I'm Sure Page 4

  “She is.” Sara nods, still studying the hearts in front of her. She places her flat palm on a small line-up of candy and pushes them toward me.

  Five little hearts face me now. I stare. Is this some kind of weird game I missed the rules for? Maybe she’s not handling this crisis so well. I know this woman’s had a really stressful twenty-four hours and hasn’t had much, if any, sleep. So I read the hearts.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Sara intones under her breath.

  I jerk up my head. “I don’t plan to.”

  “I mean it,” Sara says, her brows drawn tight. “Don’t start unless you want something real with her. Megan’s not a plaything.”

  Geez. I shift my weight. Is this what women think? That we can nail this stuff down right away, just like that? I only met Megan last week.

  I feel sweat forming on the back of my neck, keeping my attention on the hearts. Sara’s watching me, I can feel it.

  But Megan’s different. I know it. I knew the moment I saw her—a khaki-wearing water sprite with a suggestive mouth.

  My stomach clutches at the thought that jumps into my head. I might want it to mean…everything. Sara’s clearly waiting for me to say something. “I can’t promise I won’t hurt her.”

  With a jerk of her head, Sara indicates the hearts. “What’s the one that best describes Megan for you?”

  I’m outside a fair amount doing the sprinkler installs, but I’m pretty sure underneath my tan, I turn white. I don’t know Sara enough to know if she’s usually this brutally direct. If I knew her better, I would suggest she needed sleep. But, she’s Megan’s friend. I focus in. And the family member of one of our patients. I’d rather be sticking a needle into someone than undergoing this.

  I’d rather be sticking a needle in myself.

  I glare at the hearts. How Sweet. Well, I think she is.

  I’m Sure. About what?

  Kiss Me. That would be nice. I’m pretty sure that’s not the answer Sara’s looking for.

  Why Not. I wouldn’t be a guy if that thought didn’t enter my head.

  Nice Girl. Yea, I think so.

  I know which heart it is. Unexpected, but I do.

  But do I have to tell Sara? Before I even straighten out last Friday night’s fiasco with Megan?

  I take another deep breath. I slide the I’m Sure one toward her.

  Sara presses her lips together and stares. Then she gets this satisfied smile on her face. She pushes the candy heart back toward me. “Take it. Put it in your pocket.”

  Okay, if that’s my ticket past Go. I take the purple heart and drop it in my pocket. I should be awarded a real one, the kind you pin to your uniform, for surviving this ordeal.

  “Megan’s out in the yard.”

  Finally, I get to see Megan. The hard part’s already over. Talking to Megan will be a breeze.

  “Jason.”

  My shoulders drop. All in the line of duty? But I’m not on duty…I take a deep inhale. When I face her, I see she’s holding out a rose about the same color as the I’m Sure candy heart now in my pocket. “Want to give this to Megan? It’s on me.”

  Smiling, I take it from her. “Thanks.”

  Of course, I’d like Megan to have a rose. From me. But I don’t want her to think this rose is an apology, like I completely screwed up. I didn’t. I won’t start apologizing for the work that I do or the demands it creates.

  ****

  Megan

  I’m carrying my clipboard around the yard, inventorying my plant stock, when I look up and see Jason…with a lavender rose.

  He walks up to stand in front of me. “Hi.” He smiles.

  “Hi,” I smile back, dropping my hand with the clipboard to hold it by my side.

  “I just saw Sara.”

  I jerk my head. “You did? She’s here? How’s her grandmother?”

  “Resting.” He’s still holding the rose.

  His gaze, the color of a quarry pond, captures mine.

  “Where are we on what happened the other night?”

  The yard is quiet this morning, of customers and employees. “Let’s sit and talk.” I take him to a secluded wooden bench under a tree by one of my favorite ponds. “I can take a few minutes.” The musical burble of the pond waterfall, dancing over the rocks, fills the air.

  We sit. He doesn’t say anything, just turns over the rose in his fingers.

  Is he looking for a certain answer? That’s not me, to give someone the answer they want. I can only give the answer that is. At the memory of sitting alone, I feel the heat within me rising again. “I didn’t like waiting in the restaurant.”

  “Who would?” He’s quiet for a moment. “I shouldn’t have said I could meet you Friday. I knew I could get caught up at work.” He transfers the rose to his left hand, moves his hand toward mine, and then pulls it back. “I just didn’t want to wait another week to have dinner with you.”

  “I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly.” I hesitate. Dating Rule No. 1 for hot guy you’re falling fast for—bring up an old boyfriend. NOT. But I am gun shy, and we should both know what we’re working with. “Sitting there by myself pushed a particular button.”

  He raises a dark eyebrow.

  “I’ve been stood up before, for the very worst reason,” I continue, wanting to explain before I lose courage. “Someone else.”

  His jaw tightens. “I may stand you up again. But it won’t be on purpose.”

  I look down into the depths of the pond. A bug skips across it, and circles bloom on the water surface in its wake. I give a deliberate nod. “I know.”

  “Can you handle that?” He’s staring across the yard into the air.

  “I can.”

  “Are you sure?” He’s turned toward me now.

  Deep intent shines in his eyes. I sink into his gaze. “I’m sure.” The strangest smile moves across his face.

  He hands me the rose. “From Sara to me to give to you. But I didn’t want to give it to you until we were beyond the apology stage.” He searches my face. “It’s not an apology.”

  I bring the rose up to my face, and the subtle scent fills my senses. “Yes, let’s be done with that,” I murmur. Lowering the rose to my lap, I lean toward him. Rose and fresh myrtle.

  And then he’s kissing me. His mouth moves over mine—firm, tasting, taking. The connection is organic, alighting dizzying sensations in my fingers, my toes, and everywhere in between.

  He pulls back, his eyes now the color of a quarry pool at midnight.

  I want to dive in and never come up for air. I shiver I’m so consumed by this man, and that kiss.

  A frog croaks.

  I lay the rose on the bench next to us and take his hand in mine. We sit for a moment.

  “What are you doing Sunday night?” he asks.

  I stare across the yard, which, oh blessed stars, is still vacant of people. My brow furrows. Sunday night? And then I realize. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

  “Hmmmm,” he responds.

  As if he didn’t know. Right. I turn to him. “Hmmm,” I answer back. “I’m not quite sure what’s on my schedule.”

  With his finger, he smooths a stray lock of my hair back behind my ear.

  The quiet blip of a fish breaking the water sounds. “Are you being koi with me, Megan?”

  I stare back at him. Uh-oh. Coy? I thought I was flirting. I know I’m bad at it. But I thought I was being the reverse of coy, brazen even, telling him about that bad button I didn’t want pushed again. “Did you ask me if I was being coy?”

  He looks deliberately at the pond. A gold-and-white fish breaks the surface again making kissing sounds with its big mouth. “That was a joke.”

  I burst out laughing. “Koi!” He knows what kind of pond fish are swimming there in front of us. I’m enchanted. He and I, this could work.

  “You’re suggesting we actually have dinner this time?” I venture, keeping my tone light. I want him to know there are no hard feelings. We’re starting fresh.
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  “Yes.” His nod is definitive.

  Another frog croaks.

  I feel like singing. Ariel opening her heart to the heavens.

  “Different restaurant?” he suggests.

  “Good idea. Anything but, uh, fish.” I crook my head toward the pond.

  He smiles back. “You’ve got it.”

  Yes, I do.

  A word about the author…

  By second grade, Beverly was chronicling life in a teal pleather diary. She progressed to a hand-written neighborhood newsletter, a self-published picture book, and then her first article sale to a local newspaper. (Variety was already the spice of her life.) A career non-fiction writer, she’s nonetheless an eternal fan of the happy ending. She loves writing romantic short stories that brighten readers’ days, and never tires of readers’ posted reviews that say one of her stories did just that.

  Beverly adores animals, and plants and design, and combines the two as a floral designer who has had the pleasure of working at a plant nursery with a petting zoo. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and travels often to visit their adult son. The household is currently dogless, but this will change. She blogs about writing, and life, at www.everyotherminute.com. Visit with her at www.beverlybreton.com

  ~*~

  Other Titles by the Author

  Crazy Happy Hearts

  May Day Magic

  Specs Appeal

  Stars In Her Eyes

  Under A Halloween Moon

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.