Willow Smoke (55 page)

She knew h
e
was
trying
to
read
her
response,
but
she
was
keeping
it
closely
guarded.

“Probably
three
days,”
he
added.”
He
squeezed
her
fingers.
“I’m
glad
you
decided
to come.”

“Oh, I expect to do that
frequently. You may be limp by the time we get back.”

“I
hope
that’ll
be
only
a
temporary
condition.”

“It
better
be.”
Daisy
lifted
his
hand
and
placed
it
on
the
blanket.
“Maybe
we
should
tidy
up
here
before
we
do
something
in
public
that
will
embarrass
both
of
us.”

After
disposing
of
their
garbage
and
stuffing
the
thin
blanket
and
leftovers
in
backpacks,
Nick
and
Daisy
mounted
the
bike,
with
Nick
in
front
and
Daisy
behind.
Riding
along
the
lake
front,
Daisy
appreciated
the opportunity to stretch her
legs.
She’d
been
shocked
when
he’d
arrived
at
her
place
with
a
two
person
bicycle.

Sometimes
she
thought
the
man
was
merely
eccentric,
and
other
times
simply
nuts. This was one of the latter times.

She
matched
her
pace
to
his
and
they
moved
quite
smoothly
along
the
bike
path,
as
if
they
had
done
this
many
times
before.
Nick
glanced
over
his
shoulder
and
gave
her
a
wicked
smile.
“How’s
it
going
back
there?”

“Quite
peaceful,”
she
responded,
ignoring
his
innuendo.
“Do
we
have
a
destination?”

“Only
when
we
get
there.”

Daisy
nodded.
Why
did
that
not
surprise?

Nick
wiggled
the
front
wheel
back
and
forth
as
he
announced,
“It’s
the
process
that
counts. If the process is good,
we’ll
get
to
where
we’re
going.”

Daisy
shook
her
head.
And
there
were
moments
when
she
thought
she
was
hanging
out
with
a
burned
out
druggie.
That
wasn’t
the
case.
Nick
Underwood
didn’t
require
any
artificial
substance
to
give
him
a
high.
He
seemed
to
have
them
quite
naturally
and
quite
often.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me
your answer, Do!”
He
sang
off
key
at
the
top
of
his
lungs,
“I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.”

She
poked
his
ribs
hard.
He
continued
bellowing
like
a
lovesick
bull.
Giving
up,
she
closed
her
eyes
and
hoped
no
curious
onlookers
would
recognize
her.

His
words
washed
over
her
with
more
meaning
than
perhaps
intended.
No
man
had ever sung to her, even in jest. Only
her mother sang to her when she was very
young.

There
was
comfort
in
his
words,
in
his
presence.
Daisy
took
a
deep
breath
and
tried
to
relax.
That
his
singing
to
her
was
comforting
was
good;
maybe
it
would
balance
all
that
was
scary
about
having
him
around
too
much.
A
girl—even
she—could
get
used
to
this
pampering.

Nick
was
a
very
serious
businessman,
but
it
was
his
capacity
for
play
that
amused
Daisy
and
endeared
him
to
her.
He
had
wormed
his
way
into
her
life
in
a
big
way.
It
was
becoming
more
difficult
to
imagine
her
life
without
him.

While
he
could
make
her
laugh,
he
could
also
touch a part of
her that she thought
she’d
walled
off
from
exploration
by
any
outsider.
Nick
Underwood
was
dangerous
for
Daisy
Matthews.
Daisy
gripped
the
handle
bars
tight.
She
had
to
commit
that
mantra to memory and repeat it like a rosary.

It
would
be
painful
enough
when
they
had
to
say
good-bye.
She
could
not
allow
herself to care about him too much.

“How
about
an
ice
cream
cone?”
Nick
hollered,
leaving
off
his
singing
and
interrupting
her
thoughts.

“Sure,” she replied,
grateful for the
suggestion
and
the
fact
that
he
did
not
renew
his
interest
in
serenading
her.

Within
minutes,
they
were
both
devouring
vanilla
cones.
Nick
tried
desperately
to
catch
a
glob
of
ice
cream
before
it
slid off
his
cone
onto
his
hand.
She
giggled
and
handed
him
a
napkin.

“Saved
again,”
he
said.
“You
have
a
habit
of
doing
that,
you
know.”

Daisy
shrugged
and
ran
her
tongue
along
the
lip
of
her
cone,
trying
to
stay
ahead
of
her
own
meltdown.

“You’re
becoming
quite
habit
forming,”
he
added.

Her
eyes
bugged
wide
at
his
strained
nonchalance.
Again,
she
held
her
tongue
by
busying
herself
with
the
cone.

“I’ve
had
worse
habits,”
Nick
quipped.

“Oh?”
Daisy
raised
her
chin
briefly
hoping
that
his
line
of
thinking
might
redirect
the conversation
from them to prior bad habits.

“We
don’t
want
to
go
there.”
Nick
scowled.
“Don’t
you
ever
eat
ice
cream?”

“Huh?”

“My
cone
is
nearly
history,
and
there
you
are
still
running
your
tongue
over
that
cone
like
it’s
the
last
one
you’ll
ever
have.”