Page 69 of The Do-Over Girl

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pike,” Nash says. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“Heaven knows, I shouldn’t be shocked,” she says. “You’ve been tip-toeing around the no hanky-panky rule for quite some time now, haven’t you?”

Nash returns his good arm to its place around my back, tugging me to his side while I put up about one second of ill-fated resistance.

“You’re right, Mrs. Pike,” he says. “I’m sorry for disrespecting you, but I can’t say I’m sorry for the hanky-panky.”

She nods, and it’s my turn to be shocked at her suppressed grin. She’s clearly trying not to smile, but those crinkles in the corners of her eyes give her away.

“You shouldn’t be in the least sorry, young man.” She waves a hand. “No disrespect taken. It was a stupid rule.” Now, she smiles and aims it at me. “As long as Kali is fine with you kissing her, why should I mind?”

I look at Nash, and he’s grinning. “You devil, you. You’ve been toying with us all this time, haven’t you?”

She laughs, and I’m flummoxed.

Even Steve looks amused. “I always wondered about that rule.”

“I…I don’t know what to think. You were toying with us? But why, Charline?”

“Long story.” Her face softens, and her voice lowers. “One that involves your mom.”

My heart stutters. Nash tightens his hold.

“Maybe we should have another glass of that champagne before you have that discussion, Kali.” Nash isn’t asking as he guides me into the room and helps Steve finish cleaning up the doomed plate of cookies. Steve pats Nash on the back as if in consolation and disappears upstairs.

“Don’t worry. I have another plate where that came from,” Charline says. “And more cookies, too.” She goes back to the kitchen, muttering to herself something about not knowing why she was so shocked except maybe that this was finally it after it took so darned long…

I’m more confused than ever—about everything except one thing. I gaze at Nash as he sits me on his lap in a chair that looks too delicate to support two of us, but it holds even as I giggle with nerves.

The one thing I’m no longer confused about is that I’m falling all over again for Nash, the new grown-up Nash, the man who feels so fully my joy in accomplishment right along with me.

Mrs. Pike returns with a new plate of cookies and sits in the middle of the couch, motioning for me and Nash to join her on either side. So, he lifts me from his lap, and we join her.

Mrs. Pike clears her throat and opens a photo album to a picture of her and my mom. “Five years ago, when your mom was very ill before she passed away, she made me promise to try and get you and Nash back together again.”

“What? Are you…” I feel dizzy with disorientation.

“You’re shitting me, Charline?” Nash says.

She shakes her head, not even bothering to bristle at his language or that he’s calling her Charline now. What the F? I feel like I just stepped into some alternate universe I never imagined existed.

“It took me longer than it should have, but it was hard to get you two to come back to Andrews Point. I thought I’d have my chance at the reunion, but Kali refused to go because they were honoring Nash, inducting him in the Andrews Point Hall of Fame and naming that rink after him.”

“So, are you telling me you were behind having Kali and I come back to help with the Save APA mission?” Nash says, admiration clear in his voice.

She nods. “I spoke to both Nikki and Archie about you, suggesting how helpful you each might be. I offered my inn as a place for you to stay, promising I’d make sure your life was easy and you could devote all your time to the cause.” She winks, her face full of pride, almost to boasting.

I laugh, and then I lean in and wrap my arms around her in a hug tight enough to show my fondness—also to hide my pesky tears. I hate crying in front of Nash. Still.

* * *

As we climb the stairs,I’m still a little bewildered by Charline’s plot. When we get upstairs, Nash stops, looks at my door, and then turns to me.

“I kind of miss the intrigue of worrying about breaking the no hanky-panky rule,” I say.

“You like rules, do you?” He follows me inside my room and slams the door behind him now that he can.

“I like breaking rules,” he practically growls in my ear, making me shiver with excitement. But I pull away from him because one question has been niggling at the back of my mind.

“Who was the woman on the phone?”

“My ex-fiancée.” He answers without missing a beat, without a hint of chagrin or guilt. His answer should satisfy me, but it only brings on a barrage of new questions pummeling at my head to be asked—like why did you have to leave when she called? I don’t ask because that is the way of trouble. And I’m happy right now. He’s here with me, and he doesn’t even object to Charline getting us back together—whatever that means.