Drive Me Wild - Melanie Harlow Page 0,70
watching kids on the playground equipment and moms pushing strollers and boats moving in and out of the harbor. Several people stopped to say hello to Cheyenne and ask after Darlene, or introduce themselves to me and say they’d heard great things about my baking, and a couple kids shyly approached “Miss Dempsey” and said they hoped she’d be their teacher next year.
“This really is a sweet little town,” I said, sticking my napkin and sandwich wrapper in the bag.
Cheyenne nodded. “It is. I mean, you do get sick of the same people all the time when you’re young, and I definitely couldn’t wait to go off to college and travel and make new friends. I wasn’t even sure I’d come back.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “But by the time I was ready to find a job and pick a place to live, I missed it. And I couldn’t imagine finding anywhere else that would really feel like home. I just feel . . . right in my skin here, you know? It’s peaceful. It’s friendly. It’s safe.”
I nudged her foot with mine. “And the law enforcement is especially good-looking.”
She sighed. “It really is.”
“I still think you should ask him out,” I said as we started walking back up Main Street.
“No way. I’m too scared.”
“Even if it’s just as friends,” I said. “Come on, you two have known each other for so long. And I bet he’s lonely sometimes. Couldn’t you just go have dinner or something?”
“Sure we could.”
“So ask him. I bet he’d say yes.”
“He probably would. It’s not the asking I’m afraid of.”
I looked over at her. “Then what is it?”
“Falling in love with someone I can’t have,” she said, “someone that can never belong to me. If we start spending time together, even if it’s just as friends, I know I’ll be head over heels in no time at all. I know I’ll give in if he just wanted sex with no strings attached. I know I’ll wind up crying in my pillow just like I did when I was fourteen. Remember that scene in Grease when Olivia Newton-John sings Hopelessly Devoted to You while imagining John Travolta’s face in that stupid pond?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Well, that was pretty much me all through high school. I don’t want to go back there.” She shook her head as we crossed a side street. “It’s bad enough I’m twenty-nine years old, living next door to him again, sleeping in my old bed and having all the same stupid dreams I had about him back then. It’s like I’m stuck in this loop and can’t get out.”
“I’m sorry.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s okay. I appreciate the encouragement, but I should really move on. What’s the use of wanting something you can’t have?”
Her question stuck in my head.
I thought about it that night when Griffin cleared space in his bedroom closet for me and watched me hang up some dresses. I thought about it Thursday evening as I cheered on his team during another big win, wearing his Bulldogs shirt from last year. I thought about it on Friday morning when the new furniture arrived and we set it up in the lobby together, and later that afternoon when we hung the canvas prints of his family on the walls. He looked at the photo of him and his dad for several minutes, saying nothing.
“You look like him,” I said. “Which is a compliment, because he’s very handsome.” It was the truth. Hank Dempsey’s good looks were a little darker than Griffin’s—although I could see where Cheyenne had gotten her wide brown eyes and full black lashes—but the bone structure was eerily similar. The cut of the jaw, the strong nose, the wide mouth.
Griffin put his arms around me. “He’d have liked you.”
“You think so?” My heart warmed at the compliment.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re genuine.”
Tipping my head back, I smiled up at him. “Keep going.”
He laughed. “You’re beautiful. You’re sweet. You’re funny. Even though half the time it’s unintentional.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“You work hard. You smell good all the time. And you’ve got this bottom lip that drives me wild.” He took it between his teeth and gave it a tug.
“I don’t think your dad would have cared about my bottom lip.”
“But I do.”
With my arms around his waist and my eyes closed, I pressed my cheek to his warm, broad chest and tried very hard not to feel like