“Well, I should hope so, Colin,” Julia told him, laughing. “But, you see, the thing is, I had this idea. Now, just because I had this idea doesn’t mean
you
have to like it, but it’s such a
good
idea, and Irene agrees, and Max—well, you know Max. He likes anything if he can be in on it. May I at least tell you about it?”
Colin made a face, then gave in to the inevitable. “Sure, Julia. Tell me about it” He stayed on the edge of the bed, listening, nodding his head, listening some more
…
smiling.
H
olly planted both feet on the boardwalk, refusing to move. “No. I can’t do that. It’s silly.”
She and Colin had spent another wonderful day together. An early breakfast, a walk on the beach. They’d spent two hours browsing through a used book store, agreeing on authors they liked, suggesting authors the other hadn’t read. Colin had purchased three Stephen King books Holly recommended to him, and she’d somehow gotten talked into giving
War and Peace
another try after tossing the book across the room when it had been one of her choices to read for a high school Literature class.
But volleyball? She didn’t play volleyball.
“I don’t know the rules,” she told Colin as he took her hand, led her toward the steps down to the beach. “Besides, maybe they have enough players,” she added, looking at the group of teenagers, both boys and girls, gathering on the sand.
Just then a blond teen with muscles bulging everywhere trotted across the sand and called out, “You wanna play? We’re just horsing around.”
“Can you use two more?” Colin called back to him.
“One more, one more,” Holly yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. “He means
one
more.”
“Chicken,” Colin teased.
A red flag immediately went up inside Holly’s head. Chicken? He dared to call her
chicken?
“You’re on,” she declared, kicking off her sandals, feeling the coolness of the afternoon sand, still wet from high tide. “Where do you want me?” she asked the blonde, who pointed to the far side of the net.
“Great,” Holly said, joining the teens who would make up her team, half boys, half girls. She zeroed in on a smiling brunette with shiny teeth braces. “Okay,
quick course on the rules. Where do I stand, what do I do?”
What she did was eat sand. Lots of it. But each time she pushed herself up to her knees again, stood up again, brushed herself off again, she narrowed her eyes, faced the net and tried again.
Co
li
n, of course, was brilliant. He served for his team, then moved closer to the net, leaping high in the air to slam the volleyball back at Holly’s team, scoring point after point.
Not that her team was a bunch of slackers. For each point Colin’s team scored, Holly’s team came back with a point of their own, until the brunette motioned for Holly to come over to her so she could explain: “Tiebreaker. We score now or it’s all over, okay? Your turn to serve.”
Holly’s stomach dropped to her toes.
“My
turn to serve? But you saw what I did last time. I couldn’t even get it over the net.”
“That’s because you slapped at it,” the teen told her. “Make a fist. Hit it with your fist. Uppercut it Like this. See? Come on, you can do it.”
Feeling very much like the little engine t
h
at
couldn’t,
Holly retreated to her spot, held the volleyball in both hands, wishing she could disappear.
And then she heard it. Co
li
n’s voice. “Game’s in the bag now, team!” he called out, looking straight at her. Grinning straight at her.
“Oh, challenging me again, are you?” Holly whispered, glaring back at him. “Trying to make me mad, make me screw up. Well, Holly Hollis doesn’t screw up, buster!”
She tossed the volleyball into the air, then slammed it with her fist—and part of her forearm, but who cared about style at a time like this? The ball sailed over the net, straight at Colin, who deftly sent it back into the air so a teammate could try slamming it over the net, into the sand.
Except his teammate was so busy planning his part of the victory celebration that he miss-hit the ball and it clipped the net, fell back, landed at Colin’s feet.
Holly’s team jumped and yelled and generally carried on like the winners they were, all while Holly stood quietly, watching Colin as he shook hands with everyone, then walked toward her.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused him, her eyelids narrowed. “You purposely said that about me so that I’d get mad, knowing that I’d get so mad I’d hit the ball with everything that was in me. Didn’t you?”
“Who? Me? Now why would I do that?” Co
li
n asked, waving at the teens as he led Holly back to the place where they’d kicked off their footwear.
“You’d do it because you know me so well. And I’m beginning to think I don’t like
that you know me so well. What a
m I? Some sort of Pavlov’s dog? Reacting to stimulus? It’s insulting.”
Colin stood still as Holly braced herself against him, slid into her sandals. “Holly, we all react to stimulus.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Sure we do. For instance,” he said, then swooped down on her, caught her mouth with his own. His arms slid around her waist, holding her tight, and she could taste sand and salt on his lips. Her arms went up and over his shoulders, holding him tight because there was
nothing in the world she could ever want more than to hold him, hold him tight.
In the distance, the teenagers hooted and applauded, called out encouragement.
“See?” Colin said, moving slightly back, so that his smiling mouth was now inches from hers. “You look at me, your eyes flashing emerald fire. Stimulus. I kiss you. Reaction to stimulus. I can’t help myself. I don’t
want
to help myself.”
Holly tried to think, but it was difficult. She was much too involved in holding him, being held, watching his mouth move as he spoke, wishing that mouth on hers once more. “Yes, well
…
that is, I
…
oh!” She dropped her arms, headed for the steps leading up to the boardwalk “You’re impossible!”
“I’m getting to you, aren’t I?” he asked, tagging after her, catching up to her and slipping his arm around her waist.
“You are
not
getting to me,” she told him, wishing she sounded more convincing. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want
any
of this.”
He stopped, drew her to a halt as well. “You didn’t want any of what, Holly?”
She sighed, spread her arms.
“This.
Ninety-five percent of the world might be looking for love and all of that, but I’m not.”
“Neither was I,” Colin told her, brushing some dried sand from her cheek. “That’s something else we have in common. We’re in that five percent bracket."
“Very funny,” Holly growled, then jammed both hands on her hips. “Look. I wasn’t looking for you, you just showed up. You weren’t looking for me, I just
happened to be there. And we felt this
…
this
thing
happening that neither of us expected.”
“Our mutual crush,” Colin said, nodding his head. “Yes, I remember. Do you still think that’s all it is?”
Holly looked down at her sand-dusted toes. “I don’t know.” Then she looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes. “I’ve
…
well, there was Richard
…
but that was just dumb and I couldn’t possibly compare what I though
t I felt for him with what I…
but this is happening so
fast,
you know? I thought
…
hey, a couple of days and this would all go away
…
”
“But it hasn’t, has it?” Co
li
n asked her, taking a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiping at her wet cheeks “And it’s scaring the hell out of you. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Holly, answered honestly. “I just don’t know. Maybe
…
maybe I’m afraid I don’t know what makes a good relationship. What makes it last, that
is.”
“Love, Holly,” Colin said, taking her hand, heading toward their hotel. “Love makes a relationship last. It might not be a very original answer, but it’s all I’ve got to offer. But if you need more time, then that’s what you’ll have. I promise, no more bum’s rush, okay? I leave for Paris in two days. The next move is up to you.”
“Oh, Colin,” Holly said, sighed. “Let’s go home. Horrified as I am to even say this, I think I want to talk to my mother.”
H
olly squeezed her eyes shut, tried to think. What on earth was she doing? How had she let Julia talk her into
this? Had she been in this much of a daze since returning from the shore?
She kept her eyes closed, remembered the long trip back from Ocean City. Well, the first half of the trip had been long
…
and silent
…
and definitely uncomfortable. But then Co
li
n had tuned the radio to an oldies’ station. He’d begun humming along with one song, then began singing along with the next one, until Holly had no choice but to join in.
“Your grandfather was right,” he’d said to her after that first song was over. “You
are
loud.”
“But not very good,” she’d complained.
“I think you’re great. And our voices sound pretty good together. Oh—listen. Do you know the words to this one?”
She had, and they’d sung together to the song, and to every song, all the rest of the way home. Then he’d carried her suitcases into the apartment, kissed her on the cheek and left her standing there. He hadn’t said he’d call, he hadn’t said goodbye. He’d just kissed her, then walked away.
Which was why, Holly told herself, she had come into work this morning, Friday morning, the day Colin would fly back to Paris.
Without saying goodbye.
She was so angry with him! What was he trying to prove now? That absence made the heart grow fonder? After the two of them had been together every day, was he trying to prove that she’d miss him when he was gone? Was he trying to get her to recognize what he said he already knew—that there was such a thing as
love at first sight? That their mutual crush was so much more than just a crush, some intense physical attraction?
If so, he was certainly proving his point. She hadn’t slept all night. She hadn’t eaten. She certainly hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t even had the energy to think up an excuse that would convince Julia that she wasn’t in the mood to play model for the first petite gown Julia had dreamed up for the bridal line.
So here she was, standing on the platform in the fitting room, wearing the finished product that had been only a sketch a few days earlier.
Julia and Irene had dressed her, then fussed over her, trying on different veils, Julia pinning the netting to different headpieces until she found the one she liked best with the gown.
“Gorgeous,” Irene had declared at last, standing behind Holly, fluffing out the cathedral train, arranging the long veil over it “Absolutely gorgeous. Just perfect for the petite figure, Julia.”
“Holly?” Julia had asked as she checked the time on her wristwatch. “How do you feel? You don’t feel overwhelmed, do you?”
“Emotionally or physically?” Holly had grumbled under her breath, looking at her reflection, feeling all the sadness of the world pressing down on her bare shoulders. “I feel fine, Julia,” she then said more loudly. “This is the way it should be. Every bride should be able to try on a gown at least close to her own size, so she can get an idea how the finished product will look on her. You did good, Julia. Now, can I please get out of this thing? It’s starting to itch.” Which had been entirely the wrong thing to say, because Julia had immediately asked
where
it itched, and had then taken the gown away for some quick adjustments to the lining, telling Holly to stay where she was so they could try the gown again once it was fixed.
Which had left Holly standing o
n
the platform in a long-line bra, two huge net petticoats still snapped around her slim waist. “Now there’s a look,” she’d said to Irene, who had teasingly replaced the veil on Holly’s head. “Why the veil, Irene?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It just seemed easier to put it back on you than to hang it up. Julia’s sure to want to see the whole effect one more time. Holly, do you have the time?”
Holly glanced at her wrist. “Eleven-thirty. Julia keeps checking the time, too. What’s going on? Are we expecting an important
call? You seem a little strung-
out, Irene, a little nervous.”
“I’m never nervous, dear,” Irene said, and lifted her chin as she brushed back through the curtain, out of sight, only to return scant seconds later, wearing the strangest smile on her face. “Holly? Your mother’s here.”