Wedding For One: Wedding For One / Tattoo For Two

“Then take a hot bath,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I came here to work, so let’s work. Show me a spreadsheet or something.”

What in the world was she saying? She made a wobbly turn toward the corridor that led to the offices, gratified at the shocked look on Nathan’s face. Good. He had no idea what she’d do next.

The problem was neither did she.

THAT KISS HAD BEEN a mistake, Nathan told himself in the shower the next morning—lighter fluid on the embers still glowing in his heart for Mariah. He was an idiot to tempt himself with the impossible. Mariah had moved on. He should, too.

He’d heard that men sometimes locked onto their first loves and stayed stuck. That was obviously his problem. Eight years was too long to hold on to someone who’d flown away.

He shoved his face in the pounding stream and promised himself no more flirting or kissing or touching. Period.

There was good news, though. There was a chance he could get Mariah hooked on the factory. She’d loved seeing the place, he could tell, and she’d stared, hardly breathing, at the spreadsheet while he’d explained it. Fascination was probably what accounted for the odd trembling he’d felt her doing. He, on the other hand, could hardly keep from grabbing her and kissing her.

She definitely liked being back at Cactus Confections. Hell, she even loved how it smelled—something he was no more aware of than the air he breathed.

She’d always been a sensitive person. That was one of the things he’d loved about her. She’d made him more aware of things—sunsets and cricket rhythms, the textures of things. Like skin and mouth…His mind locked on the kiss in the tasting kitchen.

Talk about tasting. He’d wanted to swallow her whole. Forget it, he told himself, toweling down roughly. If he kept himself in check and played it right, he could get Mariah to take his job. Then he could leave with a clear conscience, knowing Meredith and Abe would be fine and Mariah would have found her place in the world.

She’d be here any minute for more self-discovery baloney. She’d said therapy was the plan for today. He could only hope she wasn’t as good at psychology as she was at kissing. He did not intend to confess the real reason he wanted to leave Copper Corners.

He sighed, heading into the bedroom for clothes. He had to have some coffee. Screw the body’s natural wake-up mechanism. For this, he’d need fortification.

5

“I SMELL COFFEE,” Mariah declared, frowning at Nathan in the entryway of his house. It was only day two of the Mariah Monroe Institute of Self-Discovery and he’d already broken a rule.

“I needed coffee. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“If you don’t follow my instructions, we won’t get anywhere.” She was actually grateful for the irritation because it distracted her from how fabulous he looked in a white T-shirt and soft gray shorts.

“Want a cup?”

“Absolutely.”

He turned to go and she watched the way the fabric clung to the curve of his butt like a cotton hand. She wished desperately she hadn’t told him to dress comfortably. His comfort gave her considerable dis comfort.

Walking farther into the room, she saw that he’d set up the yoga mats, dimmed the lights, and lit candles and incense. She turned to him as he arrived with a steaming mug. “You set everything up.”

“Like I said, I’m your willing disciple.”

“You promised not to make fun.”

He shrugged and went to sit cross-legged on his mat, looking unbearably sexy in the dimly lit room.

Mariah took a deep gulp of coffee—the last thing she needed, since looking at Nathan already made her jittery—and took her place across from him.

“Relax your mind. Think peaceful thoughts,” she said, closing her own eyes so as to avoid looking into his and thinking about yesterday’s kiss. “Visualize the sun kissing your—” Kissing? What was she saying? “Um, the breeze caressing your—never mind.” She broke out in a sweat. “Just do what you did yesterday.”

“Yesterday? If you say so,” he said with a sigh, lifting a pillow off the sofa and tucking it into his lap. For comfort, she guessed.

While they meditated, Mariah tried to focus on the upcoming counselling session, but she kept feeling this energy between them shimmering like heat above a summer sidewalk. Finally, when Nathan’s gorgeous butt floated one too many times before her mind’s eye, she said, “Whenever you’re ready, open your eyes.”

“Mmm.” He slowly opened his eyes. Their gazes locked. “That was nice,” he said. “Very real.”

“Good. We want to make meditation real for you.”

“If that were any more real, we’d both be sorry.”

Her stomach flipped. Nathan was having the same kinds of thoughts she was. That was good. No, bad. Oh, hell. She didn’t want to think about it.

They worked through the yoga postures avoiding each other’s eyes the entire time, and when they were finished, Nathan sat up. “So, now you counsel me?”

“Right.” Except she’d never be able to do it with him looking like that—his face flushed from exercise, his sweat-damp T-shirt clinging to his chest, and his shorts outlining bumps she didn’t want to be aware of. “Why don’t you shower and dress for work, so we can concentrate better?”

“I can concentrate just fine like this.”

“It will feel more like a real appointment, okay?”

“Suit yourself.”

By the time he came out, she’d opened the shutters and turned on the lights and was seated on the edge of the leather chair kitty-corner to the sofa, which she patted. “Have a seat.”

He sat straight up on the edge of the sofa, then tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t be nervous. This won’t hurt a bit. We won’t discuss anything you don’t feel comfortable with, but if you’re truly interested in working through what you’re conflicted about, I advise you to be as open as possible.”

“I am open,” he said, folding his arms.

Impatience rose in her. You’re blocked. Defensive. In denial. But she couldn’t say that. The Gestalt therapist’s job was to carefully guide the client into a deeper awareness of his feelings and thoughts, all while keeping him grounded in the here and now. The key word for the Gestalt therapist was patience.

Which was exactly why two months of training hadn’t been enough to turn Mariah into one. She was too quick to draw conclusions, too eager to tell people what to do. Alarmingly like her mother, she’d been sorry to realize.

She took a breath and blew it out, trying to center herself. To do this correctly, she should focus on Nathan’s face, watch his eyes, his breathing patterns, become aware of his energy, notice where in his body he carried his distress, and share that with him. The body told the story of the mind if you paid attention. Except she couldn’t bear to look so closely at him. “So talk to me about what’s happened to lead you to want to change your life.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. Since I came to Copper Corners, I’ve had my nose to the grindstone, I guess, and I think it’s time to smell the roses, explore the world, do something different.”

“Hmm,” she said, putting on her most therapist-like expression. “Why don’t you tell me more about wanting to leave Cactus Confections?”

“I need a challenge, I guess. You should know the answer to that. Why do you leave jobs?”

“Our focus is on you, Nathan.”

“Yeah, but maybe your insights can help me.” He looked at her steadily. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.

She sighed. “Okay. I change jobs when I get bored, or when it’s obvious I don’t belong there any more, or something more interesting comes up, or I feel finished.”

“Exactly. I feel just like you do. Finished.”