Page 119 of It's Not PMS, It's You
Good luck answering that one, Nicky.
“That’s just it . . .” He pulled me so close, my breath caught in my throat. “I don’t want to let go.”
Now, we’re getting somewhere.
Chapter Twenty-Three
RUTH
The next day while I prepared lunch, I danced around my kitchen as the stereo in my family room blasted “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. I didn’t care that Nick occasionally glanced toward the house and shook his head, laughing at me.
He was the reason I even felt like dancing.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so alive. It was like I had been sucked into a big black hole for ten years and had forgotten that the sun even existed.
Nick was my sunshine.
He made me smile, for many reasons, including the pot of Black-eyed Susans on the kitchen counter that he had given to me first thing this morning.
“No charge,” is what he had told me, winking.
I argued with him that I was going to pay him for the flowers since he said he’d plant them for me, but Nick said they were a thank you gift for my business.
What a bunch of bull.
Especially since there were five more pots on the ground outside.
How could such a stubborn man make me smile?
Thoughts of that kiss in the water played nonstop in my head.
I had never been more distracted in my entire career. I still hadn’t gotten much work done, unless you counted the time I took to plant organic tomatoes and red bell peppers in my new planter boxes while Nick watched and gave me even more goosebumps on the back of my neck.
“Dancing Queen” by Abba started playing and I began to dance again.
Nick yelled from the backyard and waved his finger at me. “No, no, no!”
I walked over to the screen door and slid it open, hands on my hips. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Your music selection. If I’m going to be subjected to your tunes while I work, I would like to hear something different.”
“I’m not taking requests. And what’s wrong with Abba anyway?”
“Everything. I can put up with Cyndi Lauper and Aretha Franklin. And what was that other song? The one where you were waving your arms in the air and singing about beingafraidandpetrified.”
“That was “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor. And you were watching me?”
I knew he was, but I just wanted to hear him admit it.
Nick blew out a breath, like he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “Of course, I was watching you. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”
“Not recently,” I lied.
“Well, go look. Then you’ll know why I can’t take my eyes off of you. How could Inotwatch you?”
“Am I supposed to answer that?”
“No. Anyway, where was I?”
