Little Miss Lovesick (2 page)

“Uh, wait right here,” said The Diet Coke Man, and he rushed back inside. As he opened the door, my eyes followed his left hand — bu
t
accidentall
y
. Didn’t matter. Couldn’t tell. A moment later he was back, ripping a wad of napkins from a plastic package.

I swear, if he started dabbing at my chest with them like Hugh Grant did to Julia Roberts i
n
Notting Hil
l
, I’d pour the rest of my pop over his head.

“Here, I’ll trade you,” he said as he took the can and handed me the napkins.

“Thanks.” I tried to blot my shirt without making a peep show out of the black lace. I turned slightly to my right for a bit of privacy. Why did I wear this on
a
campin
g
trip?

I glanced up to see if he was watching. He smiled. My hand paused while blotting my shirt. This man’s smile was so — s
o
gorgeou
s
. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue. I wanted to offer him the smallest of smiles back. After all, he did look fairly innocent and embarrassed. Instead, I stopped giving him the evil eye. That was as accommodating as I was willing to be.

A Rescuing Hero if I ever saw on
e
, sighed Lovesick.

I tried to think of something to say, something funny to diffuse the tension. Something smart so I wouldn’t look like such a dork.

“I, uh…”

“I’m really sorry,” he said. He took my damp napkins and handed me back my pop can. With his left hand.

No ring
!
Lovesick squealed.

“Let me buy you another shirt,” he said, nodding at my wet chest. He was trying to pretend he wasn’t still staring. Rather gentlemanly for the backwoods.

He was already halfway through the door when I mumbled something that was supposed to be, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get a fresh one from my suitcase,” but came out as, “No, I-I…”

A moment later he pressed a blue plaid button-down flannel shirt into my hands. I stared at it trying to remember a time I had ever worn a flannel shirt. Before I could think about it further, he grabbed it, ripped the tag off with his teeth, and handed the shirt back to me.

I blinked at him. He was so not Dirk. I liked that about him.

“Sorry again,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get a few things done before we get started.” He trotted off the porch to a nearby pickup (which he’d left unlocked in a decidedly small town way) and started rummaging around.

Before we what? I stood there staring stupidly after him, a flannel shirt in one hand and a forgotten pop can in the other. A fly buzzed past my nose and I snapped out of my trance.

You could go over and talk to hi
m
,
suggested Lovesick.

Of all the things I might do on this trip, I wa
s
no
t
going to flirt with some handsome stranger. No freaking way. My plan was to get over men, not rebound like a basketball.

He wasn’t even that handsome. Honestly. His hair was too long, well past his collar. And his hands were too rough, as I remembered from when he wiped the Sprite from my cheek. And…and he smiled too much. Yeah. Seriously annoying.

Before I could think about it much more, I hurried into the store. Girls only. This is a girls-only fishing trip. Say it like a mantra. No boys allowed.

Okay. Deep breath. Close your eyes. Calm. Calm. Girls-only fishing trip. That means nature, which means tranquility, which means peace.

I opened my eyes. The inside of the store was as much a surprise as the outside had been. I expected more of what was in the general store in the last town — tourist trinkets and junk food and fluorescent lighting. The Abundance Creek Store had windows on three sides, letting the sunshine bounce off the polished wood beams in the ceiling and walls, and the well-worn but polished hardwood floor. One full wall held nothing but fishing tackle, most of which I knew was fishing tackle only because this was a fishing lodge.

As I walked around, I noticed fishing poles in a huge wooden barrel, a magazine and book rack, two full aisles of canned and boxed food, even a few kitchen utensils. I walked past a refrigerated unit with a sliding glass top and looked in hoping for a frozen Snickers bar. At first I thought the little tubs might be homemade ice cream or something since they had no labels. Then I saw something move under the plastic lid.

I jumped back, gasping and wrinkling my nose. The sign above the fridge read — Night Crawlers, Fresh Water Shrimp, Black Flies. Ugh! I looked back at the wall o
f
artificia
l
lures gratefully. That’s where I’d be shopping if necessary.

I smiled as I passed Janice and Shelley, and walked over to the book and magazine rack. There was one copy each of some novels that had been on th
e
New York Time
s
bestseller list at some point. Some of the hunting and fishing magazines were special editions. The rest were either May, June, or July issues. I’d hazard a guess that these constituted the entire summer inventory. But still, it was a nice touch. You can never have too much reading material on vacation.

I picked up a copy o
f
Fisherman’s Weekl
y
and flipped through it.

“If I can help you with anything, let me know.”

Startled, I whirled around, bumping my elbow into the person behind me. “Oh, sor—”

I stopped in mid-apology. It was him, The Diet Coke Man. I tried to move away, but my back was against the bookshelf. I felt a little shock, like when you were a kid and put a 9-volt battery on your tongue. It scared me at the same time that it made my heart race.

It’s the sugar. I ate enough to throw an entire kindergarten class into a coma. He’s not making my heart race; it’s the sugar. I slowly turned away and put the magazine down. Don’t look at him. Just nod and smile, then pretend he’s not there.

A muscular arm reached around me and moved the magazine back to its original spot. I realized I’d pu
t
Fisherman’s Weekl
y
in front of a stack o
f
Bow & Arrow Huntin
g
magazines. I felt the heat from his body and got a whiff of his aftershave or deodorant or something. I grabbed one of the books and read the back cover. Safe to be reading. People don’t talk to you when you’re reading.

His presence sent tickles up my back. Which was stupid. My shirt was still wet and sticky from him spilling pop on me. That was the cause of the ticklish feeling. I couldn’t focus on reading the book so I put it back. The arm reached around me again with more magazines, arranging them on the shelf in front of me.

I got the feeling I was invading his precious orderly wilderness. It’s wild. That’s the point of calling i
t
wil
d
erness. What was he doing anyway? He must work here, I guess. But Patty said this place was owned and operated by a friend of hers.

I turned back to him. “Am I in your way?”

Ooo, attitude girlfrien
d
, said a Voice.

Crap, I hadn’t meant to sound so rude. But he was unnerving me.

He looked up from straightening candy bars in the snack rack behind us. I watched as a dimple appeared to anchor one corner of his grin. What is it everyone loves about dimples, anyway? They’re just big vertical wrinkles.

“No, not at all.” He picked up an empty candy box from the floor and broke down the ends, folding it into a neat square.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about spilling your drink.” His gaze dropped to my shirt for a second, then popped back up. I folded my arms across my chest and scowled.

His eyes were that shade of bright blue that surely only comes from colored contacts. No one aside from Paul Newman has eyes that blue.

“Do you need any help with the shirt?” He pointed to the one he’d given me earlier, still in my hand.

I knew it! He’s some kind of redneck gigolo. “I don’t know what you think I came up here for, but it wasn’t to be hit on by you. I’m just here to fish, okay?”

I saw his eyebrows raise before I turned on my heel and stalked away. There. That should sho
w
hi
m
. I gave myself a mental high-five.

“I was only going to tell you where the bathroom is,” I heard him say.

Little Miss Lovesick sighed
.
It’s a pretty bad day when you confuse a gentleman with a gigolo.

CHAPTER 2

WHAT was wrong with me?

I wandered around the store moping. I just wanted to be my old self again. Have a nice man, a nice house. Heck, even a nice vacation. I didn’t need to be ecstatic. Just regular, run-of-the-mill happy. I used to be a very nice person not so long ago. Now even I didn’t like my company very much. Not since the night Dirk dumped me.

The most horrible night of my lif
e
, said Little Miss Lovesick.

A night I desperately wanted to forget. Even forgetfulness would be happiness for now.

“Syd, isn’t this awesome?” Emily gushed as I approached. “They’ve got everything anyone could need to stay here fo
r
week
s
. There’s food, reading material, a phone
,
an
d
we’re getting fishing lessons! I am going t
o
freak ou
t
! Oh, look at this hat! It’s like, Indiana Jones Goes Fishing!”

Welcome to Emily-On-Sugar. I smiled as the hat nearly encompassed her whole face. She put it back and walked toward the creepy-crawler cooler.

She took a big breath and closed her eyes, smiling in bliss. “Ah, the smell of earth and fish and worms. Doesn’t it smell wonderful? We haven’t been here an hour yet and I’m ready to stay for weeks! You brought your camera, right? W
e
hav
e
to take pictures. Hey, what happened to your shirt?”

I shook my head and smiled. If I could package her exuberance, I could sell it and be rich. Emily didn’t have problems; she had dilemmas and challenges. She didn’t see half-full or half-empty glasses; she saw a dish cabinet full of possibilities. I sighed and looked down at my damp shirt. I only saw problems. Lately, anyway.

“Someone bumped into me,” I said. “Personally, I’d check the expiration date on the food before I decided to stay here for weeks.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s not meant to completely feed you. It’s
a
supplemen
t
. That’s why we’re takin
g
fishin
g
lessons. We’ll learn to go back to our hunter/gatherer roots. We’ll fend for ourselves. It’s going to be great!”

She walked along the wall of tackle. I touched a fishing lure that looked like fur. Emily examined some bug-shaped ones. “Besides, think how much money we’re saving being away from the malls and the sales flyers.”

“What I’m thinking about, Em, is the fact that you spent twice your weekly shopping budget on the new sleeping bag—”

Emily put on her serious face. “Necessary, didn’t have one.”

“—the new luggage—”

“I couldn’t bring my Louis Vuitton bags up here.” She looked appalled.

“—the new fishing vest—”

Emily was getting “the look.” “Whatever,” she said.

“—the new fishing clothes—”

She was trying not to smile now.
“
What. Ever
.
Whatever. Talk to the hand.” She raised her hand and started walking away.

“You’ve saved a lot of money by getting away from the malls this weekend, Em. I see what you mean.”

She turned and gently pretend-slugged me in the shoulder. As I laughed and began to turn away, she grabbed my shoulders and turned me back to face her.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Do not turn around,” she said.

“What?” I tried to turn around, of course, because that’s what you do when people say “don’t look” — you look.

“I said don’t turn around,” she said in a whisper and pulled me a little further into the aisle.

Her eyes were fixed like a bird dog’s on something behind me. Come to think of it, she really did remind me of a pointer I saw once, completely consumed and unblinking. The dog I remembered was black and Emily’s hair is black as night. It made me start to laugh a little.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Casually, turn and look but then turn around like you don’t see anything.”

I tried to casually turn as she instructed. I don’t know what I expected — a wild animal or a ghost or something. But all I saw was some of the women from our trip, Sprite Guy, and another tourist fisherman guy. I turned around and shrugged.

“What?” Apparently this was the wrong behavior for our undercover surveillance.

“Shh! Don’t act like you’re looking.”

“But I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

She groaned. “Oh, now there it is. That is trul
y
nic
e
. Okay, over by the fishing poles. Look toward the window. But don’
t
loo
k
.”

I turned slowly in the direction of the big barrel and finally saw what Em was looking at.
A
ver
y
fine piece of God’s creation was bending over the barrel showing off the back of his Levi’s. Nice. Round. And long legs underneath.

I turned back to Emily and grinned.

“See?” She giggled. “Now that is on
e
fin
e
sit-down.”

“I hate to say it, but I would have to agree with you,” I said as I took another peek. Not that I wa
s
lookin
g
-looking, but I was trying to remember that’s what girl trips are for, right? To laugh a lot, enjoy the scenery, and go home?

As we both giggled and “enjoyed the scenery,” the scenery changed. Up from the bottom of the barrel rose Sprite Guy.

No freaking way. Man, he was everywhere I turned.

Emily giggled again. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

I turned away. “Well, it’
s
no
t
what I’m talking about.”

“He’s cute. Bu
t
manl
y
cute.” Emily let the word roll off her tongue in a deep, husky voice, then laughed. “You know who he reminds me of? The Diet Coke Man. Remember, from those commercials. Tall, dark, and handsome? And brawny as — Hey! Syd!”

She finally noticed I had walked away.

She grabbed my arm as she caught up to me. “Seriously, doesn’t he remind you of The Diet Coke Man?”

“Yeah, yeah, but he’s the Sprite guy.” I tried to be sure my tone implied that I had no interest in him whatsoever.

“What? There’s no Sprite guy. No, it’s Diet Coke that has the commercials with the construction worker and the girls in the office—”

I turned to face her and whispered, “
I
kno
w
what you’re talking about. What I’m talking about is he’s the guy who spilled Sprite on me earlier.” I gestured to my shirt. “He’s annoying.” I didn’t mean to, but I glanced his way again. “Sweet, but annoying. This is a girls-only fishing trip and I don’t want him to think we would love for him to join us. That’s all I’m saying, okay?”

Sweet? Why did I say he was sweet? I picked up a can of peas and pretended to read the label. Hmm, 30% of daily Vitamin C can be found in one serving of peas. Interesting.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Emily look from me to him and back. “Wow. He’s sweet, huh?”

Crap! I slammed the can on the shelf. As soon as she said the words, I started mentally shopping for a Sydney-sized muzzle. Emily is quick to play matchmaker, especially since Dirk and I broke up.

Her eyes were alight with mischief. “You actually noticed a man? Did you talk to him? Come on, we’ll introduce ourselves.”

If I walk backwards, can I have hindsigh
t
befor
e
I get in trouble?

I planted my feet as she started to pull me away. “Emily! I already met him. He may be cute, but he—” I looked around to be sure he wasn’t nearby. “He’s just trying to pick up women.”

“Oh, really?”

You’ve never experienced “her gaze pinned her to the wall” until you’ve had Emily stare you down to get information. Escape is impossible.

“Forget him, Em. Girls trip. Who cares? He already used a line on me anyway, but I told him to get lost.”

Emily folded her arms and smiled.

Shooty. Hindsight again.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. And what, pray tell, was the line?”

In the movies, you can disarm a bomb before it goes off. You just have to choose the red wire or the blue wire.

“It was nothing. Something about helping me change my shirt. It was stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

Emily peered over her shoulder looking for the man in question. Then she moved closer and grabbed my arm, whispering, “The Diet Coke Man wants to take off your shirt? You should go tell him yes!”

I knew I should’ve cut the blue wire.

I looked at Emily for an instant, letting my eyes dart over her shoulder to the fine form once again digging something — trash? — from the bottom of that damn barrel. Emily followed my gaze and let out a low whistle.

Mortified, I darted away. I saw Mikki and Tracey and another girl named Laura nearby. They followed Em’s gaze and giggled.

I peeked out from the end of an aisle, examining a box of Cheerios. The Diet Coke Man stood and walked toward the cash register. He rang up that other fisherman who’d been looking at tackle. He seemed oblivious to the commotion he was causing. Faker. How can he not notice so many women admiring his fabulous form?

His eyes met mine across the room and his smile faded to politeness. Well, great, make me feel bad then. I pretended to study the back of the cereal box. I may be in a pissy mood, but I really don’t mean to be piss
y
a
t
people.

I sighed in genuine despair. This vacation was not a good idea.

“Ladies, over here please!” I heard Patty’s voice and saw a disconnected arm waving from behind one of the shelves to my far right. She i
s
so shor
t
. But then look who’s talking. I swear people don’t take me seriously just because I’m short and I look younger than I am.

Emily came up behind me and whispered, “We should get her one of those fake hands from the Halloween store and put it on a stick for her to wave. Then everyone can see her.”

I chuckled as we moved closer to hear. Leave it to Emily to try to make me laugh when I needed it. I leaned against a shelf of various gloves and other outdoor paraphernalia. I always thought the gray gloves with the red stripes on them only looked right on railroad guys. You know, train engineers and stuff.

“Can you all hear me? Quiet down now. We’re going to unpack and relax in a few minutes, but first our fishing guide would like to give us the itinerary for the weekend. Matt?”

“Welcome to Abundance Creek, ladies,” said a familiar voice. I dropped the ugly green gloves I was playing with and looked up in alarm.

Emily stood on her tiptoes, then grinned back at me and pulled me closer. There he was. The Sprite Guy, who looked amazingly like The Diet Coke Man, was the fishing guide. I closed my eyes and groaned. I can’t believe I thought th
e
fishing guid
e
was hitting on me!

I thought about everything he’d said to me today. Not once did he say, “Let’s play house.” Not “I’d like to suck your lips off.” Not even “Would you like to have dinner?” Gun-shy. Isn’t that what they call women like me?

Hopeless. That’s what I call women like me.

He’s gorgeou
s
, breathed Little Miss Lovesick.

I ignored her, clueless as to how to argue.

“I’m Matt Engel, and I’ll be your fishing guide this weekend. I’ll teach you how to fly fish, how to clean your catch, cook it, whatever you want.”

Emily leaned over and whispered, “Whatever I want? How about father my children?”

I elbowed her to be quiet. Matt’s eyes met mine and I looked away. Picking up a Thermos from the shelf next to me, I unscrewed the top. Nice. I screwed it back on and put it down. Anything to keep from meeting those electric blue eyes.

“Unless you already have dibs on him,” Em whispered. “Then we’ll have to work something out.”

I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks
.
“Em!
”
I whispered. I knew she was teasing me, but I couldn’t keep myself from reacting.

“If you go exploring, please do everyone a favor and let people know where you’re going so we know where to send the search party if you don’t come back.”

Everyone laughed. I bet he was serious, though. It seemed like we drove forever to get here and passed very little on the way. I remembered the wolves and shivered. I’d stay close to the lodge.

“There’s plenty of fun and relaxing things to do around Abundance Creek, but if you just want to be left alone—”

He looked straight at me and winked.

“—we’re happy to oblige.”

H
e
winke
d
at me. Why did he do that?