New Point (10 page)

“I am proud of the bar. It was my dream when I got my MBA. My parents owned the original tavern, but it burned down a few years back. Took our some loans, changed the name to honor my mother’s love of the musician, and the rest is history.”

Ah, he’s devoted to his mother.
The warm buzz in my belly grows larger. A man who cares for his family is the kind of man I want to date.

“There’s got to be more to the story than that. Lots of hard work and elbow grease for the man who built the bar with his own hands,” I cajole.

“Something like that.” He shrugs off my compliment, lifting the plate of brownies. “Dessert?”

“Thank you.” I pop a corner off the brownie and toss it into my mouth. It’s perfect – chewy but not too chewy, just the right amount of sweetness, crackly coating on top, and the perfect level of cocoa. I can’t contain the pleasurable groan that slips out after I chew.

Miles clears his throat again. “I shouldn’t have made these.”

“Don’t you dare say that. These are the best brownies I’ve tasted, and I’m kind of an expert on desserts.”

He looks like he’s in pain. “The way you eat them is indecent. You’re not helping my decision to be a gentleman this evening.”

“Oh.”

I drop the remaining brownie on the plate, my lips press into a straight line. Intimacy didn’t really cross my mind until this moment.
What do you expect?
People have sex after dates. I was by no means an innocent virgin before… But now the idea of getting that close to another person petrifies me.

I’m not ready.

“Fu – Zoe, I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a moron.” Again, he somehow silently pulls my gaze to his. A hand cups the back of his neck, his expression forlorn. “Etta would kick my ass for disrespecting you.”

“No,” I hastily interrupt. “This,” I wave around the table, “has been the best date I’ve ever had. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He relaxes marginally, and his hand falls to his side.

“It’s the best date I’ve had too.” His eyes hold mine, unwavering in their intensity.

“Slow.”

“What?” He watches me quizzically.

Shoot. I said that out loud.

“I want to take things slowly.”

He nods and then leans across the table to capture my hand in his again. “We’ll move at whatever pace suits you.”

The corner of my mouth lifts with a smile. “Okay.”

“Don’t take this as me backing down, or any less strength in my interest to spend more time with you. I’m not letting up on you, Zoe. It’s going to take a lot more than a slowdown to get rid of me.”

I laugh, tickling my fingers where they meet his. This must be the most I’ve smiled while on a date. Ever. “I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

He squeezes my hand, eyes alive with delight. “Damn straight.”

“
S
tupid, stupid, stupid.”

What was I thinking, telling Miles I prefer to let whatever’s brewing between us happen slowly? He definitely took that request seriously, because at this point, a three-toed sloth moves faster than we are.

Neither of us had more than the one beer we toasted at the beginning of the meal. After we packed away the dinner remnants into a picnic basket, and Miles scrubbed the grill clean I wondered for the second time if he’d want to stay for a little while longer.

Before I could ask him to stick around, Miles lifted the picnic basket and the cooler toward the steps. I followed him to the landing at the top, resting a hand on the railing.

“Well…” I trailed off lamely. I was the one who told him I wasn’t ready to rush into a relationship, yet there I was, considering pretending I locked myself out again. Too bad the door was wide open, screen door keeping the bugs out.

The basket stacked on top of the cooler was the perfect barrier to separate us. No chance of hug or any other physical contact. What a bummer.

If Miles picked up on my desperation to spend more time with him, he didn’t show it externally. He was laidback, head cocked to the side as he surveyed me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It sounded more like a promise than a simple statement, and my heart rate picked up with anticipation.

“See you tomorrow,” I echoed. He disappeared down the staircase while I watched in a daze. I forced myself to walk away and go inside to the master bathroom where I promptly washed my face with startlingly cold water. It was the only way to break out of the Miles-induced fog.

That brings me to where I am currently curled into the hallway window seat, watching the sun fall into the horizon. Now more than ever I wish there was a girlfriend I could call to gush and who would help me overanalyze the situation.

Stella, my closest friend from college and beyond, fought to remain my friend after Clarkes. Stubborn pride, shame– the list of ridiculous reasons to freeze her out resulted in Stella giving up. She was persistent for the first month, waning slightly in the second, until in the third month, I flat-out begged her to leave me alone when she stopped by Blake’s brownstone.

I’m afraid to call her now and plead for her forgiveness. Not that I deserve it, but I miss her terribly. Stella, with her enormous heart and the way she wasn’t impressed by my familial connections, was the perfect friend for me. Too much time has passed to convince Stella I’ll be a better friend. I will have to find other friendships in New Point to fill the void.

When I get like this, feeling sorry for myself, I know it’s time for a distraction. Lake Michigan calls to me and before I realize where I’m going, the waves lap between my toes.

I wrap my arms around my waist, hugging myself gently. Another step forward and water swirls around my ankles. With each gentle pull of the water, I release nuggets of concern. Will there be another friend as dear to me as Stella? Did it bother Blake that I wanted to finish accomplishing my goal without his help? Why did I tell Miles I wanted to take things slow when my body cries out for his touch?

“Forgive me for this later. I can’t help myself.”

My eyes shoot up, and like he heard me summoning him, Miles is here, dark eyes shimmering with intensity.

His hands cup my neck, hauling me closer none too gently. Warm, persistent lips press against mine, coaxing them apart. I clutch his t-shirt to steady myself as zings of awareness spark all over my body. My knees practically buckle with the force of my desire. Miles’ grip falls from my neck to my waist, aligning my body against his. I let my own hands travel around the back of his neck and link my fingers together.

Am I still standing on my own feet? It feels like I’m floating, circling the ground in lazy spins because he’s more powerful than gravity.

His grip doesn’t slacken around my waist when he pulls away from my face. Like me, Miles is panting, his heaving chest brushing against mine. He rests his forehead against mine while we catch our breath. When my eyes peel open I see a half-smile playing at his lips, teeth sparkling in the moonlight.

As first kisses go, this one surpasses epic like it’s a crack on the sidewalk, effortlessly skyrocketing into extraordinary.

“I was right.”

“Right about what?” I wonder.

“You and I together… explosive.” He moves his head up, but his hands stay firmly on my waist, squeezing gently. “Damn, if you aren’t the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Tingles cascade down the length of my backbone.

“This is all I have to give now,” I tell him solemnly. My gaze drifts away, studying his house looming behind his shoulder.

“Look at me,” he orders quietly.

I blink a few times, eying the line of the second story roof.

“Zoe.”

Reluctantly I shift my gaze back to him. Intensity is dominant in his gaze, but there’s no displeasure to be found. “This wasn’t my greatest show of restraint. I promise you we won’t move any faster than what you’re ready for.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Then I’ll need one more kiss before I say goodnight to you.”

GOOD MORNING ZOE

W
hile I indulge in this morning’s calm before the Monday hustle at the library, Miles silently greets me. Carefully drawn in the sand underneath my deck are the oversized letters.

We stood there, kissing under the spotlight of the moon for only a few more minutes until I insisted on calling it a night. It’s not that he frightened me. No, it was the exact opposite.
I
scared me. In those moments together, I found myself. The girl who was once comfortable in her own skin, who counted her blessings and lived each day as though it was a gift, was the one fingering the hair at nape of Miles’ neck and pressing goodnight kisses to his cheek.

With him, I found a fraction of my old self.

From inside I hear my cell phone blaring and I hurry inside to answer it.
Dr. Wilson calling
says my caller ID. The doctor’s receptionist is on the other line when I answer, telling me she can schedule an appointment this afternoon if I’d like. Dr. Wilson’s office is a short walk from the library, and I schedule to meet with the doctor over lunch.

My morning tasks sail by, and before I know it, my summer readers are arriving for their camp. Last night Miles didn’t mention anything about seeing me this morning, so when he steers a happily gabbing Duke into the library, I can hardly contain my delight.

“Good morning,” I greet them as neutrally as possible, when all I want to do is kiss Miles again.

And again.

The fantasy is short-lived when the front door of the library bursts open and a Lacey clad in a tight dress and sky-high stilettos stalks inside. That’s definitely club gear. Does this girl have no daytime clothing?

“Miles,” she pouts, ignoring everyone else.

“Morning ladies,” he says smoothly, keeping his friendly smile trained on the tentative Alexa.

There’s definitely something between Miles and Lacey, whether it’s in the past or not remains to be seen. I’ll ask Miles about her the next time we’re alone, though after last night’s date and subsequent kisses, I’m not too concerned about her presence.

It’s time for me to slip into professional mode, not lust-crazy lady. Other children arrive and capture my attention. Before I know it, the morning session is done. When Lacey and Miles return to pick up their charges, I’m too busy recommending a book to a parent to talk to either one.

Sharon mans my desk while I’m out to lunch. I’d gotten caught up in an email exchange with a member of the library’s board and was running late when I finally left for my appointment with Dr. Wilson. I only realize when I am seated in the waiting room that I don’t know a thing about the psychologist I am about to meet. Is the doctor a male or a female? Young or old? What experience do they have with traumatized librarians? Dr. Greene wouldn’t have sent me to someone he didn’t trust, but I am still baffled by my own lack of interest in this new doctor. Maybe I truly am getting better.

Then the door opens.

“Ms. Baker?” the friendly female voice asks, stepping out from her office and flashing me what I’ve come to call the classic therapist smile – muted but polite.

It’s rude, but I stare at her with my mouth gaping open like a gold fish. There was no surprise to be found on her face, she knew it was me on the other side of the door. She’s known about me for a month, I bet, having gotten my file from Dr. Greene.

“Ready?” she asks pleasantly.

Shakily, I rise to my feet, clutching my purse to my front like a shield. “S-sure,” I stutter, following Miles’ sister Etta into her office.

So much for keeping a low profile.

“Before we get started, I want to remind you about doctor-patient confidentiality. I will not,” she emphasizes her words with stark eye contact, “tell anyone outside of this room about our sessions. With your permission, I may call your previous provider. As I said, that will only happen with your consent.”

“Um…” I stammer, lowering myself into her oatmeal-cushioned, wood-legged couch. She waits patiently. Unlike the other times I’ve seen her, Etta now appears perfectly in control. There are no signs of exhaustion, and she isn’t the least bit frazzled. Her professional dress molds to her body and not a hair falls out of place.

Finally I remember what I want to say. “I am aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, but I’m a little put off having sessions with someone who I am already closely connected with outside of this office.”

She nods. “That’s understandable.”

Like Dr. Greene, she plays the waiting game until I speak.

The thermostat must be set to full heat, because there’s a fat trickle of perspiration dripping down my spine.
Gross.
Flashes of my future distract me from continuing my thoughts aloud. I envision my first meeting with Etta, spilling my sad story to her. In another second, I see her at Blue in Green, face gentle with sympathy as she tells Miles about my past. Lastly, there’s Miles standing at the foot of my deck staircase, watching me like I’m a fragile glass vase, susceptible to shattering with too tight a grip.

No.

I won’t let happen.

I realize I’ve been sitting silently for a few minutes when I find Etta watching me with unmasked concern.

No.