Beyond Ordinary Love Page 4

  “It’s a great pleasure to meet you,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheeks. “I look forward to seeing you later. And I hope to spend more time with you before you move out west.”

  “Oh, my,” Rhoda cooed, pressing her hands to her plump cheeks and giggling like a schoolgirl. “You’re such a handsome devil, aren’t you?”

  “What about me?” cried Joe.

  “You’re a handsome devil, too,” Rhoda told him.

  “I’m not talking to you!” Joe said to his wife. “Is it only a marginal pleasure to meet me, J.B.? Is that where this is going?”

  Baptiste laughed. Ever since he’d set foot in Journey’s End the other day, and especially since he met Samira, it seemed as though he couldn’t laugh hard enough, often enough. It felt like he had to make up for the time lost to his unhappy childhood and all the lonely years of his adulthood.

  “It was an equally great pleasure to meet you, Joe,” Baptiste told him.

  “But I don’t get all the kissing,” Joe grumbled.

  Baptiste reached for him, making a show of puckering his lips. “I’m more than happy to—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Joe said, shooing him away. “Get out of here.”

  Baptiste watched them go for a minute, feeling a faint and irrational pang of loss. And he wondered, as he rubbed his aching chest, how differently his life might have turned out if his parents had ever shown him a tenth of the warmth he’d just experienced with Samira’s lovely parents.

  3

  While Joe and Rhoda set off to find their dogs, Baptiste and Raymond headed for the gazebo. Baptiste scanned the crowd for Samira, his heart pumping pleasantly faster, but there was no sign of her.

  “You have a fine little town here,” he told Raymond. “I like it quite well.”

  “Oh, yes,” Raymond said, yanking Bobsy’s leash when he veered too close to a hot dog bun lying on the grass. “My husband and I have been here for several years. We lived in the city before that, but once we had kids, there was just no way to navigate them around the city with their strollers and car seats.”

  “Do you miss Manhattan?”

  “It’s close enough that we go down for the weekend whenever we want to,” Raymond said. “Actually, it feels like half the city is up here these days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the market is booming here. It started as a weekend getaway spot, but now it’s got so many amenities that people are dying to buy here.”

  Baptiste’s attention snagged on this information, which seemed important.

  “Interesting. And are there any special houses coming to market these days?”

  “Oh, yes. Let me think…” Raymond looked around, snapped his fingers and pointed to a huge white clapboard house higher up on the hill overlooking the park. “We call that Howard’s Folly. A guy named Howard bought it a few years back, when the market tanked, and started all these renovations that he couldn’t afford. Then the bank took it back and now it’s been sitting empty. It’ll take a special buyer to—Baptiste?”

  Raymond looked around, discovered that Baptiste had stopped dead, several feet behind him, and went back to him. “What happened? You okay?”

  Baptiste nodded quickly and tried to smile even though his lungs had seized up. He rubbed his chest, trying to catch his breath.

  Was he okay?

  He hardly knew, despite the fact that he’d been asking himself that very question regularly since he arrived in town. All he could say for sure was that the strangest feeling of something—recognition? Expectation? Excitement? —washed over him at the sight of the house.

  What was so special about it? Nothing, really, although it clearly had potential, with its massive wraparound front porch, mature trees and dark shutters.

  And yet…

  In another of those disturbing flashes that were coming so fast and furious lately, he experienced a string of visions that were as thrilling as they were alarming:

  Pulling into that house’s driveway at the end of a long day, porch and interior lights blazing in welcome;

  Dragging a Christmas tree through the doorway, dusting off the snow as he went; and

  Pouring a glass of wine and cooking dinner (he didn’t cook!) inside the state-of-the-art chef’s kitchen.

  Woven through it all?

  Samira.

  Smiling at him. Laughing with him. Kissing him. Hugging him.

  Loving him.

  “Baptiste? You look a little pale. Can I get you some water?”

  It took a great deal of concentrated effort, but Baptiste tore his gaze away from his house and… No, not his house! He didn’t own this house! He owned a house in Bordeaux and an apartment in Paris.

  The house. He tore his gaze away from the house.

  After a semi-fortifying breath, he dredged up half a smile, which was all he could manage with his head spinning.

  “I’m good,” he told Raymond. “I’m afraid I wore myself out bike riding earlier.”

  Raymond’s face darkened with concern. “Well, here, let me get you—”

  “I’m fine,” Baptiste insisted, but he wasn’t. The fading sun was suddenly too hot, the air too close, and his straining lungs and tight throat absolutely could not drag in a complete breath. He eyeballed a clump of trees at the edge of the park, thinking it looked like the perfect place to collapse and freak out by himself, if only he could get there. “You go ahead. I’m going to take a minute.”

  “But—”

  “See you soon.”

  Raymond didn’t look at all convinced, but Bobsy chose that exact moment to create the distraction Baptiste needed to make his getaway. The dog caught sight of Jonah and Noah running by with another dog, a husky wearing a skeleton costume, and took off after them, nearly yanking the leash out of Raymond’s hand in the process.

  “I’ll see you later,” Raymond called to Baptiste over his shoulder as Bobsy dragged him off. “Bobsy, you’re a bad dog! Bad dog.”

  Baptiste turned and walked toward the trees, doubling up just as his oxygen levels bottomed out and he began to wheeze. He leaned back against a tree. Opened his mouth, the better to gasp for air. Prayed none of the throngs of people could see him.

  “Baptiste?” called a female voice.

  Merde! Not now!

  “Baptiste!”

  It was Samira’s best friend, Melody Harrison, rather than Samira, thank God, racing into view with the brisk efficiency and cool head that you’d want from your doctor.

  He braced his hands on his thighs and hung his head, wheezing harder.

  “What’s going on?” She put her arm around his shoulders and steered him to a nearby bench he hadn’t even noticed. He gratefully sank onto it. “Are you having chest pains?”

  He shook his head.

  “Back or neck pains? Are your left arm and jaw okay? Good. Allergies? Asthma? No? You’re not on anything, are you?”

  Lovely. The only thing worse than Samira’s best friend seeing him cracking up was for her to think he was cracking up because of drugs.

  “No. I just…” Wheeze. “Need a…” Wheeze. “Second.”

  “You got it. Put your head down for me. No, between your legs. There you go.”

  She sat beside him and reassuringly patted his back.

  He forced himself to slow down and take one deep breath. Then another and another.

  Two or three embarrassing lifetimes passed.

  At last, breathing normally again, he sat up and slumped against the back of the bench, swiping some of the cold sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. And while it was great to have a pair of fully functioning lungs once again, he wasn’t quite ready to deal with Melody’s penetrating concern.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded shakily.

  “Have you had panic attacks before?”

  He shook his head.

  They sat in silence for a minute. He looked over Melody’s shoulder, eager to verify that neither Samira nor her
parents, his buddy Daniel or his other buddy Sean (God forbid on those last two, who would tease him mercilessly for the foreseeable future) had caught him in his finest moment. Fortunately, none of them were in sight, and the little strand of trees blocked most of the view anyway.

  “What’s going on?” Melody asked. “Too much small-town cheesiness? You can’t deal with another little kid in a Minion costume?”

  He would have grinned if his situation wasn’t so dire.

  “You’ll think I’m insane.”

  “Doubtful. I’m a medical professional.”

  Having already lost his dignity, he had precious little else to lose. Why not confess?

  “I’m having visions.”

  Melody tried to school her features, but she couldn’t quite stop the twitch at the corner of her right eye.

  “I…see. How many purple tortoises are in that tree right now?”

  She got him that time. His mouth loosened into the beginnings of a smile.

  “Not like that. Visions of a life. Here in Journey’s End. With Samira. A house. Kids. All of it.”

  Melody brightened. “Okay…?”

  “Okay?” Frustration roughened his voice, because why did they have to get into this? What he was about to say should be obvious to anyone with a pulse and eyes. “I’m not a good candidate for any of that. My parents were horrible people. My childhood was a nightmare. I can’t tell you how lonely I was, with nannies coming and going. In school, kids bullied me because of my teeth. Then I grew into my looks and my money, and suddenly women throw themselves at me. Do I take advantage? Of course. Wouldn’t you? But I never had a home. Never wanted a family.”

  “Baptiste…”

  “I’ve never seen a meaningful future for myself. Then I come to Journey’s End. For a routine business trip. I’m not looking for anything. I’m not expecting anything. And then I take one look at Samira and poof! It’s like I’ve been wasting my life until now. And I am terrified because I only met her this week and this is all too much.” He laughed humorlessly. “You should take me to the hospital and evaluate me for a brain tumor. That can be the only explanation.”

  Melody, who’d been listening with rapt and dewy-eyed attention, laughed.

  “Wow. A lot of stuff there.”

  “I told you I was insane.”

  “Well, nothing’s wasted. Your experiences brought you to this point with Samira, right? And you wouldn’t have been ready for her before now.”

  “She has a terrific family. Wonderful parents.” A sudden wave of despair threatened to close up his throat again. “She should run away from me and never look back.”

  Ironic smile from Melody. “Yeah. Doubtful.”

  “Do you think she can care for me one day?”

  Melody’s pause lasted way too long.

  “Yes,” she finally said.

  He did not feel reassured. “But…?”

  “She’s been hurt. Her ex-fiancé told her he was gay the night before their wedding, which wasn’t that long ago. She’s not going to lose her head ten minutes after she meets a guy, so you shouldn’t expect her to. Okay?”

  “Fair enough,” he said, wondering how he was going to keep his genie in the bottle, so to speak. Because his heart was already on the platter and he was terrified that when he presented the platter to Samira, she would politely turn her head and decline.

  “Let’s go,” Melody said, giving his shoulder a final squeeze before standing. “Samira sent me to rescue you for dinner. She was worried her parents had you trapped in a corner somewhere, forcing you to listen to them talk about their favorite episodes of Murder, She Wrote.”

  He laughed as he stood. “Thanks for your help. Do you think we could—”

  “Keep this between you and me?” Dramatic eye roll from Melody. “I suppose.”

  Riding a wave of gratitude, he planted a kiss on her cheek as they headed back.

  It was dusk now, with the pink sun sinking behind the mountains and the final few logs being laid for what promised to be a massive bonfire. Dinner was in full swing, with rows and rows of picnic tables lined by people munching happily. Carved jack o’lanterns of every sort—wicked; goofy; simple; ornate—flickered on the tables, and the smell of wood smoke and Joe’s delicious barbecue filled the air. Jonah and Noah had evidently finished their dinners already, because Baptiste saw them on the periphery with a group of their little friends, sliding oversized marshmallows onto sticks, and Bobsy and the husky lay at their feet, each crunching loudly and happily on a couple of Baptiste’s gourmet caramel apples.

  He had to laugh.

  But there was no sign of Samira. And when they arrived back at the gazebo, they discovered that the acres of potluck dishes looked sadly depleted, as though a horde of locusts had descended upon them, and there was hardly any macaroni and cheese left.

  Baptiste knew this was not a tragedy, but his heart cracked down the middle just the same.

  “Well, there you are,” cried Samira behind them. “I was about to form a search party.”

  Baptiste turned quickly, his heart soaring skyward like the vivid orange sparks beginning to rise from the bonfire. She’d had her face painted and was now the world’s sexiest cat, with a black nose, whiskers and a set of furry ears atop a headband.

  “Found him,” Melody announced brightly, but neither he nor Samira had eyes for her in that charged moment, and she slipped quietly away, leaving them alone in the gazebo.

  “Hi.” Samira kept her smile to a minimum, but the light in her eyes was there when she looked at him, and it went a long way toward telling him that he wasn’t so far out on that shaky limb after all.

  He wasn’t in this alone. Which was good, because he had it bad.

  It was as though his heart, dormant almost his entire life until the last several days, suddenly had all the answers.

  Her. Here. Now.

  Maybe his heart wasn’t a shriveled raisin, after all.

  “Hi,” he said, his voice husky from the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes.

  “I think I deserve an award this time.”

  “Oh, you do?”

  “Yes. I showed admirable restraint letting you talk to my parents like that.”

  “You did.”

  “I’m not sure how things went. But just in case they went badly, I’d like to remind you that they’re not genetically related to me.”

  “Your parents are amazing people. I like them almost as much as I like you.”

  “Really? Well, you’re about to like me even more.” She reached for a plate on the nearest table. “This is for you. You’re welcome.”

  She presented it to him. His heart squealed with silent rapture.

  All of his soul food favorites were on it: ribs, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, biscuits. Then there were items he’d never seen before.

  “Is that spinach? I’m not a fan of spinach.”

  “Those are collard greens.”

  “And the juice with them?”

  “It’s called pot liquor. And I put some vinegar on them, too. Trust me. You’ll love it.”

  “And these…?”

  “Sweet potatoes. You baste them with melted butter and brown sugar. Amazing. You’ll see.”

  He looked from the plate to her, well aware that his heart was on his face.

  “I’m a very lucky man.”

  She took a closer look at him, her smile dimming. “You look a little pale. Everything okay?”

  “Everything is perfect. Other than your refusal to let me kiss you in public.”

  “You sure? You’ve had a pretty full day. This is a lot of Journey’s End to deal with,” she said, her sweeping gesture encompassing the entire crowd.

  “I’m sure.” A lot of Journey’s End? If only she knew that this had been one of the best days of his life. “I’m really sure.”

  Despite the growing dusk, there was enough light for him to see the rosy patches over her cheeks and the brightness of her
eyes as her gaze dipped to his lips and back up again.

  “Are we still talking about the picnic?”

  “No. Would you like to know what I am talking about?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “I don’t want to be a nosy American. And you should eat your dinner before it gets colder.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Come sit with me, then.”

  She shot him a quelling look. “I promised I’d help the kids roast marshmallows for s’mores in a minute. And besides that, we’re being discreet, remember?”

  He scowled. “What a waste of valuable time and energy.”

  Dramatic sigh. “Poor Baptiste.”

  “Before I go, tell me this: can I take you home tonight?”

  Samira hesitated.

  “Take me home?” Her eyes glittered with a sensual awareness that told him she understood exactly what he had in mind. “My mother was right when she called you a gentleman earlier, wasn’t she? Look at you. Offering to make sure I get safely home with absolutely no agenda beyond that.”

  “Oh, there’s an agenda. I just don’t see why your mother needs to find out about it.”

  She laughed. Quickly sobered.

  “As tempting as your agenda is—”

  “Our agenda.”

  “We’re working on getting to know each other better, remember? So agendas will have to wait. Notwithstanding my, ah, moment of weakness in the car a little while ago.”

  “I see.” Somehow during the conversation, as in all conversations they had, they’d drifted closer to each other, almost within kissing range. He looked down at her. She tipped her face up to him. Their breath turned shallow, and his blood ran so white-hot through his veins that it was surprising his body didn’t erupt with spontaneous combustion, making the bonfire unnecessary. “So no is your final answer tonight? We are both doomed to sleeplessness again?”

  She opened her mouth, looking very stern.

  He waited, his pulse thudding in his throat.

  She wavered, her expression softening.