Cruising Toward Love

1

In exactly twenty-four hours, Zoe Balis would be forced to walk down the aisle of St. Euthymius on the arm of her archenemy. Her sworn nemesis. Nah, why candy-coat it? Nate Hyatt was, at best, the spawn of Satan. She’d be surprised if he didn’t burst into flames the moment he crossed the threshold of the old brick church.

Zoe, dear, didn’t you hear me? I said your sister’s fiancé switched his best man, so Nathaniel Hyatt will be your escort for the procession. Tell me, isn’t he the young man who stood you up for your prom? Agatha Petrides’s beady eyes gleamed at the prospect of reliving the scandal with one of the two main players.

Caught off guard and reeling from the news, Zoe tried to swallow the gargantuan lump filling her throat. Her muscles flexed around the clog created by ten years of suppressed emotion, but it didn’t work. But she’d endured the pitying glances, relived the humiliation enough times over the years that she knew what to do. Zoe dug deep, past the calluses built up from people clucking their tongues over her and the unfortunate incident, and produced a bland smile.

Yes, Mrs. Petrides. Nate’s the one who stood me up for the prom.

Mrs. Dimos shouted over the sloshing din of the washing machines. No, you’ve got it all wrong, Agatha. Zoe went out with Nate Hyatt. I pressed a dress special for her to wear. Pleated, with lots of flowers. I never forget a dress.

Sure. Because why gloss over the specifics of her dating fiasco? Before Zoe could respond, Ione Nevis shouldered forward and dropped her laundry on the counter.

You’ve got a mind like a steel trap, Mrs. D. Zoe did go out with Nate. For a whole year, wasn’t it? Her glossy pink lips flattened into an evil, sidewise smirk. I remember being shocked he stuck with you so long. It was no surprise when he dropped you like a hot potato on prom night.

Sophomore year, Zoe made the mistake of alerting the teacher when Ione tried to cheat off her. Apparently Ione liked to hold a grudge. Now on her second husband—and rumored to be simultaneously on her third affair—Ione still went out of her way to stick it to Zoe whenever possible.

I’m surprised you noticed my absence. I heard you spent the whole night locked in the bathroom after you weren’t crowned prom queen. Zoe knew it was petty to stoop to her level, but sometimes you had to fight fire with fire.

Nothing like the pain of your first heartbreak. Mrs. Dimos plopped down on a ladder-backed chair and began to hem a pair of pants. You took it very well, Zoe. We cleaned quite a few ice cream stains off your shirts for a few months there, but overall you held up. Especially considering Nate was the first boy to ask you out. Must’ve been so hard on you.

With a tiny laugh, Zoe tried to dismiss the incident with a careless flap of her fingers. I barely remember what happened last month, let alone a night over ten years ago. It’s safe to say I’ve moved on.

Zoe held her breath, saying a quick prayer her bald-faced lie wouldn’t bring down a punitive lightning bolt. She’d certainly tried to move on, but in the small town of Towanda, Pennsylvania, where she’d lived her entire life, the mortification of that night never had the chance to fade away. Here, people held on to their memories with the sticky death grip of a toddler on an all-day sucker. Gossip didn’t need to be fresh. It just needed to be juicy.

Mrs. Petrides pulled a pencil out of the gray-streaked bun at the nape of her neck and totaled the bill. Moved on? You’re dating again? Funny, I haven’t seen you around town with anyone in ages. Where are you hiding your young man?

Aargh. The temptation to lie was strong, but Zoe knew if she so much as hinted at a boyfriend, the news would hit her grandmother’s bridge club and she’d be expected to produce him at Sunday dinner. The first two rounds went to Mrs. Petrides, both for surprising Zoe in the first place, and now for making her affirm her single status.

I meant that I’ve moved on emotionally. Years ago, in fact. I’m just not dating anyone right now.

Who could she date? Available men were hard to find anywhere, let alone in a town the size of a postage stamp full of men she’d known her whole life.

Still recovering from Dr. Todd dumping you? Ione’s voice dripped false sympathy. She didn’t bother to look at Zoe, instead using the time to poof her cartoonish hair flip.

Zoe shook her head, seizing the opportunity to disabuse the notion. Better find a more reliable source of gossip. We never went out. No dates equals no break up.

Dr. Todd, the cute veterinarian who moved to town a few months ago, had flirted more and more each time he returned library books to her. But then her very own cousin took it upon himself to share with Todd the ancient legend of Zoe and Nate.

Because if she hadn’t been good enough for Nate Hyatt to take to the prom after a full year of scribbled notes, hand holding by the lockers, and pizza dates that ended by rounding first and second base, especially when Nate ran off to join the Army instead, then there must be something very wrong with Zoe indeed. The boys of Towanda banded together and branded her undateable, a label which stuck to this day. Not surprisingly, Dr. Todd began to return his books via the afterhours slot outside, and her brief attempt at flirtation fizzled before a single date.

Nathaniel was such a good-looking boy, wasn’t he? I wonder what sort of a man he’s grown into, Mrs. Petrides mused while she whipped protective plastic over the hangers laden with dry cleaning.

I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. No way would the nosy old bat drag her into a discussion of how hot Nate must look. All his lankiness would be filled out with manly muscle, perhaps with a hardness to his jaw etched by maturity and experience. No, Zoe refused to let her thoughts drift anywhere near what was probably a well-muscled, sexy body. Didn’t matter to her one bit what he looked like. Nate Hyatt wouldn’t register as even the smallest blip on her radar screen.

With a smack of her loose dentures, Mrs. P. leaned across the counter. She had a reputation for twisting and squeezing to extract every last drop of gossip, leaving her victims as limp and wrung out as an over-juiced orange.

I’ve known you your whole life. You can tell me how you really feel, Zoe. Won’t it be hard for you to hold his arm and walk down the aisle?

Just think of all those unfortunate feelings that’ll get stirred up, Ione piped in.

Relentless harpies. Zoe dug into her oversized shoulder bag, the one her grandmother swore would turn her into a hunchback any day now, and whipped out her wallet. She blamed the sudden onset of pain drilling through her temples on either the dry cleaning fumes or Mrs. Petrides’s arch tone. Regardless, a quick exit could only help the situation. Sliding a twenty under the replica of a Greek diner mug holding an odd collection of pens and buttons, she grabbed the hangers and headed for the door.

I’m a grown woman. A page from my past can’t give me anything worse than a paper cut. See you at the wedding!

Bells tinkled at her exit. Zoe tried to storm down the street, but in reality she trudged more like a pack mule. In addition to her purse big enough to smuggle an entire chicken dinner into the movies—successfully attempted six times, and so far never caught—and the dry cleaning, her other arm burned with the weight of two enormous shopping bags. They contained all the bridal party gifts to be presented at the rehearsal dinner.

The ignominy of carrying her own gift wasn’t lost on Zoe. While technically the maid of honor, she’d ended up doing all of the bride’s work as well. Because, as Stella pointed out each time she wheedled another favor, Zoe had a flair for organizing with meticulous detail.

True, she preferred to do a task herself rather than be called in to fix it later. And she did adore Stella—at least the pre-Bridezilla version of Stella. So Zoe ordered the gifts, purchased and paid for them, picked them up, wrapped them, and now lugged them across town to drop off at the restaurant. What contribution did her sister the bride make to the entire process? Stella had decided on the bow color when Zoe cornered her, and that only happened because she’d been hopped up on sugar after yet another cake tasting.

Thoughts of the wedding brought Zoe right back to the pain boring through her skull. Seeing Nate Hyatt again after all these years, let alone interacting with him in front of hundreds of people throughout the long weekend of celebration, had to be the sole cause.

To be fair, her sister deserved a share of the blame for her current state. Anger swirled with anxiety, topped off with a healthy dash of annoyance. Why hadn’t Stella told her about Nate being in the wedding? Why leave her to be blindsided?

Zoe stopped on the curb in front of the brick façade of the historic Keystone Theatre to catch her breath. The building was strong and had survived centuries of harsh weather. It would be her inspiration. A hometown girl, Zoe had only left Towanda for college. No grand treks across Europe, or road trips to discover America. Everything she needed was right here in Towanda. If the theater could stand strong, so could she.

A loud rev of a motorcycle engine stopped her with one foot hovering half off the curb. The sleek, black machine raced down Main Street, heedless of both the posted speed limit as well as the other cars on the road. It swerved to the right to nip around a slower moving truck, and its wheels found one of the deeper potholes on the street, covered by at least a foot of water.

Zoe screeched as muddy water cascaded over her from head to toe. Bags and freshly pressed clothes flew through the air as her hands flew up to shield her face. The driver yanked hard on the handlebars to keep the bike upright, barely managing to steer it to a stop at the corner.

Soaked through, Zoe stood in shock, but only for a moment. Then it hit her that all her pent up rage over Nate finally had an outlet. The idiot on the motorcycle would never know what hit him. He’d beg to not just be allowed to clean but replace her entire outfit by the time she finished her tongue lashing.

She didn’t move, not even to wipe her face, waiting for him to come to her and grovel in abject apology. He braced the bike on its kickstand and yanked off his helmet.

Sorry about that. You okay? he asked.

No. The shock of the icy puddle water didn’t begin to compare to the shock Zoe felt meeting Nate Hyatt’s eyes for the first time in ten years. She was a lot of things in that moment, but okay was definitely not one of them.

A small hand whipped out and cracked Nate across the cheek in a wicked slap. He dropped his helmet and grabbed for her wrists before the short, dripping woman could take aim at his other cheek.

Come on, I didn’t splash you on purpose. What the hell is your problem? Not that he’d been holding out for a ticker tape parade, but his return to town after a decade deserved better than a slap from some random woman.

Did he know her? Long, wet hanks of hair obscured her face, except for one smoldering brown eye. If he actually believed in the religious claptrap his Greek grandparents tried to feed him over the years, he’d swear the woman was giving him the evil eye. Nate resisted the latent urge to spit over his shoulder for protection.

Oblivious, self-centered jerk, she muttered.

Whoa! Nice to meet you, too. I apologized, you know. Want to fill me in on why you’ve decided it’s hate at first sight?

She jerked out of his grasp. If I’d been smart enough to detest you when we first met, I would’ve saved myself loads of trouble.

Pinned down on two sides by enemy fire, he’d received a warmer reception on his last tour in Afghanistan than from this woman. She really knew how to make a guy long for freezing cold coupled with the constant threat of imminent death.

Try as he might, Nate couldn’t remember accidentally running over anyone’s pet—or child, considering her level of pure loathing. But he didn’t doubt she recognized him. Slowly and carefully, as though sticking his hands into a tiger’s cage, he reached out and pushed the heavy mass of sodden hair off her face.

One look shot him two steps backward. He recognized her all right. Zoe Balis. The girl who got away. Well, calling her the girl he ran away from would be more on point. Nate knew he’d see her this weekend. But his plan to deal with the inevitability of Zoe Balis revolved around having time to prepare, time to raise mental walls, reinforced by steel girders cemented in place. And maybe a few shots of bourbon for good measure.

You sure know how to hold a grudge, he sneered, hoping she bought his aloof act, when all he really wanted to do was drink her in. Her shapeless brown suit didn’t manage to hide the sweet curves he’d thought about more times than he cared to admit. And her face, under the mud splatter, looked like no time had passed since he’d last seen her. Gorgeous olive skin that begged a man to caress it surrounded chocolate lakes of eyes, in a heart-shaped face framed by thick, wavy hair.

He wanted to sweep her into his arms and sink into her mouth. His brain warned him to back away with all the caution born of years spent working his way through minefields. Pride, however, won the battle. If she wanted to pick a fight, he’d damn well stand here and dish it right back.

It’s been ten years, Zoe. Are you telling me no other man got your panties in a twist since I left? ’Cause I can’t think of any other reason you’d still be sore about something that happened way back in high school.

Don’t flatter yourself, she spat back. It took me all of ten minutes to get over you. But you know what Towanda’s like. Gossip is the lifeblood of a small town. I’ve moved on just fine. It’s everyone else around here, she flapped an arm in a semicircle indicating all of Main Street, who won’t let me forget the past. My aunts told the story at my college graduation. When I interviewed for my job at the library, it came up. Believe me when I say I would like nothing better than to forget you, Nate Hyatt!

Look, you have to let it go. She paused in the middle of twisting her thick hair into a knot, and narrowed her eyes. Nate held up a hand to stop her from launching another tirade. At least for this weekend, he amended. You can make a voodoo doll of me and toss it in the fire for all I care, but only after the wedding. We’ve got to call a truce. For Alex and Stella.

Zoe bit her bottom lip, and it was all too easy for him to imagine her using those sharp white teeth to nip at his lips. Weird. Usually muddy, frumpily dressed girls didn’t appeal to him. Then again, it never took more than one sideways glance at Zoe to send all the blood straight to his crotch. Something about her revved his senses into overdrive—even when covered in mud and mad enough to spit tacks.

What’s the catch, Nate? I mean, you left town ten years ago without a backward glance just to avoid talking to me. Now you’re all about the polite conversation?

The thick sarcasm didn’t completely hide the pain under her words. He just didn’t have the energy to get into it now. I can live with not being your favorite person in the world. But I’ve been driving for four days to get here. I’m tired, I need to shower and change before we meet at the church, and I don’t see the point of rehashing the past. How about you cut me some slack?

Her head did a slow swivel toward the saddlebags strapped across the back of his bike. You’re going to change into an outfit which spent the last four days wadded up in an overgrown backpack? Lucky me. I get to stand next to the guy whose suit looks like it used to be a piece of origami.

You’ve developed a nasty mouth, Ms. Balis. More than anything, Nate wanted to cover it with his own and kiss the spite right out of her. Not that she’d let him. Or that he’d make a fool of himself by even trying.

Whatever it takes to keep you away from me, she said sweetly.

Keep up the attitude, and you won’t just drive me away. Every red-blooded male within the town limits will run for cover.

Been there, done that.

Cryptic. But he didn’t have the time or the energy to decode her meaning. Look, before you try to get me tossed on a dress code technicality with your immense fashion sense, he did a slow once over of her ugly brown suit and rolled his eyes, I don’t own a suit. I’m borrowing everything I need from Alex. I came all this way to stand up for Alex. Not to piss you off, not to have you slap at me for no reason, and for damn sure not to get yelled at in the middle of the street.

He grabbed the bags scattered around her in a soggy circle and thrust them at her. Here. Sorry your stuff’s all wet.

Not just wet. Probably smashed to smithereens. She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to take the bags. You’re holding the remains of glass beer mugs and crystal perfume bottles. Individually engraved for each bridesmaid and groomsman. Now Alex and Stella won’t have any presents to hand out tonight. You know, to thank us for being in the wedding. Gotta say, Nate, so far, you’re doing a bang-up job as best man. How about I let you be the one to tell Alex you’re holding three hundred dollars worth of shards?

Shit. From everything he’d heard about Stella, she took the whole bride-fluffy-white-dress-perfect-day thing pretty seriously. When Alex said he couldn’t tell the difference between sky blue and sea blue for her colors, his fiancée hadn’t spoken to him for a week. Chances were Alex might not get a wedding night if he broke the news to Stella. Then a lightbulb went off in his head, and he saw right through Zoe’s evil scheme.

Wait a minute. Don’t make this my fault. You think blaming this on me will get Stella to toss me out of the wedding? Yeah, I splashed you. Accidentally. I’m sorry, but you should’ve held onto the presents. Come on, you knew they were breakable. Not like a little water would’ve hurt you. He dropped the bags at her feet with a wet splat. Nice try, but it won’t work.

Of course it’s your fault! You drove crazy fast down the street like you’re in a police chase, and then you soaked me in mud and filthy water. Anybody would’ve dropped the bags. If you, oh, I don’t know, obeyed the speed limit and kept an eye out for hazards on the road, Stella’s dry cleaning wouldn’t be acting as a flotation device.

Zoe stomped forward and pointed down at the clothes half submerged in the pothole. A brown and white speckled duck sat in the middle of a pair of pants, flapping his wings against the plastic and quacking in delight at the rustling sound.

He was beginning to wonder why he’d spent the last ten years pining for her. On the other hand, Nate did remember her using a sharp tongue to mask her gooey, vulnerable center. Road weary, he couldn’t resist snapping back. You think I’m a bad driver? That I don’t know how to watch out for road hazards? I spent the last four years in Afghanistan. In combat.

How, exactly, would driving in a place where half the roads aren’t even paved qualify you for safe driver status?

Wow. Alex would owe him way more than an engraved glass beer mug by the time this weekend wrapped up. Dealing with Zoe qualified for hazard pay.

Every time you get in a vehicle, there’s a good chance a sniper is hiding behind a bush or a rock, just biding their time until they can fire at your Jeep. Or toss a grenade at your tank. So forgive me if I don’t freak out over a little crack in the asphalt.

Nate bent down and yanked the hangers out of the crater in the street, displacing the disgruntled duck. Brackish water flew in a circle. Arms still crossed, Zoe shook her head at the sodden mass. Well, his grandpa always said there was more than one way to skin a cat. He hooked the top of the hangers into the neckline of her suit. Sure enough, her arms uncrossed and clutched at the heavy clothes before their weight could pop the buttons on her jacket.

You’ll pay to clean this suit, Nathaniel Hyatt.

Oh, I’m paying already, he muttered. With a last glance for what else she might’ve dropped—and subsequently blame on him—he spotted a big leather purse. He picked it up, surprised at its weight. Felt like the damn thing was filled with dumbbells. You know where to find me when you get the bill. I’ll be the one at the altar wishing I didn’t have to escort a bitter spinster down the aisle.

Immediately he regretted the words. Too far, Hyatt. Years of living in combat conditions had dulled his social reflexes. Nate blamed lack of sleep, gritty eyes and generally being fed up with her bitchiness. Still, he shouldn’t have lashed out like that, not so it drained the color from her face and filmed her eyes over with hurt.

Guess they were even.

It sure would make it easier to keep her at a safe distance. If there was such a thing. Not even being an ocean and a continent apart had dulled the memory of Zoe’s gorgeous face, or the hole in his heart that still ached for her.

See you tonight. Nate draped the bag over her shoulder. Its heft threw her off balance, and he watched in amused horror as she wobbled for a moment, then fell backward into the water-filled pothole.

He bit his lip, trying not to laugh. One leg stuck straight up, revealing a good expanse of creamy thigh. Her skirt bunched high up. If it hadn’t been for the brown water swirling around her waist, he might’ve gotten a glimpse of her panties. Arms batted at the plastic billowing up from the dry cleaning across her chest while she shook her hair off her face.

I’m really sorry, Zoe. Seriously. Here, can I give you a hand up?

She spoke slowly, her eyes fixed somewhere near his ankles. The only thing I want from you, Nate, is to watch your back walking away from me. Shouldn’t be too much to ask. After all, you’ve done it before.

Maybe calling a truce for the weekend was pushing it. At this point, he’d be happy if she didn’t hit him over the head with the six-foot-tall candelabra on the altar at St. Euthymius. Well, as a trained soldier, he knew there were times when retreat was the best strategic choice. He retrieved his helmet and got back on his bike. Whoever said you couldn’t go home again had it wrong.

Shouldn’t go home again was more like it.

2

In need of a serious dose of sympathy and comforting, Zoe headed to her family’s hair salon. Guaranteed to be filled with relatives any hour of the day, it had always been Zoe’s refuge from the world. Aunt Thea would pat her cheek, her grandmother would give her a rib cracking hug, and all her troubles would be set right. Filthy and still dripping, Zoe set down her bags by the cactus guarding the entrance against evil spirits.

Goodness, what happened to you, dear? Aunt Thea grabbed a towel from the nearest station and rubbed at Zoe’s hair.

I picked up Stella’s dry cleaning. She let it fall in a heap on the floor. You know what they say—no good deed ever goes unpunished.

You’ll catch your death walking around in that condition. Why don’t you go on home and change?

As tempting as a hot shower and clean, dry clothes sounded, she was too worked up. Yelling at Nate hadn’t improved her mood. However, she could still try and talk Stella into keeping him out of the wedding. First things first, Auntie.

Zoe spotted her target and advanced on her sister. I didn’t say anything when you chose a bridesmaid dress which makes me look like a giant blue toadstool. Held my tongue when you decided to add a baby’s breath wreath as a headpiece. But Stella, you can’t honestly expect me to let Nate Hyatt tuck my hand around his arm and parade me past two hundred of our closest friends and family!

Stella looked cool as a cucumber in her snazzy white warm-up suit with Bride spelled out in silver sequins across her prodigious chest. Her uncharacteristic calm was probably due to the leather chair massaging her back while two nail specialists rubbed her hands and feet simultaneously. She was getting the queen bee dual treatment because Zoe had given up her own pampering appointment to run last-minute errands. For her.

Truly, Zoe didn’t mind all the extra work. It had to be tough on Stella going through this whole process without a mother. From the moment Stella joyfully shrieked news of the engagement, she’d sworn to go above and beyond to fill that hole. As the bride, Stella deserved to be pampered. And as maid of honor, Zoe had the honor of doing, well, everything.

Zoe, you’re stressing me out. I’m getting married tomorrow. Any stress could cause puffy eyes, and then the wedding photos would be ruined. Honestly, don’t you care about my wedding at all? Stella huffed. Her bottom lip trembled, signaling an imminent barrage of tears and temper.

Uh oh.

For the four thousandth time this week, and probably the fourteen millionth time since Stella first flashed her two carat rock, Zoe counted to ten while taking a deep breath. Stella was the baby of the family, and therefore already had a good twenty-six years of being spoiled rotten under her belt. Getting engaged increased her center-of-the-universe mentality to the point where Zoe felt sure any day now Stella would develop her own gravitational field, like a planet. Though she loved her sister dearly, this wedding couldn’t come soon enough.

You’re going to be a picture perfect bride, Zoe said in a soothing tone. Out of habit developed over the past few months, her anger took a backseat to Stella’s happiness. Her daily goal was to prevent a major meltdown. To call Stella a drama queen was akin to calling an elephant pleasingly plump. And by the time you finish here today, you’ll be so relaxed you won’t even know the meaning of the word stress.

She passed Stella a plastic champagne flute, hoping the bubbles might coax back a smile. Then like a wrecking ball crashing through a plate glass window, she remembered where she’d left off trying to express the depth and breadth of her outrage. Furious once more, she snatched back the glass, spilling a few drops on Stella’s pristine white pants in the process.

Hey, look what you’ve done! Stella flapped French tipped fingers in dismay until one of the technicians blotted her with a towel.

Don’t start with me, Stella Balis. The words came out in a low growl. It took all of Zoe’s self-control not to lunge for