“Yes, you’re cute. Now spill it. Tell me all about your dirty dating secrets.”
“In high school? No, not at all,” he said, his voice taking on an almost wistful tone. I thought back to Hank’s comment about him walking into the glass door at a party. And what he’d said about chess club. In my head I could see a snapshot of what he must have been like in high school, and I could draw my own conclusions about what his experience might have been like.
“In college?” I asked, trying to imagine a younger Clark on campus. I wondered if he rocked the elbow patches then, or if that was a postgraduate addition.
“Did I date in college?”
“Mm-hmm,” I responded, curling my legs underneath me. I chewed on my thumbnail while I waited for his response.
“Some.”
“And after college?”
“Some.”
“And after after college?”
“After after college?”
“Yeah, you know. Recent. Current. Whatever,” I asked, chewing harder on my nail. He let loose one of those low chuckles. I bit the nail clean off. Without thinking, I spat it out.
“Did you just spit something?” he asked, sounding curious and amused.
Mortified, burying my face in the pillow, I answered a muffled yes.
“Never would have pegged you as a spitter, Vivian.”
Eyes suddenly wide, I sat straight up, almost levitating from the bed, then rallied. “Only when it’s something not worth swallowing.”
Hello line, I believe I just crossed over you. I distinctly heard Clark choke on a sip of what I assumed was his Scotch.
I looked at the clock and saw how late it was. “I better go; I have to get up very early. See you tomorrow?”
“That’s a promise, Vivian,” he said, that deep, warm-honey voice running all over me. “And for the record? I’m not spoken for.”
I let out a shuddery sigh. We said our good-nights, I hung up the phone, and tried to go to sleep.
The next morning I kissed my parents good-bye and boarded a plane to California, with no idea of which Clark might be waiting for me when I got home.
It wasn’t until somewhere over Utah that I realized I hadn’t thought about the cowboy once the entire time I was gone. Huh.
chapter twelve
Thankful for the large SUV, as I had more luggage than a few weeks ago, I drove from San Francisco to Mendocino on pins and needles. Last time my excitement came from nervous anticipation, because I had no idea what I was walking into. This time I knew what I was coming home to. The question was, what was the most exciting part? My new life? The house itself? The libr—
Whoa. I can’t even think it.
As I navigated up Highway 1, taking the longer route for the more scenic view, I felt my skin begin to sink back into the deep blues and vibrant greens of the coast, the craggy cliffs and rich brown earth. Wild and rough, this part of the country was certainly among the most beautiful in the world.
Making that last turn and seeing Mendocino on the horizon made my heart beat a little bit faster. The quaintness overwhelmed me once more, the cottages flush with shrub roses and hollyhocks, trellises covered with flowering vines and saturated with fat bumblebees zinging this way and that. It was warm today, the chill of early autumn chased away by a sultry inland breeze and the enormous sun. I smiled to see the drugstore, the grocery store, John’s restaurant, and Cliffside Coffee, bustling with locals and tourists. Was I a local yet? I wondered how long that might take . . .
As I turned down Maple, Whispering Canyon came into view. Turrets, wide but dangerous porch, bright clean windows, and . . . oh, snap. There she is!
Parked in the driveway was the Blue Bomber. Two point motherfucking 0. “Yes!” I yelled out, almost forgetting to put my rental car into park. I slid out from behind the seat belt and danced to the Bel Air, which looked like it was ready to fly. Top down, chrome sparkling, it was a killer car. And dangling from the rearview mirror? Fuzzy dice. Yes!
I ran my hands down the smooth lines and the gleaming paint. It was decently waxed and buffed to a picture-perfect shine, and I bent down to admire the fat, puffy whitewall tires.
“Fucking awesome,” I breathed, then heard the crunch of footsteps behind me.
I peered around, not yet straightening, to see brown loafers. Brown chinos. Blue-and-green plaid shirt, green knit tie. Tweed jacket. Hands in pockets. Straight, even teeth behind a smile. Dusty eyeglasses, one fingertip pushing them up a perfectly healed nose. Warm brown eyes. Neatly parted wavy brown hair.