If You Only Knew

by Jea Hawkins

  Sabrina glanced down at her soft, dark blue canvas slip-ons. They went well with anything, especially her khaki capris and white peasant blouse embroidered with blue Forget-Me-Nots. “I think those suit you, though. It makes me think of something an ancient Roman goddess might wear.”

  “I always preferred the Greek pantheon. There’s something slightly more romantic about it, even though they’re basically the same stories and the same gods.” Blythe slid off the bar stool and rubbed her hand along the countertop. “I already ate breakfast.”

  “Let me just get a banana and we’ll go, then.” Sabrina reached for the bunch in the basket hanging to the left of the sink. Her stomach swooped and dipped, rejecting the idea of sustenance, but she couldn’t get through the day without it. Maybe once they were walking, the jitters would go away. Maybe.

  She made short work of it, chugged a glass of water, and wiped her hands off on a dishtowel. Soon, they were walking around the island, Sabrina pointing out various sights in Oak Bluffs, and Blythe snapping photos at every opportunity.

  “It’s so pretty here. I wish my family had spent more time on Martha’s Vineyard, but our place was always Nantucket,” Blythe remarked, hands clutching her camera. A pink flush filled her cheeks and Sabrina hoped she wasn’t getting sunburned. Had she brought sunscreen? Why hadn’t Sabrina thought to ask her?

  She shouldn’t be so concerned about Blythe’s well-being, but the protective urge she’d felt since Miranda’s taunting didn’t seem to be going away. Sabrina tamped down the desire to ask and focused on Blythe’s statement. “Who is your family? Maybe I know them, especially if they had people in nautical careers. I’ve spent a lot of time researching Cape Cod’s history and people for my books.”

  “I know you have.” Blythe turned away from her and shrugged, back to brushing off Sabrina’s personal questions. “Where are we heading?”

  “Somewhere you’ll love.” It was all Sabrina would offer for now, a little tit for tat if Blythe didn’t want to answer. Hard to believe her attitude had gone from hot to cold in the space of a few seconds, especially after last night’s rooftop kiss. With any other woman, it would have frustrated her to have them take one step forward and two steps back, but Blythe’s little withholding dance only intrigued Sabrina even more. She didn’t sense anything malicious behind it, but she wanted to uncover every layer there was to Blythe.

  They strolled along the coastline, where fishing boats dotted the water. “Those are so cool,” Blythe said, lifting her camera.

  “Yeah, but those are the charter boats, full of tourists on fishing excursions. I want to show you the commercial fisherman who live on the island year-round, the guys who are up at the crack of dawn to get their catches.” She reached out and lightly curled her fingers around Blythe’s back to guide her. The contact sent shockwaves through her entire body. She wouldn’t mind getting down with Blythe here in the sand, fitting herself between her legs, and…

  Shaking off the thought, she turned and continued on her path until they reached the boat she had in mind. I’m not a horny teenager. I’m not a horny teenager… The damp, slippery dock and salted, fishy tang in the air were anything but sexy. An effective way to douse her libido and return her focus to her original intentions.

  “This is it.” Sabrina gestured at the fishing boat moored at the dock. It was a weathered vessel, the white paint cracked but holding.

  “The 1822? Not exactly a romantic name for a boat.” Blythe hardly looked impressed with what Sabrina was presenting to her. Maybe her little speech about wanting to see the “real” Martha’s Vineyard was all talk, calculated to push the right buttons. Sabrina bit her lower lip as the doubts returned in full force. Miranda could have easily coached Blythe to behave a certain way, say all the right things. This might turn out to be a test that sent the entire relationship scheme tumbling down.

  “Maybe not,” Sabrina answered, chest tight and fists clenched at her sides. She wished defensiveness didn’t edge her voice, but there was no biting it back. “It’s the year my great-great-great grandfather got the boat and started life as a fisherman here on Martha’s Vineyard. Ever since, we’ve had generations of Covells continuing the tradition. Not all of them are fishermen, of course. You met my cousin, Mike. But that salt water taffy shop of his makes it pretty clear that the ocean and everything about Cape Cod is in our blood.”

  Blythe opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again when a man in dark, water-slicked coveralls approached them. “Hey, Sabrina, what are you doing out here today?”

  “Showing my houseguest the island. Blythe, this is Russ, another one of my cousins.” Something about the wonder lighting Blythe’s face relaxed Sabrina. She’d offered to show her the “real” Martha’s Vineyard. Here it was. Maybe Blythe didn’t think a literary novelist was capable of digging into the grimier side of things, but pride warmed Sabrina.

  “Hi Russ, I’m Blythe. Do you mind if I take some pictures?” Despite her apparent surprise, Blythe recovered enough to shake his hand and offer a smile. She lifted her camera and nodded toward the boat. “I can’t believe that’s almost two hundred years old. Are you sure it’s safe?”

  Russ snorted. “Are you kidding? Back then, things were built to last. I’d trust her more than any boat built today.”

  “Gotcha.” Blythe snapped a few pictures and then gestured toward a wooden shack set back from the dock. “Is that yours, too?”

  “Yup. That’s where we haul the catch and get to work on them. We get started before dawn. Fish are prepared and packed off by mid-morning. Do you want to see what it’s like? It’s a little slippery over there and you’ll probably see fish heads and guts.”

  “As in roly-poly fish heads?” Blythe’s grin widened when she spoke the familiar song lyrics. “As long as I don’t have to eat them up, bring it on, Cousin Russ.”

  It didn’t take long for Russ to explain his routine to Blythe – how early he got up and out with his crew to fish, how they did it, how long it took, what constituted a good haul, and what they did when they brought everything back into port once the sun cleared the horizon. Sabrina hung back and checked her phone while they talked. She already knew all of this, considering her family had amassed a fortune on fish, among other things.

  But she glanced up every so often from her email to see that Blythe was nodding, snapping pictures, and taking it all in. Her curiosity was so endearing, Sabrina knew there was another cold shower in her future. Maybe several.

  Because she couldn’t sleep with the random conquest Miranda had loved and then dumped on her for such twisted reasons. Even if Sabrina had allowed herself to kiss Blythe, there were lines further along that she refused to cross. A summer fling could be contained to just a kiss. A fake relationship didn’t even have to go that far.

  Yeah, right.

  If she could ignore the heat spreading through the rest of her body and pooling between her legs, that would help. She could convince her mind that getting involved with Blythe was a bad idea, but her body certainly wasn’t getting the memo.

  Glancing back down at her phone didn’t offer much relief. Three texts and one email from her publicist all demanded to know the same thing: Have you found someone, yet? Jennifer wasn’t one to let up, but that was probably why she was so good at her job.

  Sabrina blew out a short breath and texted back, I’ve got it handled. No worries.

  Oh yes, handled in one way. Too bad Sabrina had to keep her hands to herself in all other ways.

  The return walk was silent, Blythe fiddling with her camera as they strolled along the sidewalk, back toward the beachside homes. That was just as well, Sabrina decided, because she wasn’t sure she could converse in a normal manner right now. The questions of right versus wrong versus downright insane were back, warring with the desire to just go for it. Whatever “it” was, anyway.

  “Wait.” Blythe held out her arm to stop Sabrina and gestured at the grass to their left. “Why don’t you go stand by that tre
e for me?”

  “Which tree?” Turning, Sabrina raked her gaze over the area. They were close to her house, the grass giving way to more and more sand where the land sloped gently toward the water. The only tree was a somewhat gnarled white oak, its limbs spreading unevenly from a short stump.

  Blythe gave her a gentle nudge, her palm pressed against Sabrina’s shoulder. The touch seared Sabrina like nothing else could. “Just go over there. I want to take some pictures of you.”

  “Please, don’t. I hate having my picture taken.” Even as she said the words, a thrill shot through Sabrina. Blythe wanted her picture? Maybe it was just because she was one of the “real” things about Martha’s Vineyard, not some glamorous celebrity. Despite the protest, she crossed the grass, leaned on the tree, braced her hands against two opposite limbs, and looked out at the ocean.

  The tide was coming in, a rhythmic whooshing of waves that crashed against the beach. Of all the reasons Sabrina had to stay in Martha’s Vineyard, this was the main one. Just as Blythe had spoken of the ocean being in her family’s blood, it was in Sabrina’s, as well.

  Sabrina knew the drill after doing enough features for magazines and newspapers. Features she hadn’t wanted, but graciously gave into anyway. She couldn’t imagine what was so interesting about her or her life. All she did was write stories. Yet here Blythe was, snapping her picture against Sabrina’s favorite backdrop in the world. With any luck, the photographers and writers who came to do the same at the book launch would laugh off Miranda’s awful interview, along with Sabrina, instead of prodding at her with questions.

  “What made you decide to be a writer?” Blythe asked, moving to capture another angle.

  Sabrina closed her eyes for a moment and leaned more heavily against the tree. “Are you a photographer or a reporter?”

  “Both, in a way. My photographs tell a story, but only if I can get my subject to share it. Is it a question that bothers you?”

  “Only a little.” The ocean breeze cooled her otherwise hot skin and Sabrina tilted her head in thought, glad for the distraction. Blythe seemed intent on digging deep inside her, drawing out those bits and pieces Sabrina reserved for her closest friends. No one else, not even a girlfriend, had accessed those parts of her. They hadn’t earned enough of her trust for that. Neither had Blythe.

  “Let me try a different question, then. Does your sister’s fame bother you?”

  Sabrina snorted and glanced at Blythe to see if she was being sarcastic. Her young face was perfectly serious, eyes searching and mouth in an unsmiling, but soft line.

  “Not one bit. She can have it. I didn’t become a writer for fame or fortune, though it’s nice to have both. I became a writer because I couldn’t not tell their stories.”

  “Whose stories?” Blythe asked.

  “Theirs – the characters that come to life without me even trying. When I was a little girl, I could conjure up entire histories for fictional characters in my mind. Even though my family built the house, I liked to imagine it used to be inhabited by another before us, one that had children like me who loved to play in the ocean, but who grew up and loved and lost, and decided they were too old to play anymore.”

  Blythe lowered her camera and frowned. “That’s kind of sad.”

  “Sad, but that’s the story that won me my first literary award.” Something tightened in Sabrina’s chest and she pushed away from the tree. How could she possibly explain herself to anyone and have them understand? “Anyway, it’s not about the awards, either. It’s about life’s what-ifs and imagining the path someone followed, and how we as humans can relate to that. All writers want to make their readers feel something, whether it’s joy or sorrow, or something else. If readers feel something for my characters, that means I made someone that doesn’t even exist real and relatable, and maybe even beloved for a short while.”

  “Do you think it’s because no one has ever felt that way about you?”

  The question took Sabrina by surprised and she whipped her head around to glare at Blythe. Although there was no malice in Blythe’s tone, Sabrina couldn’t help but answer tightly, “Every writer’s work is a reflection of something inside them.”

  “Yes, just like a photographer’s work.” Blythe blinked down at the camera hanging from her neck. “Don’t be angry with me for asking. I just wanted to know, because… because I’ve never been able to ask anyone without letting them know about those pieces of me that hurt the most.”

  Sabrina drew in a sharp breath, the tension in her body evaporating. This girl wasn’t trying to get something out of her. She was trying to get to know her, because she saw a potential kindred soul.

  And maybe, if she allowed herself to stop focusing on what was real or fake, or hers or her sister’s, Sabrina could see it, too.

  Chapter Seven

  The cloudburst happened just as their feet hit the driveway. Nothing had given it away except the smell of rain in the air, and even that was something Sabrina couldn’t always detect until it was too late. Now, though, they were soaked to the skin, drenched in more than the usual New England humidity.

  As soon as they got inside the house, their feet slipped on the hardwood floors and the rain dripping off them left a puddle.

  “I’ll get a towel.” Sabrina hurried across the living room to the small guest bathroom and lifted one of the puffy, taupe towels off the rack next to the sink. She tossed it on the living room floor, stood on it, and started shuffling her way back, mopping up the trail of water. It wasn’t the best way to clean up, but she couldn’t have the water ruining the wood.

  Blythe giggled. “Great idea.”

  “One of my most brilliant,” Sabrina agreed as she neared Blythe. At the last moment, the towel caught in one of the cracks between the hardwood planks and Sabrina pitched forward. She was already soaking wet and cold, but the sudden impact against Blythe’s soft, slender form changed that.

  Blythe caught her, arms wrapping around her waist. For a heartbeat, they stared at one another. Usually, Sabrina was able to look down at a woman. She wasn’t all that tall, but taller than most. Now she knew what it was like to be small and vulnerable next to someone else. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

  This time, it was Blythe who started the kiss, lips descending to Sabrina’s, chasing the chill. Protest rose in Sabrina’s throat and died just as quickly when Blythe broke the kiss and pressed her index finger against her lips. Blythe shook her head and whispered, “We should get out of these wet clothes.”

  It was true. Everywhere the air conditioning blew made Sabrina shiver. But the parts of her pressed up to Blythe’s firm body were overheated. A sensation only made worse by Blythe’s hands gathering the bottom of Sabrina’s shirt and pulling it up over her head. Those nimble fingers returned to unfasten Sabrina’s bra.

  Sabrina took a step back, arms crossed over her chest to keep the bra in place. It was flimsy protection at best, but she knew if things went any further, she’d tumble headlong into the one thing she’d been trying to avoid.

  Once again, Blythe shook her head. “It’s only fair that I join you.” Everything about her was seductive — her voice, her movements, the wet clothes clinging to her form. Blythe moved the straps of her dress off her shoulders, drew her arms out of them, and pushed the fabric down over her torso, waist, and hips.

  She wasn’t wearing anything under it and Sabrina swallowed. Blythe reached for her again, wrapping her arms around Sabrina’s waist and nibbling at her lower lip. Sabrina knew she would have to either take control of the situation or they’d end up on the sofa. Maybe not such a bad thing, but she wasn’t used to doing anything like that. Not even in her own home.

  Desire drowned out the thoughts and fears roiling inside her. To hell with thinking this through, to weighing the pros and cons, to finding the bed. She broke away from Blythe to remove her pants and underwear. Blythe put her hands on Sabrina’s hips and guided her toward the sofa until she was lying back on it, the y
ounger woman looking down at her.

  She was perfect and Sabrina swallowed hard. Blythe straddled her without hesitation, arching her back slightly as if to show off. Sabrina reached up and cupped one of her houseguests’s tempting breasts, brushing the rosy nipple with her fingertips. In response, Blythe arched even more and slid her hands down Sabrina’s chest to curl her fingers around her breasts.

  Sabrina’s skin tingled as the touch of Blythe’s hands jolted her senses like an electrical current. Her breath hitched when Blythe continued lower, fingers drifting down to her thighs. Blythe leaned forward to kiss her, the slow, gentle movement of her lips at odds with the stroking fingers moving ever closer to Sabrina’s center. Sabrina moaned and parted her legs.

  Before she knew what was happening, Blythe had nestled her face between her thighs, probing gently with her tongue. Maybe she really had needed to get laid, because Sabrina gripped the sofa as her orgasm rushed from her. There was no time to think about it, no time to dwell in the sensation of release. All she did was let go, the tension in her that’d pulled taut for the past week, now dissipating in an explosive heartbeat that left her gasping for breath.