Almost Home. Debbie Macomber

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      “Can I interview you now?”

      That got me back to reality. “Aiden, one more time, please no story. Let it go.”

      “I can’t force you to talk to me, so it is your choice. But I have talked to some interesting people in town about you. Don’t worry, I was subtle. I didn’t tell them your pen name and I didn’t tell them I’m a reporter. It has gotten around that I’m your special friend.”

      I sagged in relief. He had nice hands. Long fingers, tough, strong. How would they look on my thighs? I shook my head. “What have other people said about me?” I cringed. Did I really want to know? We all have a vague idea of what people think of us, but are we right? Do they actually dislike us? Love us more than we thought possible? Admire us? Are we irritating and don’t know it?

      For long, treacherous seconds Aiden smiled at me, and I fell into that smile and felt my heart thumping around like it was in a disco.

      “Let me start this way,” he said. “I have interviewed thousands of people. In all of my interviews, I can find someone who can’t stand the interviewee. Always. Sometimes many people.”

      Man. I wanted to get under that table and hide. He was buttering me up for being Most Unpopular Islander. I knew I was irritating; I knew it! I knew I said stupid stuff, but I wasn’t realizing how stupid it was! I knew I didn’t belong. I had felt I belonged here, but now I would become a recluse, a hermit, so as not to offend anyone else. I put my face down on the rough picnic table.

      “I can’t find anyone who dislikes you.”

      “What?” Head snapped up.

      “I can’t find anyone who dislikes you.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      He shook his head. “No.”

      “You have to be. I’m a moody freak.”

      “No. In fact, you may be the most popular person I know. I’m about ready to put a tiara on your head, a scepter in your hand, and drop a banner on you that says “Most Well-Loved.”

      I sniffled.

      I coughed.

      I wiped my nose, then my eyes.

      Sniffled again.

      And then I lost it and started crying. I don’t know why.

      “Chalese, this is good news ….”

      “I know, I know! I know!” I put my head back on the table and let the tears out, not the sweet tears fair damsels in distress cry, but shoulder-shaking, nose-running, face-red-and-sweaty kinds of tears. “I … I … I …” I cried again. They liked me. I felt like Sally Field when she got the Oscar. That made me cry harder.

      He slung an arm around my shoulders. I whimpered, wiped my face, and he pulled me in close.

      “That’s twice now.”

      “Twice what?”

      “Twice that you’ve cried on me.”

      I tried to pull away. He pulled me closer. I leaned into his warmth. I promised myself I would get off the reporter as soon as possible, because I stank.

      “There is nothing fake about you, is there? Whatever you feel, you show. You don’t hide your emotions. You don’t hide what you’re thinking. You cry, you’re sarcastic, you care, you’re daring, you’re funny. And you and Brenda …” He laughed.

      I cried again—more tears! Why was I so emotional? Why such a wreck? But I loved Brenda! She was from my other life, and underneath the froufrou she was one of the most courageous people I knew. Without her laughter and friendship, my home life would have been even more unbearable. “She’s the best,” I wept out.

      And then I was facing him, tears swimming in my eyes, and he was brushing the tears off my face, his warmth seeping into my side, and I wanted to kiss him. I did. One time. One kiss. I leaned toward him. I closed my eyes and prepared for this dizzying passionate kiss with Prince Aiden. I waited a second, then two and whoosh. Cold air.

      When I opened my peepers, he was standing up by the picnic table, facing the ocean, running a hand through his hair.

      No no no no no, that voice in my head shrieked. Oh heck, no, say it isn’t so. Say you didn’t just do that!

      But I did! I had! Hell and tarnation, I had tried to kiss Aiden Bridger.

      I could not have been more humiliated if I’d stripped off my clothes in front of him and performed a Scottish Highlands dance followed by a double cartwheel.

      I wanted to die.

      I got up and jogged toward those monstrous dogs of mine, my mind drowning in embarrassment.

      I heard him call my name, but I kept on truckin’.

      I don’t know why I let Brenda talk me into it. I don’t know why Christie agreed so eagerly to do it, either. I may have mentioned: the three of us together are lethal.

      At ten o’clock that night, there we were, in one of the island’s lakes, naked, swimming around.

      “I want to live in this water,” Christie said. “For once I don’t feel as if I’m carrying around a Mack Truck in my gut.”

      “The freedom, the breathless freedom, the ultimate in liberation, right here, right now,” Brenda said.

      “Fat floats,” I said as I floated naked on my back and counted the stars, Aiden’s face next to every one of them. “I am such an idiot.”

      We did not drive with our shirts off through town after that, as previously suggested.

      “We’ll save that exciting event for later, Brenda,” I said.

      “Agreed,” she said. “We’ll bring Mrs. Zebra. She’s my favorite dog.”

      My sister moaned. “I’ll probably be nursing by then, so I’m gonna miss out! Why do I always miss out on all the fun?”

      “We have to stage a rescue.”

      I put my paintbrush down. I was drawing/painting Cassy Cat. Hard to do when all I could think about was my bumbling kiss-attack on the unsuspecting Aiden. I hot-flashed at the thought of it.

      Cassy Cat had white in her golden stripes and wore glasses and simple clothes. Even though she is running for president of her farm, she did not try to get all dressed up as the prissy goose did.

      “Gina, I cannot even think of rescuing a horse right now.” My cat Troublesome, old and creaky and missing a leg, settled on my feet.

      “It’ll take one night.” She pulled a purple flower from her hair and stuck it back in over her ear. “One night out of your life!”

      “I don’t even have a night.” I would be up all night, again. I hadn’t even been to bed yet, and it СКАЧАТЬ