Nicholas Sparks - The Lucky One

"You make it sound like she expected me to be a troglodyte."

She laughed. "Maybe she did. I heard you were covered in mud before you went."

"I showered and changed."

"I know. She told me that, too."

"What didn't she tell you?"

"That the other women in the choir were swooning."

"She said that?"

"No. She didn't have to, but I could see it in her face. They were. It's not every day a young and handsome stranger comes into their church and dazzles them on the piano. How could they not swoon?"

"I think you're probably overstating things."

"I think," she said, dabbing her finger on the rim of her glass and tasting the salt, "that you still have a lot to learn about living in a small southern town. This is big news. Abigail has played for fifteen years."

"I'm not going to take her spot. This is temporary."

"Even better. It'll give people a chance to pick sides. They'll talk about it for years."

"This is what people do here?"

"Absolutely," she said. "And by the way, there's no faster way to get accepted around here."

"I don't need to be accepted by anyone but you."

"Always the sweet talker." She smiled. "Okay, how about this? It'll drive Keith crazy."

"Why?"

"Because he's a member of the church. In fact, Ben will be with him when he sees you. It'll kill him to see how much everyone appreciates the way you pitched in to help."

"I'm not sure I want him any angrier. I'm already worried about what he's going to do."

"He can't do anything. I know what he's been up to."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Thibault cautioned.

"Why do you say that?"

Thibault noted the crowded tables surrounding them. She seemed to read his mind and slid out from her side of the booth to sit beside him. "You know something you're not telling me," she whispered. "What is it?"

Thibault took a sip of his beer. When he put the bottle back on the table, he described his encounters with her ex. As he told the story, her expression changed from disgusted to amused, finally settling into something resembling concern.

"You should have told me earlier," she said, frowning.

"I didn't get concerned until he broke into my house."

"And you really think he's capable of setting you up?"

"You know him better than I do."

She realized she wasn't hungry anymore. "I thought I did."

Because Ben was with his father-a situation that felt somewhat surreal to both of them considering the circumstances-Thibault and Elizabeth went to Raleigh on Saturday, which made it easy to avoid dwelling on what Keith Clayton might or might not do. In the afternoon, they had lunch at a sidewalk cafe downtown and visited the Museum of Natural History; on Saturday evening, they made their way to Chapel Hill. North Carolina was playing Clemson, and the game was being broadcast on ESPN. Though the game was in South Carolina, the bars downtown were packed, full of students watching it on giant flat-screen televisions. As Thibault heard them cheering and booing, as if the future of the world hung on the outcome of the game, he found himself thinking about the kids their age serving in Iraq and wondered what they would make of these college students.

They didn't stay long. After an hour, Elizabeth was ready to leave. On their way back to the car, as they walked with their arms around each other, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"That was fun," she said. "But it was so loud in there."

"You just say that because you're getting old."

She squeezed his waist, liking the fact that there was nothing but skin and muscle there. "Watch it, bub, or you might not get lucky tonight."

"Bub?" he repeated.

"It's a term of endearment. I say it to all the guys I date."

"All of them?"

"Yep. Strangers, too. Like if they give me their seat on the bus, I might say, 'Thanks, bub.'"

"I guess I should feel special."

"And don't you forget it."

They walked among the throngs of students on Franklin Street, peeking in windows and soaking up the energy. It made sense to Thibault that she'd wanted to come here. This was an experience she'd missed because of Ben. Yet what impressed him most was that although she was obviously enjoying herself, she didn't seem wistful or bitter about what she'd missed. If anything, she acted more like an observant anthropologist, intent on studying newfound cultures. When he said as much, she rolled her eyes.

"Don't ruin the evening. Trust me, I'm not thinking that deep. I just wanted to get out of town and have some fun."

They went to Thibault's and stayed up late, talking and kissing and making love well into the night. When Thibault woke in the morning, he found Elizabeth lying beside him, studying his face.

"What are you doing?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Watching you," she said.

"Why?"

"I wanted to."

He smiled as he ran a finger over her arm, feeling a surge of gratitude for her presence in his life. "You're pretty awesome, Elizabeth."

"I know."

That's it? You're just going to say, 'I know'?" he demanded in mock outrage.

"Don't get needy on me. I hate needy guys."

"And I'm not sure I like women who hide their feelings."

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "I had a great time yesterday."

"I did, too."

"I mean it. These last few weeks, being with you, have been the best weeks of my life. And yesterday, just being with you,, -…; you have no idea what that was like. Just being… a woman. Not a mother, not a teacher, not a granddaughter. Just me. It's been a long time since that has happened."

"We've gone out before."

"I know. But it's different now."

She was talking about the future, he knew, a future that had acquired a clarity and purpose it never had before. Staring at her, he knew exactly what she meant.

"So what's next?" he asked, his tone serious.

She kissed him again, her breath on his lips warm and moist. "Next is getting up. You have to be at the church in a couple of hours." She swatted him on the hip.

"That's a lot of time."

"Maybe for you. But I'm here and my clothes are at home. You've got to get up and start getting ready, so I have time to get ready."

"This church stuff is tough."

"Sure," she said. "But it's not like you have an option. And by the way?" She reached for his hand before going on. "You're pretty awesome, too, Logan."

Beth

I really like him, Nana," said Beth.

Standing in the bathroom, she was doing her best with the curling iron, though she suspected that in the rain, all would be for naught. After a brief respite the day before, the first of the two tropical storms that were expected had entered the area.

"I think it's time you start being honest with me. You don't just like him. You think he's the One."

"I'm not that obvious," Beth said, not wanting to believe it.

"Yes, you are. You might as well be sitting on the front porch picking petals off a daisy."

Beth grinned. "Believe it or not, I actually understood that metaphor."

Nana waved her off. "Accidents happen. The point is, I know you like him. The question is, does he like you?"

"Yes, Nana."

"Have you asked what that means?"

"I know what it means."

"Just making sure," she said. She glanced in the mirror and adjusted her hair. "Because I like him, too."

She drove with Nana toward Logan's house, worried that her wipers couldn't keep up with the rain. Seemingly endless storms had swelled the river; though the water didn't quite reach the street, it was almost lapping at its edges. A few more daysofthis, j -she thought, and roads would begin closing. Businesses closest to the river would soon be stacking sandbags to prevent water from ruining low-lying merchandise.