Nobody's Fool Read online

  “Does that mean I can still flirt with you?” she called.

  “I’m not an ex,” he reminded her. “Just the guy next door, remember?”

  He waved and disappeared once he climbed the steps to the Harrisons’ porch.

  Jolie unlocked the door, feeling let down. Didn’t Court want her to flirt with him? Didn’t he have any interest in her beyond friendship? They were practically the only two unattached people at the reunion as far as she could tell.

  In her room she sighed as she began to undress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The locket gleamed in the soft light. She picked it up and rubbed it between her fingers. Maybe “forever” wasn’t a possibility. But that didn’t mean “right now” wasn’t.

  Saturday morning after a shower, Jolie donned the jeans and top she’d planned to wear then shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. No. This outfit said, “rock concert in Central Park.” She needed one that said, “high school reunion picnic in Illinois.” Something conservative and low key.

  She pawed through the clothes she’d brought and came up with a cream cotton T-shirt with a keyhole neckline and lace detailing. Sexy but sweet. And it would be comfortable. She also ditched the hip-hugger jeans and put on a pair of black skinny ones instead.

  “Cute outfit,” Court said when she answered his knock.

  She smoothed a hand down the hem of the T-shirt. “Do you think it’s okay?”

  “You should know. You’re the one with the fashion background,” Court reminded her.

  “You’re right. I can’t remember the last time I asked that question to anyone, much less a—”

  “Sartorially challenged male?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. You look great. I just…I’ve been away so long, I’m afraid I don’t fit in anymore.”

  She picked up her purse and the tray of brownies her mother had made for the buffet.

  “I’ve got news for you, Jo. You never fit in.”

  Jolie stopped and stared at Court as he closed the door behind them. “Well, that’s a crummy thing to say.”

  He tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. What I meant was…aw, hell.” He gestured in her direction. “Look at you. You were so far ahead of the rest of us, no one could catch you.”

  “So far ahead of you?”

  Court dragged his hand through his hair. “Jolie, it can’t have escaped your notice. You have more class and style in your little pinky than the rest of our graduating class combined. You’ve got a way of presenting yourself, I don’t know what it is. Charisma, maybe. Joie de vivre. It was fascinating as hell in high school, and since then—” He gestured again. “You look fine,” he finished lamely. “Let’s go.”

  “Why, Court, that last part almost sounded like a compliment.”

  Two hours later, Court wondered what had he gotten himself into. What had he been thinking? That he could prove to himself he was immune to Jolie? Ha! He was about as immune to her as he was to a bee sting. All she had to do was touch him and he reacted. It was a full-time job pretending not to.

  Because he and Jolie seemed to be categorized as a couple—and why wouldn’t they be when he’d insisted on escorting her everywhere—they were now in the process of being tied together for the three-legged race.

  Jolie was doing the tying, and Court swore if her fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh one more time, he was going to toss her down in the grass and show her just how much he wasn’t over her. He wished he’d worn jeans instead of cargo shorts. He needed all the protection from Jolie he could get. He looked down as she adjusted the tie around their ankles. The soft curve of her spine, the glimpse of skin where her T-shirt and jeans didn’t quite meet at the waist, the silk of her hair that brushed against his knee.

  Note to self: Reunion picnic and related activities? Bad idea.

  “Okay! Everybody ready?” Erin Miller called through her blow horn. As former student body president, she had put herself in charge of the reunion from start to finish.

  Twenty or so teams lined up on the line she’d created using Caution Wet Paint tape. A similar tape marked the finish.

  Jolie slid her arm around Court’s waist and flashed him a quick smile. He drew his arm around her back. Why had he said yes to this game? The last thing he needed or wanted was to be this close to her. Bound to her.

  Liar, his subconscious argued. You’re enjoying every minute of it. He was. Too much. He wanted to be close to Jolie almost as much as he wanted to prove that he didn’t. Maybe he could just split himself in half. That worked out in Solomon’s court, didn’t it?

  “Ready!” Erin called. “Set! Go!”

  He and Jolie set off as planned, steadily moving in sync. He shortened his strides to match hers. They weren’t the fastest team, but they weren’t falling down, either. Several teams who had started off stronger had already tumbled to the ground together, disqualified.

  Erin, in her usual nitpicking style, had laid down hard and fast rules. If even a knee touched the ground, they were out. Both partners had to remain upright from start to finish.

  The competition literally fell away as they got closer to their goal. “Almost there,” Court encouraged. Somehow, they’d been thrown off their rhythm. The binding was chafing his calf. He tried to make an adjustment, but didn’t do it in time.

  As they reached the goal line he felt Jolie’s balance go. Tied together as they were, with her weight pulling at him, the fastening bit into the skin of his leg. He took one last stumbling step before he went down on the far side of the line. Without even trying he broke Jolie’s fall. She ended up on top of him, laughing. She glanced down the length of the track. “It wasn’t pretty. But I think we won.”

  Speech escaped him so he just nodded while he absorbed the sensation of Jolie atop him. Without thinking, he curled his fingers in her hair, pushing it back away from her face, memorizing the texture of it, his mind a million miles away. “Great,” he finally answered.

  “Our winners are Court Harrison and Jolie Kramer,” Erin blow-horned from about three feet away. “Let’s give them a big round of applause.” Half-hearted hand clapping was offered from the other competitors. Those not involved clapped slightly louder.

  “You two can get up now,” Erin said, not bothering to lower the blow horn. “Game’s over.”

  Her words managed to filter their way into Court’s head. Jolie hadn’t made any effort to get off him. He didn’t know what to think about that. He half sat up and she slid to his side and began undoing the ties.

  “That was fun. When’s the last time you were in a three-legged race?” Then in the next breath she said, “Oh, no.” She’d discovered a red welt where the skin on Court’s leg had been rubbed raw. She stroked it with her fingertips. He sucked in his breath. The scrapes stung, but her touch added a whole new kind of heat. “We should put some ice on that.” She inspected the inside of his thigh as well.

  If he didn’t put a stop to this soon, she was going to have something else to inspect. He got up awkwardly, pushing her aside. “I’ll be okay. It’s no big deal.” He offered her his hand and she got to her feet.

  “Okay, everybody, next game. Let’s form lines, as many as we can, ten people in each, boy, girl, boy, girl. Sarah’s going to give the person at the head of each line a Life Saver. Everyone gets a toothpick. Put your toothpick between your lips. The goal is to pass the Life Saver from toothpick to toothpick, down the line. First team to get it to the last person in their line without dropping it wins. If you drop it, you have to start over.”

  “Where did Erin come up with these games?” Jolie whispered to Court as they took up positions at the end of one line. Sarah handed them each a toothpick. “A time machine?”

  “It’s good clean fun,” Court reminded her. The heads of each line were given their Life Savers and
the game began.

  They watched as a couple of the teams lost their candies and had to start over. “Our class seems to have a bit of trouble working together,” Jolie observed.

  No one was taking the game seriously, except for some of the former jocks who considered everything in life a competition, moaning and groaning at their teammates’ incompetence. “Step it up!” one shouted like it was the last chance for a Super Bowl win.

  More Life Savers landed on the ground and more teams had to start over. “At this rate we’ll run out of candy before anyone wins.”

  “What’s the matter? Are you bored?” Court asked.

  “Not at all,” she answered, surprised to discover it was true. She was enjoying herself in a way she hadn’t in, well, she couldn’t remember when. Playing these stupid games in the park on a fall day with her old classmates was surprisingly liberating. Perhaps she’d been afraid she’d lost the ability to have simple fun or to know what it was when it occurred.

  Besides Val, she had a small circle of friends in New York and enjoyed Sunday brunches with them, movie or theatre dates, the occasional concert or Knicks game.

  But on those social outings she sometimes felt like a lab rat in a controlled environment. Always concerned about her appearance, contributing something clever to the conversation, learning about the hottest new restaurant or boutique before anyone else. She couldn’t let go and be herself.

  Although it had begun long before she’d arrived for the reunion, being here had brought her face-to-face with her own unhappiness and discontent. She was going to have to do some serious soul-searching and make some changes after admitting what she’d known in her heart for so long—the life she had wasn’t what she wanted.

  Court turned away from her as the Life Saver made it through several successful exchanges without hitting the ground. Tom Kavenna slid it onto Annie Gilling’s toothpick and she turned to Court. He crouched in front of the woman’s petite frame and held perfectly still. The ends of the toothpicks touched, the Life Saver slid from one to the other. The rest of the line clapped and cheered. Court straightened and turned to Jolie, toothpick clenched between his teeth.

  Jolie was ready. She stood on tiptoe as he bent down, matching the end of her toothpick to Court’s. The angle was right, the Life Saver slid the length of the toothpicks until it touched Jolie’s lips. Everyone in their line clapped and cheered and gathered around. Erin was there with her blow horn to announce their team as the winners.

  Court picked Jolie up and spun her around. Self-control completely abandoned, she laughed like a kid again.

  Even with all the others gathered around offering their congratulations, Jolie had eyes only for Court. He draped an arm over her shoulders and they moved toward the picnic tables where the food was laid out. Big smoking barbeque grills had been set up and the cooks were offloading hamburgers, hotdogs and chicken.

  They filled their plates and found an open space at one of the tables. Jolie squeezed next to Court, his thigh pressed against hers. She couldn’t concentrate on her food. She sipped her soda and listened to the conversations around her with half an ear. She saw Chip trailing behind Sarah as they approached a nearby table and took seats with their backs to Jolie.

  Make amends. Clean up the clutter in your life. Only then will you be able to move forward. Pop psychology guru Caroline Gordon’s words washed over her. She’d been attending Caroline’s workshops after Jeff’s death and her own wake-up call.

  She’d been struggling with her discontent before then, but after the memorial service she’d decided it was past time to make changes. Caroline’s in-your-face, no-nonsense approach appealed to Jolie, and her book outlined the steps Jolie needed to create the life she wanted. Sometimes she struggled to follow them, to put herself on the line, to risk rejection or being thought a fool, but she was determined to be her authentic self. That was the Jolie that had gotten as far as she had with Melina’s proposal. That Jolie hadn’t looked for an excuse not to try.

  Jolie looked over at Chip and Sarah. She owed Sarah an apology. Chip, too, maybe, although she’d broken up with him face-to-face the same day Court had given her the locket. Still, she’d strung Chip along for months, knowing she planned to leave Illinois, and that hadn’t been fair to him. She took another sip of soda, but the artificial sweetness couldn’t wash away the taste remorse left in her mouth.

  “Are you all right?” Court bent his head close to her so only she could hear him.

  “I’m fine,” she responded automatically, still watching Chip and Sarah. She knew what she had to do.

  That evening after she’d showered and changed clothes and pretended to eat dinner with her parents even though she was still full from the picnic, Jolie curled up on the porch swing and looked back through her tablet computer, which she used to create initial designs, double-checking the ideas she’d had after her discussions with Melina. Advances in technology made fashion designing easier than it had ever been, but sometimes she still preferred her pencils and paper.

  Maybe it was learning Melina was Court’s client. Or maybe it was from being around Court again. Whatever the reason, Jolie was inspired in a way she hadn’t been in a long time. Maybe not since high school. When Court was there to tell you how wonderful all your sketches were? She didn’t want to think that was so, that in abandoning Court she’d somehow also abandoned herself, her dreams, her inspiration. Whatever the reason, she was inspired now.

  She had three new looks she thought were pretty good along with notes and preliminary sketches for several others. She set to work adding detail to the three. She’d moved on to a fourth sketch when Court plunked down next to her. The swing gave a jerk and Jolie grabbed for her tablet, which threatened to slide off her lap. The high-tech piece of equipment wouldn’t be easily replaced, especially since she needed to back up everything she’d just done.

  Her heart had skipped a beat, but that might have just been from the shock. She gave Court a half-annoyed, half-pleased glance. “A little warning would have been nice,” she said, clutching the pad in both hands and securing it back on her lap.

  “I said hello and asked if I could join you,” Court told her, setting the swing in motion with one long leg. “I took your silence for acquiescence.”

  “You must have been whispering because I never heard a word.”

  She looked down at the pad, letting her hair shield her face, trying to still the uneven beat of her heart and concentrate on the sketch she’d been working on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Working.”

  “On what? Can I see?”

  She almost told Court he was as big a pain as ever, but she didn’t because it occurred to her that Court was the only person she’d ever shown her design ideas to until she went to college, and only then because she had to. Criticism, even when she knew it to be valid, made her cringe. But praise was almost worse. She either couldn’t believe it or she didn’t trust the source. Wasn’t it in her instructors’ best interest to see her do well? Her success would reflect back on them, wouldn’t it? She hadn’t believed them and somehow that had made her stop believing in herself.

  Only Court had believed in her talent from the start. He had no vested interest in her success or failure. In his eyes she could do no wrong and somehow back then, she’d believed that of herself. Not that she was perfect, or that everything she produced was. But she’d trusted the effort, the process.

  When she left Oak Ridge she’d disconnected herself from the only person who’d given her unqualified, unquestioning support. Why had she done that? Why had she run away from everything Court had offered?

  Court asked, “Is it some top-secret design work? For the First Lady, perhaps?”

  She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and smiled. “No, she hasn’t called yet. Of course you can see.”

  She tilted the pad toward him and sw
iped through the four pages of ideas. She continued using her finger to swipe from one image to the next through the rest of the preliminary sketches. “These are some ideas I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Can you go back to the first ones, but go slower.”

  Jolie did so, allowing Court to study each in turn for as long as he wanted. He made comments on each. “I like the big buttons on this one.” “Are those zippers on the cuffs?” “Ruffles trimmed with leather? Has that been done before?” “I like the jacket. It’s got a soft biker chic look going for it.”

  She powered down the tablet and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy with Court next to her. “Those are fantastic,” he said. “What are they for?”

  She debated answering, but only for a moment. This was Court, after all. “After you mentioned Melina last night, I got inspired.”

  Court stopped the swing. “These are for her? For her line?”

  Jolie hedged. “Well, she was the inspiration for them.”

  “Jolie, these are really great. I think Melina would flip over them.”

  Jolie let herself bask in Court’s unqualified enthusiasm, just a little. “Do you? I see Melina as someone who’s tough and strong, especially on the outside. That’s the persona she presents. But underneath, she’s still feminine. That’s why I like the juxtaposition of fabric. Jersey with metal buttons. A wool military-style jacket with lace cuffs and seed pearl detail.”

  “I could show these to her if you like.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But according to the fashion design grapevine she has a designer lined up already.”

  Sure she meant herself, but it wasn’t like she was lying.

  Chapter Six

  “Hi, Melina.”

  “Joleee!” Melina squealed, her Eastern European accent pronounced. If they hadn’t been on the telephone she no doubt would have kissed Jolie on both cheeks. “You are calling about contract, no? Is not final. Not yet,” Melina acknowledged. “The lawyers, they work on the details. One day. Two days, maybe.”