My One and Only. Kristan Higgins
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The Mustang driver had stopped, right in the middle of the road.
“Everything okay?” Dennis asked blearily.
“Yes. Sorry, hon. Some idiot who shouldn’t be driving.” The woman had just stopped. Yes, the ranger had warned about wildlife on the road, but there was no elk, no moose, nothing to explain the delay.
Dennis sat up, rubbing his eyes. Coco licked him on the chin, then poked her little nose out the window, snuffling. She whined and wagged. “You like it here, honey?” I asked my pet.
“It’s pretty,” Dennis said.
The red Mustang had not moved an inch. We were on a sharp curve, too, so passing would definitely be inadvisable, not that I’d seen many other cars. Should I try it? I tapped the horn again. Nothing. No grizzly bear, no elk, no goat, no response. “Come on,” I groaned. The sooner this weekend started, the sooner I could get back to normal. The driver didn’t move. Stroke? Heart attack? Flashback to the Civil War? I leaned on the horn again—alas, it was a rather friendly-sounding horn, as the rental was a Honda. Give me a good old-fashioned Detroit-made blare any day.
“Come on, Florence!” I yelled out the window. “Can you please move it?”
The driver of the car extended an arm out the window. And a finger.
It was a male arm…and finger.
And then the car door opened, and the driver got out, and was neither female nor a Civil War veteran. My hands slid off the steering wheel.
It was Nick.
He took off his sunglasses and looked at me and though I was fairly sure my expression hadn’t changed—I was rather paralyzed at the moment—my heart lurched, my mouth went dry, my legs turned to water.
Nick. He folded his arms and tilted his head, his eyes narrowed, and my heart flinched as if it had been punched. A roaring sound filled my ears.
Coco yipped.
“Problem?” Dennis asked.
“Um…no.” Without further explanation, I put the car in Park and got out.
“Harper?” Dennis asked. “Dude, don’t make a scene.”
Funny, to be so outwardly calm as I approached my ex-husband. You’re not a dumb kid anymore, I reminded myself distantly, but the words didn’t mean much, not when my entire being burned with electricity.
“Oh, Nick, it’s you,” I said mildly, pleased to find my voice sounded mostly normal. “I assumed you were an old woman riddled with cataracts.”
“And I assumed you were a Massachusetts driver with anger-management issues.” His tone was as pleasant as mine. “I see one of us was right.”
He was older. Abruptly, there was a lump in my throat. Of course he’s older, I told myself. So are you. It’s been a long time. His dark hair was shot with silver, and crow’s feet radiated from his eyes, those tragic dark brown gypsy eyes a little cool, a little suspicious. He was thinner now, his face bordering on careworn. His clothes immediately identified him as a cool New Yorker…dark jeans, white button-down with a quality and cut that made him look sophisticated and polished…all the things he’d wanted to be way back when.
Twelve years. What a horribly long time, and yet not even close to being long enough.
Then he smiled the way I remembered—that instant smile that flashed like lightning and had about the same results. Heat, electricity, light and possible injury and/or death, and I was glad I still had my sunglasses on. The last thing I wanted was for Nick to know he could still…affect me. One crack in the armor, and Nick would be in there with a hammer and a chisel, and he wouldn’t stop till there was nothing left but a pile of rust. That’s how it had been back then, and judging by my staggering heart, that’s how it was still.
“You look good,” he said, sounding almost surprised.
“You, too.” Then, hoping to get him to look away from me, I nodded at the Mustang. “I see you’re having a midlife crisis,” I said.
“Same to you,” he returned, jerking his chin. Ah. Dennis was approaching. Thank God. My boyfriend’s overall manly appearance was somewhat diminished by the fact that he was holding my rather tiny dog and stroking her head, and she wore her pink patent-leather collar, but still.
“Is that a rattail?” Nick murmured.
“He’s a firefighter,” I said, appropos of nothing.
“Of course he is. It was that or pool boy.” Nick smiled as Dennis drew near.
I looped my arm through my boyfriend’s. “Dennis, meet Nick Lowery. Nick, Dennis Costello.”
“Nice to meet you, Dennis.”
“Same here.” They shook hands. “Are you going to the wedding, too?” Dennis asked.
“Yes, I am.” Nick raised an eyebrow at me.
“Cool,” Dennis said. “So how do you guys know each other?”
“Biblically,” Nick answered.
“Nick’s my ex-husband, Dennis,” I said a bit sharply. “I’m sure I mentioned it once. Possibly twice.”
“Oh, right!” He glanced at me, then back at Nick. “So why’d you stop?”
“Taking in the sights.” Nick pointed. About three hundred yards off the road, down the steep meadow, a black bear shuffled slowly along the bank of a clear, broad river. It stopped to sniff the wind, stood up on its hind legs, then dropped back down and continued. Coco whined, certain she could take the beast.
“Dude, is that a dog?” Dennis asked. I closed my eyes. If only Dennis were the strong and silent type…
“Black bear,” Nick said.
“Awesome.” To Den’s credit, the bear did sort of resemble a big, black Newfie. After another minute or two, it disappeared into the long grass.
The two men looked at each other once more. “So you’re the ex,” Dennis said.
“Yet I lived to tell the tale,” Nick confirmed.
Dennis gave a snort of laughter, aborted by my murderous look. He petted Coco, looking a bit like Dr. Evil stroking the hairless cat. Nick just stared at me, his eyes mocking, and my face grew hot. Dragging my eyes off him, I looked at Dennis. “Honey?” I asked brightly. “Want to drive?” I asked.
“I thought you didn’t want me to,” Dennis answered. Nick’s eyebrow rose knowingly.
“Would you like to drive now?” I asked, keeping a smile on my face.
“Uh…sure. Come on, Coco-Buns.” The pet name failed to reinforce Dennis’s heterosexuality, and I stifled a sigh as my boyfriend obediently walked back to the car and got into the driver’s side, letting Coco stand on his lap, her paws on the wheel.
I didn’t move. “I hear you approve,” I said to Nick.
“I hear you don’t.” He looked at me a beat or two, steadily. “Take off those damn sunglasses, Harper.”
With an exaggerated sigh, I obeyed. “Better?”
He didn’t answer, just stared at me with those gypsy eyes, and I looked right back. Twelve years’ distance, a career spent in court, staring down idiot lying spouses… Don’t mess with me, Nick. He seemed to sense it, because he looked away abruptly, back in the direction of the shambling bear. “Drinks later? For the sake of the kids?”
Do not be alone with him.
It was a line I often said to my clients. Seeing him alone would muddy the waters, stir up emotions best left untouched, possibly make you agree to things you shouldn’t.
I replaced my sunglasses. “Sure. Are you staying at the lodge?”