My One and Only(75)

We found a place near the train bridge and sat looking out at the wide, blue Missouri. “What do you think of the bridge?” I asked, and Nick smiled.

“Not bad,” he said. “It’s not Brooklyn, but it’s okay.” It had always been Nick’s habit to compare bridges to his beloved Brooklyn Bridge and find them wanting. Not even the Golden Gate could measure up. “Orange is orange,” he used to say, “no matter what you call it.”

We let Coco off the leash to explore, which she did for approximately four minutes before deciding a nap was in order. She lay next to me on her back, her paws in the air, sneezed twice, wagged her tail and fell asleep.

“Hey,” Nick said, nudging my arm with something. It was a little package. Gift-wrapped. “Happy birthday.”

I sucked in a quick breath. He was right. I guess I’d sort of forgotten the date, being on the road, not constantly on the computer. And of course, it wasn’t my favorite day of the year, given my history and all. Funny that neither my father nor BeverLee had mentioned it. Well. Other things on their minds.

“Open it,” Nick said.

It was a pendant, a polished stone, gray and lovely, framed with silver twists. It was somber but lovely, one of a kind. “Thank you,” I said.

“The stone’s from the river here,” he said. “A souvenir.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Want me to put it on?” he asked, then, at my nod, knelt behind me. Nick’s hands were quick and gentle, barely brushing my skin. “Happy birthday,” Nick repeated, and for a second, it seemed as if he might kiss me. But he didn’t.

“Thanks,” I whispered, not quite able to look him in the eye.

But my heart was sweetly sore, because September 14 wasn’t just my birthday or the day my mother had left me…it was also the day I’d met Nick.

“So what do you want to do tonight?” Nick asked after a few minutes.

“Let’s go to the movies,” I said, and that’s just what we did. First we checked into a chain hotel. Two rooms, of course. I left Coco in mine with Animal Planet on and strict instructions to limit her room service to three desserts and three only, then met Nick in the lobby. We walked down the street to the theater. Two horror flicks, three romances, one cop movie. “Nightmare on Elm Street, or Saw?” Nick asked.

“Oh, Nightmare, definitely,” I said.

“So romantic,” Nick murmured. Without asking me if I wanted any, he bought me a vat of popcorn and a root beer. We found seats and did what we’d done in the olden days—proceeded to talk incessantly throughout the film’s murders.

“Ten bucks says the virgin dies before the slut,” I said, taking a sip of my soda.

“You’re on. Oh, hey, don’t go in the shower, for God’s sake,” Nick advised the scantily dressed college student on the screen as she tiptoed into the bathroom. He stuffed a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, okay, there you go,” he added as she was slashed to death by Freddy’s fingernails. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Your poor parents.”

“Do you mind?” asked a kid in front of us.

“Listen, son,” Nick said. “I’ll save you some suspense. Everyone dies.”

“Ass,” the kid muttered, getting up and moving ten or so rows away. We ignored him.

“Nick,” I murmured, “should I ever head into the cellar armed only with a ladle after the police have just warned me that a psychotic killer is on the loose, please slap me.”

“Shut up!” someone else hissed.

“Will do, Harpy, will do. Oh! Yuck! Okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Can you actually do that with a corkscrew?”

The hisser moved.

God, it was fun! The popcorn was fresh, the root beer wasn’t watered down, and sitting there in the theater, giggling inappropriately as teen after teen was hacked, the thought came to me that if only Nick and I had done things like this when we were married—picnics and movies and harvest dances—we might never have gotten divorced.

If only.

When the movie was over, we returned to the humble hotel. Nick walked down the hall with me, murmuring something about seeing me safely to my door. Uh-huh. I slid the card into the slot and opened the door. Checked to make sure Coco was okay—she was sleeping on her back in the middle of the bed—then turned to my ex.

“Thanks for a great date,” I said, my knees suddenly buzzing.

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday,” he murmured. His eyes dropped to my mouth. I swallowed.

Sleeping with him is definitely ill-advised, said the lawyer part of my brain. Unfortunately, the blood flow had redirected to my girl parts, which gave a hot and sudden throb. Nick looked at me, his eyes as dark as an abyss into which I would cheerfully throw myself. The lawyer part of me gave a distant, outraged squeak.

His lashes…they were so pretty, thick and unexpected, and when he smiled, which he was doing now, the loveliest lines spread from his eyes, and those eyes, so often tragic and gypsy-sad, were happy now.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of sleeping with Nick. Now though…now…okay, the brain was definitely struggling for survival as the girl parts continued to croon…Nick and me, na**d and in bed…that seemed like a wicked good idea.