Page 2 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

As they walked through the shade, sunlight flickering every few steps, Draven filled her in on his latest business venture and the reason for the trip.

Not in the same graduate program, yet they’d been part of the same group of friends who had connected in those first few weeks of school.

She still didn’t exactly know what he did, but apparently he was presenting ideas across the country for the next few weeks.

Exactly the spot she was looking for. Thankfully, unoccupied. One of many little nooks above the beach that had been set up for picnics. The faux wood recycled plastic table atop crushed rock was tucked back for an isolated little chunk of riverside dining.

“So,” she said, realizing she hadn’t retained a word he’d said. “I have to be honest; I was surprised that you called. It’s been, what, two years since we last saw each other?”

“And two months,” he added, smiling adoringly before reaching into the bag.

Wow. Impressively remembered.

He set out two champagne flutes and filled them with sparkling water. Charming. Seriously. Definitely a date.

Draven handed her a drink and raised his. “To a shared past,” he said with a fondness twinkling in his gaze.

Lovely. Really. Trace smiled warmly and said, “And a pleasant afternoon.”

She drank the bubbles down in a gulp, and knew he was watching over the rim of his glass, sipping slower, so she slowed and savored.

Trace pulled the salads from the bag and set each out.

“Is this a… turkey dinner salad?” he asked, hesitating before settling on a smile.

“My friend is a chef, and she feeds me for free, but only if I eat what she tells me, and I give feedback on whether it would be a good addition to the menu.”

“Must be some friend, to convince you to eat salad.”

Well, that wasn’t so pleasant. Trace laughed with feigned chipperness at the tease, pushing the smile into her eyes. “I’m turning over a new leaf.” She giggled at her witty pun.

He didn’t.

Her laugh tapered off when she realized he didn’t get the joke.

Or didn’t appreciate it, anyway. “I moved in with my parents so I can save for a down payment on a house.” She didn’t add that it was mostly because her last landlord had been a butt.

And she was lonely, and her rental house sat empty most weekends, anyway.

“That’s a great financial plan,” he said, nodding with grand appreciation. Then she remembered his trust fund.

“Anyway,” she continued, bulldozing over the rise of anything awkward.

“My dad just got his annual labs done, and he has prediabetes. We made a pact, the three of us, to eat healthy at least eighty percent of the time. But since my mom owns a bakery, we aren’t perfect.

” Shit, why hadn’t she brought cookies? Imbued with an unearthly magic—chocolate, peanut butter, and sea salt, to be specific—her mom’s cookies made everything better.

Draven stabbed his salad and scooped in a bite, nodding and sweeping the flavors across his tongue with consideration. “I like this. Your friend is a good chef.”

“Zoe will be pleased to hear that.”

Conversation dwindled as they munched, the birds, bees, and wind in the trees doing the talking for them.

Had he always been this boring? An inane blank face except when he was pondering something deep and meaningful? A very pretty man, but… maybe he was nervous?

While chewing another bite, both looking around vaguely for something to talk about, Trace tried to remember what they used to talk about. Scrolling through images in her mind like an old photo album, she sifted through scene after scene.

Huh. She was wearing pretty much the same thing in every memory.

Did she have a uniform ? For casual wear, she’d wear ankle-length jeans with ballet flats, but for work or dates, such as this, she’d step it up to nicer pants and a sweater or something of that sort…

holy shit, no wonder he thought she looked the same.

Okay, fashion wasn’t ideal for a conversation igniter with Draven, but she spent enough time drooling over cute or edgy looks on Who What Wear and other favorite sites.

Vogue . Ah, chef’s kiss to that. Out of her league.

Real people didn’t actually wear breezy sundresses or leather pants, not in the northwest, anyway.

File that thought away for later. Maybe Haley would go shopping with her, and she could throw out everything she owned and start with one of those capsule wardrobes.

Hmm. Focus. What had she talked about with Draven back in grad school? Classes, future careers. His family. Her family, but she typically left out the funny parts, as not many outside her Foothills friends would appreciate the humor in rained-out camping trips or knitting competitions.

Wine. Hey, wine, perfect. She liked wine. There was a wine bar they all used to frequent near campus.

“You know, I just got back from Paris,” she opened, waiting for his eyes to light up. Hers would. Travel. Wine. Excellent conversation topics. They both enjoyed both.

“My family has an apartment there, but I lost interest in going.”

Shit.

“I mean, it’s a lovely place to visit,” he quickly corrected.

Lovely. Huh. “Anyway, I had so many great wines while I was there, but whenever I’ve been to France, it’s been for school or work, so I hope on a future visit to tour some wineries.”

“I can recommend a few vineyards,” he said, smiling politely again. Did the wind ever catch his hair, or had he overindulged in hairspray? Magical hairspray, as it didn’t look at all crunchy. “I’d offer to take you one day, but I gave up alcohol. It muddled my thoughts too much.”

Okay. Wine was not a good topic. Nor was travel, apparently, as they probably stayed in vastly different accommodations.

Theater. He loved the theater. “Have you seen any good shows lately?” she asked.

“Sadly, no. My work has kept me too busy.” And, back to him talking about work. He brightened, explaining something about the convergence between economy and ecology, but he was neither an economist nor an ecologist, as far as she knew.

While she was trying not to think about how he didn’t move his upper lip when he spoke, she spaced out again.

Trace scooped in another bite of salad. Not enough cranberries.

She’d have to let Zoe know she needed more zing to combat the fact that she was eating a salad.

Although, in all honesty, she did feel better in the few weeks they’d been on the healthy diet.

Lifestyle. Not diet. Healthy lifestyle for lifelong wellness.

Thrusting her tongue discretely between her back molars, Trace searched for the nagging hunk of spinach before she embarrassed herself with a green smile.

They had history. How was this the most boring date she’d ever been on? On such a beautiful day?

Water gushed over the boulders that were scattered in the river, almost close enough to hop from one to the next. A hiking date would have been a better choice than lunch, so they wouldn’t be forced to talk, or they would at least have something interesting to talk about.

Or a dinner date. Then there was a better chance of ending things with a bang. And she hadn’t ended with a bang since… ugh. No. Not going there. Even her last bang had been… not worthy of the term bang . Banging implied pelvises and hips and speed and—

“Do you and Emily ever talk anymore?” he asked, sparking a shred of hope that the date was salvageable.

“No, we don’t. I guess… I don’t know, but I haven’t stayed in touch with anyone. What about you?”

“Not at all. I’m afraid we ended on a terrible note.

Which is why I was so glad you accepted my invitation.

Emily indicated that she had… always been interested in me.

And it got me thinking. I’d actually been interested in you all that while.

” His cheeks flushed bright red, and he smiled sweetly at her.

Fuck yes. Trace’s belly warmed as adrenaline stirred, and she decided then and there to pull out all the stops and not let one more date end with her disappointed and alone, upstairs, in her parents’ house, watching bad action flicks with her hair in a messy bun, throwing popcorn at the screen when the good guy was too wholesome to shoot first.

Maybe Draven was an animal in the sack, to, um, compensate for the lack of personality?

“It’s warm this afternoon,” she said vaguely, fanning her cheeks before slipping her cardigan off, then the matching shell, revealing her lace-trimmed camisole that made her boobs look amazing.

She closed her salad and set the container back in the bag, then reached across, flashing a hint of cleavage as she took his empty container. Too forward? Maybe. But, desperate times and all that.

His eyes dropped low; his breath halted.

Nailed it. Ha. There was hope for this date yet.

“Come on,” she said, nodding toward the beach. “Let’s go for a walk.”

While he seemed to gather his wits, she dropped the remains of their lunch in the bear-proof waste bins. While she was still turned away, she gave her teeth one more perusal with the tip of her tongue to make sure there was no trapped spinach to cool the mood.

Time to strip down those barriers and see if he was just shy on dates. He hadn’t been shy as a friend. Or had he? This was actually the first time they’d been alone together, so yeah, he was probably just shy. A little warming up in the sun might help.

As he joined her closer to the water, she slipped her hand into his. With only a slight hesitation at first, he innocuously held her hand and followed along.

Art. Great topic. “Have you been to the Musée D’Orsay?”

“That is a great museum,” he said, glancing over at her and smiling sweetly. “Although some of the most passionate sculptures are in Italy.”

Thanks for that. One-upmanship was not sexy. But maybe he was trying to relate?

Wow, she was so bored talking to him that she was bouncing ideas off her inner monologue. “I have always wanted to go.”

The trail turned onto the walking bridge, the sturdy wooden planks echoing their deep resonance over the turbulence of the river. All other sounds drowned out, the late summer sun warming her down to her toes. Perfect spot. She stopped in the middle and looked up at him.

All signs set to go, light on green. None of her students in sight.

She hoped her kissable lip gloss hadn’t worn off.

Draven seemed to read her flashing signals that said, “This is the moment.” He leaned down and touched his lips delicately to hers, then smiled as he stood to his full height again.

Huh. She thought she’d put on the very-dark-green light, plus removed the speed limit signs, no stop signs, not a speed bump on the horizon.

Was that really… it ?

Well, shit. Trace opened her posture and was about to yank him closer and spice it up, when he linked his hand back with hers and beamed a sigh, looking into the distance.

“I’ve had a wonderful afternoon,” he said, satisfied as he gave a slight pull to her hand, the sort that said the date was over, time to head back to the cars.

She smiled as brightly as she could, pretending that the kiss had done something , as his smile was more vivid than she’d seen… ever. Like, he was actually glowing. After… that ?

They walked hand-in-hand along the riverside beach, back toward the cars.

Trace’s stomach dropped lower with each crunch of gravel under her feet. She had an incredible group of friends now that she was back in Foothills, some new, some she’d known since they were in diapers. And all of her close friends were in incredible relationships.

Sex. Lots of it. Not that they bragged about it, but they sometimes they over-shared.

Sophie and Asher, apparently, had been busted a few times, once in a damn dressing room.

Oral sex was like, a normal part of life for these people.

They had all done it against the door, or in some other urgent sort of need-you-now love-making.

Was there something stamped on Trace’s forehead that said she preferred things sedate and sweet? Why hadn’t he kissed her with tongue? She preferred to get to know someone before sex, but come on, they already had a history, and he was only in town for the day.

People always thought she was nice. A good girl. It was the freckles. And the big blue eyes. And the fact that she was polite. And really didn’t seek trouble. And dressed like her mother.

When they reached the cars, they shared polite farewells. He leaned in and kissed her one more time. She rose to her tippy toes, softening her lips, pressing harder. And he… pulled away. Again. Smiled as he stood tall.

He asked if he could call her again, next time he was in town.

She pointedly did not ask, “Why?” Or, “Will you stick your tongue down my throat next time, or is that a third date thing?”

Painting on her most satisfied smile, Trace waved one last time as she climbed into her car, her lips numb, her ribs aching, as she realized a painful fact.

Why didn’t she grab him by the waistband and yank him close and shove her tongue down his throat?

Time to get real. She was boring.