“I was headed toward the poetry section when I ran into Doc.” She couldn’t surprise Maverick with a book now, but they could still look.
“Looking for anything special?” he asked knowingly.
“You know I am.” She fingered the shelf of poetry books, deciding if she did find one she wanted, she’d buy it anyway. “Aha. The Love Poems of Rumi.” She slipped it off the shelf for a better look.
Opening the book, she chose a random poem to read. “‘You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness,’” she read aloud.
“‘You were born with wings,’” Maverick continued from beside her, their arms touching. “‘You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly,’” he finished.
Holy inferno of hotness. Reading together from their favorite poet moved the earth beneath her feet. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid he’d see affection and admiration written all over her face.
There had been a time in college when she’d wondered how she’d ever survive Maverick Owens. It didn’t come close to how she was going to survive him now. Or rather survive without him. Logically, she would, of course. Maybe they’d even keep in touch. But deep down, she suddenly yearned for their lives to be different. For their plans to somehow meet in the middle.
She closed the book. “Sold.”
He plucked it out of her hands. “Allow me.”
“What? No, I can get it.” She wove her way around the store to keep up with his strides toward the front of the shop.
“I know you can, but I’d like to buy it for you.”
The young woman at the cash register had stunning green eyes, dark hair with streaks of purple, and wore a T-shirt that read, Romance isn’t dead…it’s on my bookshelf. “Hi, Maverick.”
“Hi, Willow.” He put the book on the counter.
Willow’s eyes slid to Kennedy. “I’m guessing you’re Dr. Martin.”
“You guess right. It’s a little unnerving how everyone knows who I am.”
“Right?” Willow said. “When I took over the bookstore two years ago, the same thing happened to me.”
“But I’m only visiting.”
“But you’ve done your doctor thing. And”—she cut a glance at Maverick—“your Maverick thing.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Maverick said. “Doesn’t this town have anything better to do than gossip about me hanging out with a friend?”
The “friend” description didn’t exactly feel right, but Kennedy had no better word to describe their relationship at the moment, either.
“Whatever you say, dude.” Willow returned Maverick’s credit card and placed the book in a cute brown bag with a twine handle. “Here you go, Dr. Martin. Enjoy.”
Kennedy took the bag. “Thanks. I love your store, by the way.”
“Thank you. I hope that means you’ll come back again sometime.”
Since Kennedy had no good answer to that, she simply nodded.
Maverick ushered her out of the store and led her straight to his truck parked in front.
She thought about torturing him with a request to stay in town, but bit her tongue. Her days of tormenting the cowboy were over. “Thanks for the book. Where are we off to?”
“How does fishing sound?” He put the truck in drive.
“I’ve never fished before, so good. But don’t you use worms for bait and aren’t you afraid of them?”
“You remember that, huh?”
“I remember everything.” She pointed to her temple.
“That’s too bad,” he said with a straight face.
“Will you need me to bait your hook for you? Save you from the terrifying creatures with soft bodies and no limbs?” She gave him a giant grin.
“I appreciate the offer, tough girl, but we’re going jig fishing.”
“What’s that?”
“A jig is a type of artificial bait. It’s a hook with a metal head molded to it and skirted with rubber. They get bass to bite, more so than other fishing lures.”
“Got it.” She picked up the smooth, oval rock still sitting in his cup holder and rubbed her thumb across it. “Do you use this often?” Worry stones worked for some, not for others.
“Not so much anymore.”
“So, it helped at one time? I’m always curious about different health remedies I can recommend to my patients.”
“Do you want the answer I gave my mom or the real one?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.
“The real one. Always the real one.”
“Not really. Now I just keep it there as a reminder.”
“A reminder?”
“That I’ve got a family who cares. Sometimes they’re a burr under my saddle, but I know it comes from a good place, and a lot of people don’t have that.”
She giggled.
“That’s funny?” he asked good-naturedly.
“‘Burr under my saddle’ is. Sometimes you say things that remind me of how differently we were raised.” She put the rock back in the cup holder. “The rest of what you said is really nice. You’re lucky. My family isn’t like yours.”
He reached over to squeeze her hand as he drove down a dirt road, through the trees, toward his grandfather’s lake. Kennedy rolled down her window to feel the wind on her face.
They parked near the bank of canoes, her eyes scanning the boats with fondness. She remembered every moment of their time spent on the lake with perfect clarity. She’d thought about other, more intimate, times spent together, too. The memories made this week—wedding related and Maverick related—would keep her company for years to come. Andrew being a bounty hunter and stunt man and dance therapist and water slide tester and her trying to remember who knew what and where she fit in…plus Maverick being unexpectedly everything.
From a shed he grabbed two fishing poles, a tackle box, and a khaki short-brimmed hat with a chin-cinch toggle. He plopped the hat on her head. “Gotta protect those freckles.”
The hat did nothing for her outfit, but she cinched it nonetheless—how could she not when he wanted to protect her face?—and followed him down a short dock. His calves were tan and well-defined. His butt well-built and sexy. He glanced over his shoulder like he’d felt her perusal, and she quickly looked away. Streaks of sunlight glistened in the water. A few people paddled canoes, talking and laughing.