Slade’s feet stopped moving. He didn’t want to be in the park. Not with the memories or the images or the inevitable feeling of failure.
Then he heard Christine’s laugh and a throaty male voice ask, “Can we try that again?”
With only a heartbeat of hesitation, Slade’s feet moved. In twenty paces, he’d be able to see them.
Christine’s voice and laughter grew louder. “This is twisted.”
Ten feet.
“Be like the eagle.” Mayor Larry’s voice.
And there they were. Both fully clothed.
Tension Slade hadn’t realized was between his shoulder blades loosened.
Larry wore short-shorts and no shirt. For a guy in his seventies, he was healthy and toned. Christine wore long black yoga pants and a pink clingy tank top. Her hair was in a high ponytail, straight blond tresses hanging down her back.
They both stood on one leg with their free leg wrapped around the standing leg and their arms entwined in front of their chests. It sort of looked as if they had to go to the bathroom and were trying to hold it.
Slade chuckled.
They hardly wavered as their bare feet hit the dirt.
“Slade, come join us.” Despite blocking the winery, Mayor Larry was always friendly, hence his eight terms in office.
Christine shot Slade a look that seemed to say, Really? You’re checking up on me?
He hadn’t been worried about her. It was pure curiosity. “I don’t have the flexibility for yoga.”
“What are you doing out here so early?” Christine didn’t pull her punches. “Where are the girls?”
“Probably eating cereal in front of the television in their pajamas.” Think fast, man. Why am I here? “I was wondering if you had time in your schedule to go pick out furniture for the farmhouse. Tables and chairs for the tasting room and patio.” Nice save. She’d had those items on the purchasing proposal he’d signed off on last night.
Christine’s expression brightened. “That would be great. I’d love to get that taken care of before the bigger equipment is delivered.”
Slade arranged to pick her up after lunch and made his retreat, dignity still intact.
It wasn’t until he was strolling past the empty grocery store, replaying Christine’s laughter in his head, that he realized he was grinning.
And realized he had no right to be.
* * *
“FABULOUS DRESSES, GIRLS,” Christine said as she climbed into the passenger seat of Slade’s truck.
And they were fabulous, smacking of designer chic—soft pink ruffled bodices, lemon-green skirts with pockets, black headbands in their straight black hair, pink sequined Mary Janes with lemon-green bows.
Christine’s gaze turned to Slade and his loud blue polka-dot tie. “Fabulous tie.” He’d been wearing it that morning.
His gaze landed on her neon green plastic flip-flops. He was unsuccessful at concealing a smile. “You couldn’t liberate a pair of Italian sandals from a box?”