Wanting Something More. Kathy Love
ride with you, then,” he said and scanned the parking lot for her vehicle. It wasn’t hard to find the silver Jaguar, and he headed in that direction.
The car stood out, gorgeous and sleek, in a sea of ordinary. Even the layer of dirt and salt from the winter roads couldn’t hide its classic lines. Nothing could hide that kind of timeless beauty—much like its owner’s.
Marty wore gray sweatpants, a giant parka, and running shoes. Her short hair was mussed, her face free of any make-up, but she was still beautiful, absolutely stunning.
“That’s why Lynette was so catty,” he said over the roof of her car as Marty used the remote to unlock the doors.
“Huh?”
“People notice you. That bothers someone like Lynette.”
Marty seemed to consider that, but instead of saying anything, she slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her grocery bags over the seat into the back.
He folded into the passenger’s side, the vehicle small for his tall frame. His knee protested, throbbing almost unbearably, but he ignored it.
“It’s on Main Street?” she asked.
He nodded.
She checked her mirrors and backed out of the parking spot. Both of them were quiet as she pulled onto the street.
“So, are you enjoying your visit?” It was a lame question, Nate realized, but it was hard to be suave when the woman so obviously detested him. And when his knees were practically touching his chin.
“Yes.”
“Do you like living in New York?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how I would deal with all the commotion,” he said, casting a look at her. “Do you like that—all the hubbub?”
“Yes.”
Okay, this wasn’t going well at all.
“Listen,” he said slowly, “can’t we just have cup of coffee and a nice conversation—like a couple of friends.”
Marty whipped into a parking space in front of the coffee shop so quickly, his knees slammed against the dashboard.
She turned off the engine and shifted in her seat to face him. “Is that what you think we are? Friends?” Her eyes flashed angrily.
He hesitated, then simply stated the truth. “I honestly don’t know what we are. But I know I’d like to be friends.”
He’d like to be a lot more, but at this point, he’d take friendship.
“You might have my sisters and my brothers-in-law convinced that you’ve changed,” she said. “But I find that very hard to believe.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Well, I think you might have to wait in line to join that club. There are quite a few people who feel exactly the same way.” He jerked the silver handle and opened the car door. “Let’s just get a cup of coffee.”
Marty watched as Nate unfolded his long legs from under the dash. His movements were awkward, stiff. And she felt a pang of guilt. Whatever had happened, whether he was truly changed or not, he had been through something.
She remained in the car for a moment. Maybe she should just tell him this was a mistake and leave, but when she glanced over at him, she couldn’t.
He waited on the sidewalk. He didn’t appear angry or irritated. He looked withdrawn. His amazing amber eyes muted to a dull brown. His lips immobile, all hints of his appealing grin gone. He looked hurt, and tired.
She fought the urge to bang her forehead on the steering wheel. She did not want to feel bad for Nathaniel…Nate Peck. For all she knew, this was just another one of his elaborate setups to win her trust. To convince yet another person that he was a changed man.
But why? What was the point? For all he knew, she’d be gone from Millbrook in a week. Unless it was just a sick game he liked to play. She’d certainly known men who played sicker games.
She glanced at him again. Ah, hell, it was just coffee. That was a small price to pay for the look on Lynette Prue’s face. That was worth coffee and dessert.
She got out of her car and offered him a tentative half smile. “Okay, truce.”
He regarded her skeptically. “Are you sure? Do you really want to be seen with a conniving ogre like me?”
Marty rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t describe you as an ogre.”
His eyes glimmered just slightly, as if a flame was trying to flicker to life in their amber depths. “A monster, then?”
She shook her head. “Not a monster either.”
“A cad?”
She considered that label. “Yeah, that one fits.”
“And the conniving?”
“You’ll get no argument there.”
He looked wounded, but this time the expression was obviously affected.
Bells jingled as he opened the door to the coffee shop and held it for her. She entered, immediately enveloped in warmth and the rich, nutty aroma of brewing java.
Paintings done in brightly colored oils and broad brush strokes hung on the walls. Funky, cylindrical lights in different colors hung over the round wooden tables.
Nate led her to one of the tables in the corner. “Is this all right?”
She nodded.
He shrugged out of his brown, police-issue jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. “What can I get you?”
Marty glanced up at a huge chalkboard over the espresso bar. Every flavor and combination of coffee she could possibly imagine was listed in different colored chalk. Overwhelmed, she said, “Just a latte.”
He nodded and headed up to the counter.
Marty pulled off her own coat and sat down.
She watched Nate as he ordered. He was in his uniform. The brown material fit his tall, muscular body impeccably, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Yet even with the perfect fit, the outfit didn’t look quite right. She had no idea why. There was nothing she could place a finger on exactly, but he gave the impression that he was wearing a costume.
She thought about how he had looked at Abby’s wedding. He’d been wearing his uniform then too, and as she recalled he’d looked like the model officer. Like he’d been born wearing a uniform. What changed?
That seemed to be the $64,000 question, didn’t it? But given that she kept asking it, maybe it was time to admit Nate had changed.
As he walked back to their table, a cup in each hand, she watched him. His movements were easy, loose, even with the limp. His hair was an interesting combination of golden blond and brown with a peppering of ginger. The color made his unusual amber eyes more striking.
“See anything you like?” he asked as he set one of the cups down in front of her.
“No,” she said automatically, her face flushing.
He glanced around the room. “I actually like this artist. She lives in Tenant’s Harbor. She has a good eye for color.” He took a seat across from her and took a sip of his coffee.
“Oh,” Marty said, relieved he’d been talking about the artwork rather than her blatant staring.
They quietly sipped their coffees for a moment.
“Why did you grow out your hair?” Marty couldn’t believe she asked that.
He glanced up from fiddling with the lid of his cup. “Why, does it look bad?”
“No,” she answered