Champagne Kisses (The Kisses 4)

Dean was the one who got away. I had tried to have boyfriends since he left, but they never lasted long. They were either only looking for a way to get to Jack Saunders, or they weren't content playing second fiddle to my job. I had made my peace with being alone. For one brief, shining moment, when I had seen Dean's name for the interview, I had held out a hope that things might work out. That maybe, despite the years apart, we could be together. Dean had made it painfully clear that he wasn't interested and wanted as little to do with me as possible. Until this phone call, that was.

I picked up the cellphone and dialed his number. It rang four times, and I was about to leave a message to just have a car sent to wherever he was and that the company would pick up the tab, when an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Hello? Who is this?" The voice was gruffer and deeper than Dean's. I glanced at the screen to make sure the number was right.

"This is Rachel Weber. Can you put Dean Sherman on the phone, please?" I asked politely. I wondered where Dean was that someone else would pick up his phone.

"Oh good. He said you'd call. He's here at the bar and is gonna need someone to come get him. He's pretty messed up," the voice said.

"Can I just send a car? Give me the address, and I'll send someone," I replied. I was ready to just go home. Flying with Brandi was exhausting, and my patience was wearing thin.

"No can do, Lady. He says he only wants you, and I'm not tangling with him. He already broke up a bar fight for me, and there is no way in hell I'm going

against anything he wants." The guy sounded almost intimidated by Dean. I pinched the ridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. There was no way I was going to make it to the B&B. Damn you, Dean.

"All right. Give me the address, and I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm in Tampa right now, so however long that will take," I said, pulling out a pen to write the address on my hand.

"You're about an hour away. Bar's called Revenge. Been here forever," the voice said. I nearly dropped my phone. He didn't need to give me a street address. I knew where that bar was. It was the bar where Dean and I had met.

"Do you need directions?" the voice asked, interrupting the flow of memories.

"Uh, no, I'm good. I'll be there as soon as I can," I stuttered into the phone.

"No problem, lady. I'll try and slow his drinks down so he'll hopefully be ready to sober up," the voice said, and the line clicked off.

I stood in shock for a moment. What was Dean doing at that bar? I finally shook myself, trying to clear my head and make my feet move.

I would just go and get him as fast as I could. My phone said there was an airport close to the bar, so if I could find a plane, I could charter us a flight home. Maybe I could still make the massage I had scheduled for tomorrow if this all went to plan. As soon as I thought those words, though, I knew I had jinxed myself. Things never went "to plan."

Chapter 15

June 9th, 1990

The day I was dreading had arrived. Somehow, my week had flown by on silent wings, gliding past on sunshine and happiness. I felt as though I had only just arrived, that I had only just found the starting point. Dean and I were about to begin something wonderful, and it wasn't fair that Dean had to leave. It wasn't fair that we had only had four magical days together, and now he had to leave for the horrors of war. It made my stomach hurt.

I sat on his bed, my arms wrapped around my legs, watching him pack. He had the door to the ocean open, and the salty air was making my hair ripple down my back. Despite the Florida sunshine and the warmth of the breeze, I felt cold.

Dean carefully packed his dark green rucksack, placing his boots and clothing in the hard canvas with care. His slow, methodical movements were hypnotic, the muscles on his arms flexing and relaxing with an attractive rhythm. Maybe if I watched him long enough, his bag would never fill and he would never have to leave.

A knock on his open door drew my attention. There Matt stood, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a frown. "You ready, man?"

"Yeah. I'll be down in a minute." Dean stared at his bag. It had been packed for at least a minute, but he kept rearranging the items as if packing could delay the inevitable. He slid the metal latch through the loops and closed the bag.

The bed creaked softly as he sat beside me. We didn't look at one another; he just took my hand in his, and we sat there for a moment. The ocean sighed behind us, calling like a forgotten lover. The pit in my stomach was growing deeper with every second.

"Are you sure you have to go?" I asked. I had asked it before, and I knew the answer would be the same.

"I told you last night. I have to go back. But I'll be home before you know it." He twisted on the bed so he could face me. With a gentle hand, he brushed a free strand of hair behind my ear and out of my face. His fingers grazed my cheek, his skin rough against the sensitive skin of my jaw. My eyes fluttered up to meet his.

"Promise?" It came out a whisper, my voice betraying me at the last minute. I reached up with my own hand and pressed his to my cheek. I wanted to remember the way his touch felt.

"Promise," he said. He leaned forward and kissed me. I squeezed my eyes shut, memorizing every detail. I wanted to remember his smell, his taste, and the way his lips felt against mine. I would take it with me until he came home.

We broke apart reluctantly, hearing the boys downstairs opening and slamming doors. It was time for them to leave. Dean brushed away a tear I hadn't even realized had escaped and kissed the tip of my nose.

"This won't be for forever. I'll find you." He gave me a confident smile, and I attempted to give him one back. I felt it waver, but I put my heart into it to make it stay. I would see him again. What we had found in this short vacation was too good to let slip through our fingers.

Dean stood, shouldering the heavy bag as though it were weightless. He held out a hand, and I unfolded myself from the bed and took it to steady me as I straightened. I let his hand go for a moment, to smooth the bedspread and close the door. The room became a foreign place as the song of the ocean cut off. We were leaving, and the house was losing its magic.