Ask me to Stay

by Osburn, Terri

  “We can fix that.” Kendall grabbed the blue collar and used the hose to spray sand and muck from the dog’s short fur. In no time, he was glistening white again, smiling and spent. “Come hold him while I grab a towel.” Kendall tossed the hose to the ground.

  Liza did as asked, failing to recognize the inherent danger of holding a wet dog until it was too late. Kendall wasn’t even up the stairs when Amos gave a full-body shake, soaking her dress until it clung to her body.

  “Oh my gosh. Look what you did!”

  A cool breeze picked that moment to travel through the trees, raising goose bumps on her skin, and other parts that were much harder to conceal.

  Clenching the sweater tightly with her free hand, Liza tugged Amos up the stairs and yelled through the screen door, “Bring me one, too, please.”

  When no response came, she couldn’t be sure he’d heard her. With the only option being to wait, she shuffled to a rocker and dropped to the seat, failing to bob and weave quickly enough to avoid the face lick.

  “If you’re going to keep insisting on this licking thing, the least you could do is brush your teeth once in a while.”

  “Here you go.” Kendall tossed a towel into her lap at the same time he wrapped another around Amos’s head. “I guess he got you.” The laughter in his voice said he’d known her fate the moment she took the collar.

  “Yes, he did.” She tried to sound stern. “Now my dress is soaked, and I have nothing else to put on.”

  Pulling the dog with him, Kendall settled in the rocker beside hers. “I might have something.”

  Liza stopped dabbing at her neck. “You have a closet full of dresses in there?”

  Amos closed his eyes as Kendall towel-dried his belly. “There’s that sarcasm again. No, I don’t have dresses, but something tells me one of my shirts would hit pretty close to your knees.”

  He had a point. Though Liza stood average height, she’d been graced with long legs and a short torso. The seconds clicked by as she debated, cotton growing colder against her skin.

  “If you don’t mind . . .”

  Finishing with the dog’s hind feet, Kendall swatted the beast on the bottom and said, “You’re done, buddy.” Turning to Liza, he wiggled his brows. “Now let’s get you out of that dress.”

  The giggle slipped out as heat danced up her cheeks. “Only because I’m freezing,” she said, hugging the damp towel to her chest. “Do you have a dryer I can use?” She wasn’t about to wear nothing but one of Kendall’s shirts home to Ray’s house.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He held out a hand, and she gave him hers. Grinning, he said, “I meant to take the towel, but this works, too.”

  Before Liza could pull away, Kendall swiped the towel from her grasp and tossed both strips of terry cloth over the porch rail before tugging her into the house. With Amos leading the way, of course.

  Contrary to how things looked, Kendall had not planned the afternoon water games, but he also wasn’t above taking advantage of them.

  “Where’s that jacket you wore at Ray’s house?” Liza called through his closed bedroom door.

  A jacket wasn’t going to be any fun. “I keep it in the golf cart.”

  Seconds passed until she said, “Can you go get it?”

  Why hadn’t he said he didn’t know? Idiot.

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.” Half a minute later, he knocked on his own door. “Open up.”

  Another moment of silence passed before the doorknob turned and light streamed out a three-inch opening.

  “Squeeze it through.”

  “Liza,” Kendall snapped. He’d let her pick anything she wanted from his closet. Surely she’d found an option that covered all the important parts. “You can open the door.”

  “Turn around,” she ordered.

  “Are you—”

  “Turn around or I’m not opening this door.”

  “Fine,” he mumbled. He turned to find Amos staring at him with his head cocked to the side. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  As if embarrassed by his owner, the dog strolled over to his bed and collapsed with a paw over his face.

  “I don’t see you bringing any girls home, smart-ass.”

  “Where’s the jacket?” Liza asked behind him.

  Kendall extended his arm. “Here it is.”

  The fleece was snatched from his hand, and the door slammed shut. He’d met his share of modest women before, but this was ridiculous. As Kendall turned to tell her so, the door opened and the breath left his body. Curls wild and cheeks pink, she stood drowning in his jacket, hands shoved in the pockets, and the tails of his white dress shirt barely covering her slender thighs.

  Lacy lingerie could not have been sexier.

  “You found something,” he said, voice cracking like a prepubescent schoolboy.

  Liza looked down. “I did. The armholes in the basketball jersey revealed a little too much, so I went with this. I hope it’s okay.”

  More than okay. Though he’d hand over half his bank account to see her in that jersey.

  “Sure. Yeah. That’s good.” Rubbing his hands together, he struggled to focus while the blood in his body raced south. “You want to see the rest of the house?” Not that there was much to see, but they really needed to get away from his bedroom.

  “I would, but can we start with the laundry room? I need to put my dress in the dryer.”

  “Right. That’s back off the kitchen.” Kendall led her through the living room. “Nothing special in here.”

  “Nothing special? Your television is the size of a Winnebago.”

  Other than his tools, the flat screen was his one splurge. “You should see how good the games look on that thing. Like being there.”

  “For what it must have cost, you could be there. In every city east of the Mississippi.”

  Kendall embraced his right to remain silent and continued into the kitchen. Despite the open floor plan being the current trend, he liked a separation from one room to the next. That way, a conversation could happen in the kitchen without competing with noise from the living room.

  “Laundry is through there.” He pointed to a door behind the small table. “Controls are pretty basic. Set the time and push the button.”

  Liza padded into the little room while Kendall crossed to the fridge, surveying the options. He didn’t keep wine around, and assumed she wasn’t likely to ask for a beer. That left water and soda.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he called out, withdrawing two glasses from a top cabinet.

  “Water is fine,” she answered, before sticking her head into the room. “From a glass this time.”

  “One quick dousing from the sink sprayer. Got it.”

  “You aren’t funny.” Liza joined him in the kitchen and leaned a hip against the counter. “This is a nice kitchen, Kendall. Love these countertops.” Running a hand along the surface, she said, “Marble?”

  “Quartz. Same look with less maintenance.” He handed her a glass of water. “Other than the guest bed and bath, you’ve seen it all. As you pointed out, not as big as others on the island, but I don’t need much.”

  She turned the glass in her hands. “To be honest, I like this much better. I mean, Ray’s place is beautiful, but I feel like I’m staying at a resort. Even the apartment is a little too polished, you know? Too perfect.” Blue eyes darted around Kendall’s kitchen. “This is a home.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “But according to Larimore, you’re in the minority. The bigger the better for most people.”

  Liza shook her head. “Maybe it’s because I grew up in a modest home like this one, or I’ve acclimated to my teeny apartment in the city, but high ceilings and sweeping staircases are not for me.”

  An unusual stance, but then she’d been surprising him for days. Playing devil’s advocate, he tested her resolve.

  “You’re saying that if someone offered you a million dollars for your apartment, you wouldn’t turn around and buy a bigger place
?”

  She snorted into her water. “A million dollars would barely get me a hundred more square feet in New York City.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be in the city.”

  Blue eyes narrowed. “So you want to know if I’d move out of the city?”

  For crying out loud. “I’m not talking location. I’m talking size.”

  “So you want to know if size matters?”

  Kendall opened his mouth, then closed it again. The smirk on her face said they weren’t talking about houses anymore. “Size always matters.”

  Liza chewed on a fingernail. “Hmmm . . . I’m not sure I agree with that.”

  Reaching for the jacket zipper, he said, “I could prove it to you.”

  “Oh, no-no-no.” She swatted his hand away and wagged a finger in front of his nose. “Just friends, remember?”

  Regretting that agreement, he stepped back. “It was a friendly offer.”

  “I’m sure it was.” Curling her toes into the mat in front of his sink, she said, “So what now?”

  She’d already shot down his suggestion, but Kendall did have one more thing to show her.

  “Remember the view from the pier?” he asked, backing toward a set of glass doors.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Here’s a better version of it.”

  The lock clicked, and he tugged on the handle. Amos barreled through the doorway before Kendall could pull it all the way open, but Kendall remained inside. “After you.”

  Liza stepped out, careful where she put her bare feet. Having the previous setting to go on in no way prepared her for the view off Kendall’s back porch.

  “This must be what heaven looks like,” she mumbled, strolling slowly across the reddish-brown planks to stop at a wide set of stairs. Towering oaks framed the breathtaking vista, drawing the eye to the endless expanse of sparkling water. “Is that the ocean?”

  Kendall joined her at the railing. “Yes, ma’am. Dad used to bring me here when I was a kid to watch the sunrise. It comes up right over there.” He stood close, pointing over her shoulder. “The lot was available for years, but most folks prefer a sunset view, so no one bought it.”

  Wind chimes clanged a low-octave tune as the cool evening air blew in with the waves. Darkness wouldn’t come for hours, but Liza had learned the weather patterns of the island, and often chose this time of day to shut down the computer and watch nature’s subtle shifts from Ray’s now less-impressive west-facing deck.

  “I could live here,” she whispered. “Right here in this spot.”

  “You’d need to shift to the left a bit, so Amos doesn’t trample you every time he goes outside.”

  Wrapping an arm around the post, Liza sighed. “I want to take a picture, but I know my phone could never do this justice.” Damp curls pressed against the post. “Kendall, you’re so lucky to live here. Do you ever get used to this?”

  “You do. But after thirty years, the trick is not to take the place for granted.”

  Liza made a connection she’d somehow missed before. “Thirty years? You moved here the same time as Ray?”

  He kept his gaze on the view. “My dad worked for Ray. We followed him down here.”

  Talk about loyalty. “Couldn’t your dad have stayed in New York and worked for someone else?”

  “No, he couldn’t.” Kendall let out a high-pitched whistle, startling Liza and grabbing the attention of his dog, who trotted toward the porch. “I need to feed Amos. Have a seat, and I’ll check your dress once he’s eating.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Her host disappeared inside, and Liza felt a cooling off that had nothing to do with the breeze. What kind of a job required a man to move his family so far from home? Assessing the landscape with new eyes, she wondered what the island must have looked like thirty years ago. Likely much more desolate and uninviting. She almost couldn’t blame Kendall’s mom for preferring a more civilized living arrangement.

  And how had Ray found this place anyway? Liza had never even heard of Haven Island until Vanessa called with the book offer. The place must have been even more obscure back in the ’80s.

  Hugging the jacket close against the chill, Liza pondered the riddle that was Ray Wallis. No one landed in such a remote spot by accident. Whatever transgression Kendall kept hinting at must have been the impetus that drove both Ray and the James family to make such a drastic move.

  Which meant that any secret that could take down Ray was likely to implicate Kendall’s father as well. Shoving the curls from her eyes, Liza took one last look at the view, hoping that she was wrong. Everything was conjecture at this point, with no basis in proof or reality. Ray was a sweet old man who’d been lucky enough to find an island paradise to live out his days.

  And as far as she knew, the James family just happened to be in the right place at the right time to tag along. A completely plausible explanation that her reporter brain wasn’t buying in the least.

  Chapter 13

  Two days after the silent ride home from Kendall’s house, questions continued to plague Liza. Questions that grew even more troublesome due to her growing fondness for the darling old charmer who loved nothing more than to make her smile at every opportunity.

  While she was with him, Liza felt certain there were no dark secrets to discover. They’d spent the day Tuesday talking about his college years, which were filled with parties, practical jokes, and more parties. And these were not the frat-house keggers of today. Ray’s generation partied in style, probably because many of them had been older than the average college student and already had seen more than their share of human tragedy.

  As had become her habit, she’d spent Tuesday evening watching the sunset from the deck, but this time wondering if the sunrise from Kendall’s vantage point contained the same magnificent shades of violet, magenta, and vibrant gold. In truth, Kendall had occupied her mind with troubling regularity throughout the day.

  Not a smart habit, considering how the previous day had gone.

  Thankfully, Wednesday morning had provided the perfect distraction when Liza received an invitation to the afternoon meeting of the Haven Island book club. Her efforts to learn which book they planned to discuss were unsuccessful, but between her lifelong devotion to reading and her current occupation, she felt confident that she could hold her own in the discussion.

  A presumption that would prove more accurate than she could have guessed.

  To Liza’s dismay, the first thing she spotted upon entering Francine’s unique home was a stack of her own books. As in, several copies of the book she had written.

  “Why are those here?” Liza asked before the hostess could offer a greeting.

  “That’s the book we’re discussing, of course. We couldn’t have an author in our midst and not take advantage of the opportunity.” Francine squeezed Liza’s shoulders. “You’re a wonderful writer. I couldn’t put it down!”

  High praise that Liza appreciated, but the only thing worse than explaining why she hadn’t written a second book was being forced to talk about the first one.

  “This is a bad idea.”

  “Why? Who better to discuss Leaving Alone than the person who wrote it?”

  Anyone else! Liza wanted to cry, but instead went with the obvious. “You won’t be able to have an honest discussion with me here. People who didn’t like it will feel obligated to say nice things.” She reached for the door behind her. “I’ll come back to another meeting, when you discuss a different book. Then no one will feel awkward.”

  Most of all her.

  Francine cut off Liza’s escape route. “Listen. I get it. Why do you think I don’t go to my own exhibits?”

  Oh, thank goodness. “I’ll be happy to come to the next one. I promise.”

  “But you have to stay.”

  Panic returned. “You just said you understand.” Liza reached again for the door, but Francine wedged her body in front of the knob. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t keep Liza her
e like a prisoner.

  Going for reason, she said, “I’m being serious here. I can’t talk about my own book.” Liza twirled her fingers above her ears. “I’ll get all up in my head, and nothing I say will make sense. Plus, once the book is in the reader’s hands, it really isn’t my story anymore. Let them share without me mucking things up.”

  The tiny woman held her ground. “I’m sorry, Liza, but this is a competitive group, and when I say I can deliver an author, I deliver an author.” Before she could process that statement, Francine yelled, “Look who’s here, everybody! The guest of honor!”

  Within seconds, Liza found herself surrounded by half a dozen islanders, all talking at the same time as they dragged her into a living space surrounded by eight bare walls encompassing an ultramodern setting in stark white.

  Minimalist and monochromatic, the couch looked like a rectangular block of foam with an oversize bolster pillow placed down the center. Triangular ottomans sat on each side, with simple white tables anchoring the ends. As Liza took in her surroundings, two thoughts raced through her mind—Amos would destroy this place in seconds, and how does a vibrant artist like Francine not display art?

  Those two thoughts vanished when a heart-shaped face impeded her view of the room.

  “When Francine said she knew the author of Leaving Alone and, even better, that she was right here on Haven Island, I didn’t believe her.” The round woman with blonde hair and a Jersey accent tugged Liza down to sit on the couch beside her. “Your book changed my life. I’d known I was adopted forever, but I never had the guts to find my birth family until I read Penelope’s story. Now I have two brothers I didn’t even know existed!”

  Despite writing a book about a girl who set out to find her family, Liza considered the story more of a study in creating families, since Penelope never actually finds a blood relative.

  “I’m glad you had the courage to do that.”

  “All right, Bernadette. No monopolizing the writer.” An olive-skinned man in wire-rimmed glasses plopped down on Liza’s opposite side. “I’m Marcelo,” he said, pushing up his glasses before extending a hand. “I have to know. Is Penelope a real person?”