The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel) (17 page)

Within minutes, Elliott spotted Natalie at the bar. She’d dressed for the festivities—a skirt and jacket in soft green, a USO cap on her head, and her hair rolled into 1940s curls. Bright-red lipstick covered her lips, and when she launched into one of her huge smiles at Marie, her lips looked even more delectable than usual.

“So what do you think?” Nell’s voice drifted into his ear.

Elliott blinked back at her. “What?”

“What do you
think
?”

“About what?”

“Elliott, you aren’t listening at all.” Nell turned to Becky. “He’s probably thinking of his formulas again. Elliott is very involved in his work.” She said it with a smile, as if it were a selling point, but then she gave him a swift kick under the table that made him know otherwise.

Jim cleared his throat as he followed the point to where Elliott’s gaze had been. “Well, we
do
have a lot of things going on at the center,” Jim said. “I think we should cut Elliott some slack. Hey, Sherm, why don’t you go get us some drinks? Place is so crowded, we’ll never get served. Besides, the Colonel is guest-tending for only another ten minutes or so. Tell him I want one of his famous martinis.”

“I’ll take one, too,” Becky said.

“Nell?” Jim asked.

“A margarita for me.”

Benny Goodman started up on the jukebox with “Sing, Sing, Sing,” and Elliott headed for the bar filled with half dread, half excitement. On the one hand, Natalie was there, and she was like a flame to a moth. But, on the other hand, he was here on a date with someone else. And he didn’t want to be an ass. He’d just have to watch himself tonight.

“Hey, you made it,” he said cautiously when he squeezed in beside her. She smelled great—some kind of spicy perfume. He tried not to lean in too close.

“Elliott! Hi!” She adjusted the cute USO cap on her head. “You didn’t dress up.”

“Not this time. I should have, though. I have some of my granddad’s old things.”

“That’s right—the hats.”

“Exactly.”

“This is my grandmother’s.” She pointed to the hat on her head.

A sensation of warmth swelled through him at that, but as he tried to formulate the right response in his head, she glanced over his shoulder furtively. “How’s your date going so far?”

Elliott scrambled to bring his thoughts back to Becky. “Pretty good,” he finally said over the music. “She’s back there with Nell and Jim, and—”

“There you are!” growled the Colonel, stepping up on the other side of the bar. His chest barely cleared the row of glasses across the base of the bar top, but Elliott could make out several of his medals, including a Medal of Honor, which he knew was for valor. He’d always stared at his granddad’s medals—they were kept under glass in the back room.

“Damn, Colonel, you earned a Medal of Honor?”

“I was just doin’ my job. Good to see you, boy. And glad to see you two together.”

“Oh, we’re not toge—”

“WHAT’LL YOU HAVE, SHERM?”
The Colonel leaned closer, clearly having trouble hearing over Benny Goodman’s clarinet.

Elliott ordered the three martinis and the margarita. When the Colonel frowned at the order, Elliott motioned his thumb over his shoulder.

“Who are
they
?” he barked.

“You know Jim, and that’s my sister, Nell, who’s married to Jim, and my date, Becky.”

“BECKY?”

“Yes.”

The Colonel looked at Natalie. “Do you know about this Becky?”

Natalie smiled into her gimlet. “Yes, I do, Colonel. She’s Elliott’s date.”

“Do you approve of her?”

“I don’t think it matters what I think. It’s probably—”

“I’m asking for research purposes.”

“Oh. Well . . . ” She glanced at Elliott.

He waited for her answer—he was kind of curious, too.

“I think they’re both very nice, and they make a lovely couple,” she said.

The Colonel stared hard at Elliott, then nodded curtly and turned to make their drinks.

Elliott’s brain stalled a little on the “nice” part. She’d called him that once before. “Nice” wasn’t a compliment guys liked to hear. “Nice” was dismissive. It was never the guy who got the girl.

“So you think I’m nice?” he asked her.

“Of course.”

That explained a lot. He
was
nice. But he’d always finished last that way.

Even though it wasn’t the arrangement he’d like, it looked like the arrangement she might need right now, especially after the strange way she’d reacted earlier when he’d asked her about her mancation. Maybe something had happened to her.

“Listen, Natalie, I didn’t mean to pry earlier, when I asked if someone had hurt you, but if you ever want to talk about anything, or—”

“No.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss the idea, the words, his apology, his offer. “I didn’t mean for that to come up. I’d rather we just forget that conversation.” Her hands fluttered over her cocktail napkin and began ripping at its end. Normally Natalie looked like a tough woman who could hold her own, but right now she looked vulnerable—eyes lowered, hands shaking.

A flash of anger swept over him when he realized that this must be the case here. Someone had hurt her. He didn’t normally think of himself as a violent person, but right in that second, he had a strong urge to pound whoever it might have been. He slid a sideways glance at her Good Samaritan face, her intelligent eyes, the lips that had only kind things to say, and her helping hands that were shaking, and he pictured finding this jerk and pulverizing him.

“Whatever you say,” he muttered. “But just know that I’ll listen.”

She turned sharply and stared at him—a hard, skeptical stare. Long eyelashes blinked a few times. But then her features softened and a tiny smile broke out, which she shyly redirected to her gimlet. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

That grin was his reward. He wanted to promise her a bunch of things right then—he would promise her
anything
—if she’d just keep smiling like that. He stood a little straighter.

All the sounds of the bar fell away. He wanted her to open up to him, to tell her what she obviously had trouble with, to trust him, to let him in. If she did that only as a friend, he’d take that. He realized he wanted her company, and wanted her trust, in any way he could get it.

But then a polite, but gruff, cough came over his shoulder. “Uh, Sherm?”

He turned to see Jim.

“The women are wondering why you’re not back yet with the drinks. Hey, there, Natalie. It’s Natalie, right?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “You’re the one who keeps finding Elliott for me.”

“Jim Stout.” He shook Natalie’s hand, then huddled closer to Elliott. “So can I tell them that you’ve already ordered, but the Colonel is just taking a while?”

“That’s the situation. So yes.” Elliott tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“All righty then.” Jim turned his bearish body. “As you were.”

“Who’s this?” came a higher voice over their shoulders.

This time it was Natalie’s sister, crowding Jim back in.

“Hi, Paige,” Elliott said. “This is my buddy Jim. Jim, this is Natalie’s sister Paige.”

“He’s checking on the drinks for his
wife
and also Elliott’s
date
,” Natalie informed Paige.

Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” struck up, and the crowd all seemed to turn in unison to the dance floor. Several talented couples headed out to do impressive swing moves. Much to Elliott’s chagrin, he looked up to see Becky coming toward him, her hands outstretched and pointing to the dance floor.

He shook his head, but she kept approaching, with Nell right behind her.

Next thing he knew, Becky and Nell had him and Jim each by the hand and were dragging them across the parquet flooring.

This night was off to a terrible start.

CHAPTER 15

Natalie watched Elliott and Jim being led to the dance floor and felt a little sorry for them. But only a little. It was probably good that Becky was getting Elliott to loosen up a little and maybe have some fun.

“Huh. So he really
is
going out with Becky,” Paige said.

“Of course. I wasn’t making it up.”

“Too bad. And too bad his buddy is married. He’s cute.”

“Leave them alone, Paige.”

The Colonel slid two martinis across the bar. “One more coming up.” He looked around. “Where’s Sherm?”

“Dancing.”

“I don’t believe it.”

They all turned toward the dance floor, where Becky was sort of dragging Elliott around to the fast swing number. He was all elbows and limbs, but he seemed to be trying.

“Well, he’s not going to win any awards now, is he?” the Colonel asked.

Natalie took a sip of her drink to hide her smile. She thought he looked kind of adorable.

“I have one more minute on the clock, then we’re going to help that boy out,” the Colonel said, shaking his head.
“Doris? We have an emergency here!”
He motioned her over, pointed at Elliott, then wandered to the other end of the bar to retrieve two more drinks.

A few minutes later, Doris was out there with Elliott, showing him a few basic swing steps, and Becky had swept up poor Jim. Nell had found John-O, and Paige had taken up with George. The Colonel came around the bar and pulled Natalie out, snapping her toward his ribboned chest. He was surprisingly good. He danced slowly but lithely, and always on beat. Natalie tried to match him with some basic Zumba moves she’d just learned. She was doing more of a cha-cha, but it worked with Glenn Miller.

“In the Mood” ended, and the music slowed with an Ella Fitzgerald version of “I Could Write a Book.” The couples all stepped back from each other and took deep breaths, wiping their brows.

Natalie saw Elliott breathe a sigh of relief and look up from his feet at his partner, Doris, but then Doris picked up a waltz pose with him and swung him in her direction to Ella Fitzgerald’s breathy voice. The Colonel lifted Natalie’s hand and swung her the other way. And next thing she knew, Natalie ended up with Elliott, their arms both raised in the air, gripping molecules. Doris and the Colonel sailed off smoothly together to the other side of the floor.

Elliott’s eyes widened until he finally rested his hand on Natalie’s hip and fell into step. He was only slightly better at the waltz than swing, which wasn’t saying much. But finally she stepped closer and let him move to an even slower beat, just barely rocking back and forth.

“Thank you,” he said over her shoulder. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“No problem.”

They kept a tiny distance between them, moving in a simple circle. Elliott’s raised hand felt a little moist in hers, his other warm on her hip. He smelled spicy—aftershave he must have put on for Becky—and Natalie wanted to lean closer, but she decided against it. Leaning too much into him would be inappropriate. He was the perfect height for her—she loved that her lips came to his chin, and she was so close she could see the stubble follicles along his jaw. She could understand why the seniors always described dancing as a perfect date—standing so close to a man you didn’t know, seeing the stubble follicles along his jaw, and smelling the soap he used, which were such intimate, morning-after things, was delicious. Maybe the Colonel and Marie and Doris were onto something when they said they knew a better way to date.

Natalie had a brief, reckless thought of kissing Elliott on that stubble right now. She wanted to put her hands on his chest, just to feel if it was as taut as it had looked in the morning sun today. She wanted to nestle into the warm spot at his collarbone. She wanted to wrap her arms all the way around him and bury herself into the spicy warmth he seemed to offer. But all those things were not hers to have, so she restricted herself to just another inch, leaning only close enough that she thought she could feel his heart beating. Or maybe that was hers.

Becky came into view, searching for Elliott across the floor.

Natalie sighed and stepped back, ever so slightly, and eventually spun him toward Becky.

Her work tonight was done.

Elliott laughed at one of Jim’s jokes back at their table and tried not to glance up any more to his right, because he knew Natalie was on that side of the room, and he couldn’t seem to know that and focus on any conversation at the same time. Instead, he shifted in his seat so he couldn’t look that way. For the rest of the evening, he chatted it up with Becky, Jim, and Nell; put plenty of money into the volunteer pot; turned down an offer of darts because he was worried Natalie might be playing; danced with Becky two more times and Doris once; and thought about the sea lions only five more times. He did okay.

At the end of the night, the Colonel pulled him aside, cleared his throat a few times, and mumbled a request for a ride.

Elliott blinked back at him. “A ride? You’re not driving back to Casas del Sur with the others?”

“I’m, uh . . . meeting someone. But I don’t want the others to know. I was going to drive myself, but I don’t feel like breaking the rules tonight.”

“Breaking the rules?”

“I’m not supposed to drive at night. Doctor’s orders.”

Elliott glanced back at the table at Becky. What was he supposed to do here? “Colonel, I’m on a date. Could I have Jim drive you?”

“Never mind. I’ll find a way.”

“Wait.” Elliott grabbed his retreating shoulder. The Colonel was the type to break rules all over the place, and he could definitely see him taking his own golf cart into the dark if Elliott didn’t help out. “It’s okay. I’ll do it. Let me take Becky home first.”

“Thanks, son. I’ll wait out front.” The Colonel straightened his tie and shuffled off toward the bar, waving to various people.

Elliott sighed and headed back to explain this to Becky. He’d had the sense she was going to invite him over tonight—he’d been getting hints all evening from her. But he didn’t know how he felt about it. He liked her and all, but he still felt guilty that all he wanted to think about right now was Natalie. And the sea lions. In that order: Natalie, sea lions, Becky.

But was he letting something good slip away? Natalie was not his. Becky might actually be a candidate. But, then again, didn’t Becky deserve better than someone who thought of her as third in line?

“We’ll make sure she gets home, Sherm,” Jim said.

“But you can come check on me,” Becky said with a smile, looping her long necklaces in her finger. Elliott normally wasn’t very good at reading women, but that smile was pretty idiot-proof.

He headed for the exit door with a mixture of confusion and dread. He didn’t know why he was being so hard on himself—obviously Becky wanted him over, and he wouldn’t be hurting anyone if he took her up on the offer.

He loped across the bar floor to Louis Armstrong’s sad trumpet in “La Vie en Rose,” telling himself not to look around for Natalie, but he couldn’t help himself. He glanced once to the left and, like some kind of magnetic response, his eyes landed right on her. She looked beautiful, throwing her head back and laughing at something a big dude—he thought his name might be John-O—was saying.

A flash of jealousy went through him. But jealousy over Natalie was not his to feel. Plus, that was probably the kind of guy she was attracted to.

He decided he hated John-O.

Armstrong’s wailing trumpet notes followed him out the door.

Natalie saw Elliott leave the bar out of the corner of her eye and felt a surge of disappointment. She tried to concentrate on something John-O was saying but had a hard time, and she eventually broke away to wander by Elliott’s old table. It was weird that he’d left alone. But Nell, Jim, and Becky were gone, too. Maybe they’d all left together but not really together?

Regardless, this was not her business. She checked on the other volunteers, swung by to talk to Sugar for a few minutes, and then ran into Marie, who pulled her aside behind the rations table.

“Dear, can you give me a quick lift?”

“A lift?”

“A ride. I need wheels. I need to . . .” She looked side to side, then leaned closer. “I have a
date
. And I don’t want the others to know.”

“Wow. A date. Who’s it with, Marie?”

“I’d rather not say right here. But if you can do it, I need to leave soon. I’ll go get my purse.”

“Okay, I’ll meet—”

But Marie had already scampered away.

Natalie smiled, said a few quick good-byes, then headed out to the golf cart.

Elliott pulled straight up the hillside in the Colonel’s cart and was immediately glad he hadn’t let the Colonel drive himself. Although it was one of the most souped-up golf carts on the island, the road was winding and dark and not paved all the way. It led up to a hotel on the hill—the Castle—which was where he’d guessed the Colonel was going. The Castle was remote and mostly for high-end tourists, and it was the best place to go if you were on a secret date.

“So who’s this date with, by the way?” Elliott asked as the golf-cart motor whined in protest.

“None of your business.”

Elliott bit back a smile. The Colonel sure never changed.

“But thanks for taking me,” the Colonel added gruffly.

Elliott parked the golf cart in the Castle’s nearly-empty parking lot and, when the older man hesitated in the passenger seat, decided to walk the Colonel in. Elliott guided him lightly by the arm.

The Castle’s dining room was as elegant as they came—the center filled with crystal, glass, and shades of white, while the outside walls created a cocoon of dark wainscoting. Enormous windows opened to views of the town below. Twinkle lights sparkled all the way down, while stars filled the sky from above. A bar sat off to the right through a wide archway. It looked like a small four-piece band was set up, playing to the patrons, which Elliott could count on one hand. Everyone was probably at the Shore Thing tonight.

He and the Colonel took a seat in the center, at an intimate table for two, and the Colonel took some time to rearrange the table setting, laying a lavender envelope against a crystal vase of white flowers.

“Do you know how to order a martini?” the Colonel asked, rearranging the envelope for the fourth time.

Elliott shook his head.

“How long have you been drinking, son?”

“Uh . . . well, I’m twenty-eight.”

“Seven years? What do you usually order?”

“Beer mostly, sometimes scotch.”

“Well, it’s about time you knew how to order a good martini. Here’s the thing—you have to make sure they don’t pour the vermouth into the glass. You’re supposed to pour the vermouth into the shaker, swirl it around so it coats the insides, then pour out what remains. Dry as they come.
AND ORDER IT WITH OLIVES.
No silly stuff like candy canes and limes.”

As the waiter approached, the Colonel turned slightly in his chair. “Two martinis, please. Very dry. Straight up. Stirred, with olives.”

The waiter bowed and left, and Elliott leaned closer. “Colonel, I can’t stay. I hope you ordered that for your date.”