nessa,” she said. Except for the “Nessa” part, Ramona liked where this conversation was headed.

“Kiss her, Scott,” Debra said. “Your father kissed me every chance he got. And look at me now.”

A few days ago, that would've been a joke. But now, after two days of walking and talking and giving orders, she was starting to look like herself again. Her coloring wasn't 100 percent yet, and she was still too skinny, but she didn't move with the same creakiness that she had when she'd first woken up.

“You do look lovely,” Ramona offered.

“Thanks, dear. Now please kiss your husband before I think ill of you.”

Ramona and Scott exchanged glances. They didn't have a choice. Ramona waited for Scott to make the first move, and when he didn't, she wrapped her arms around him and planted her lips on his.

Right away, she felt a jolt of contact, as his soft lips brushed lightly against hers. Then her lips parted, and his tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her for the first time. She certainly hadn't expected that.

It was too late to turn back now, so she returned the favor. Her tongue guided his, feeling its warmth and taking control. She was kissing on her own terms. She grabbed the back of his neck and guided his head to the left. She wrapped her other arm around his trim waist.

That was way too good to be a kiss of friendship.

She pulled away. And when she did, she saw him staring at her, speechless and almost out of breath.

“See?” Debra said. “That wasn't too hard, now, was it?”

“No, ma'am,” Scott answered his mom, but he was still staring at Ramona.

“It certainly didn't look that way,” Debra said. “In fact, I'm surprised you've already been married for three months, considering how you kiss like newlyweds.”

Feeling bold after that moment of sudden passion, Ramona wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “We're just deeply in love, that's all,” she said.

Scott accidentally knocked one of the grocery bags onto the floor. A single orange rolled around the linoleum in a wide circle. After all that hemming and hawing from the other day, he'd actually bought something nutritious.

“Of course,” Debra said. “Listen, why don't you two go out to the garden and spend some time together?”

Ramona gulped. She felt emboldened, but not
that
emboldened. A quick kiss was one thing—especially since they were put on the spot like that—but Debra wanted them to have some serious alone time together, and Ramona didn't feel ready for that yet.

Judging by Scott's expression, he felt the same way.

“But …” Ramona said.

“But we should help you put everything away,” Scott added. Good save!

Debra placed her hands on his chest and pushed him toward the door. “Nonsense,” she said. “I can get Rob to do that for me. He didn't work today, remember?”

“Right.”

Now they didn't have an excuse. None at all.

Ramona and Scott exchanged another look, this one of surrender. They took each other's hands and walked outside.

Because Ramona wasn't entirely made of stone, she got shivers from the gentle pressure that Scott placed on her hand. His hand was so much bigger than hers. Rougher, too. He held her, firm but not too firm. From this simple bit of contact, she knew his strength.

They entered the garden.

Since Debra had her accident, their three-acre plot of land had turned wild and overgrown. It needed Debra's near-constant groundskeeping, and without her, grass sprouted up through cracks in stone and weeds mingled with the flowers. Surely, Scott could've maintained it while Debra was sick, but somehow he didn't.

“It's changed a lot,” Ramona said. “The garden, I mean.”

Scott nodded, but didn't answer.

“We should probably spruce it up before the party,” she continued.

“I'm sure Rob can help you with that,” Scott said. “I keep encouraging him to go outside more.”

Ramona wanted to ask him why he wouldn't fix up the yard. He was a park ranger, after all; out of everyone in the McInney family, he was by far the most qualified. But she didn't want to offend him, so they walked together in silence.