Wrapped Up In You (A Mystic Island Christmas)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Best night of his damned life. If he hadn't been so determined to give Willow the Christmas she deserved, he would have skipped Rosie's and spent the day in bed, keeping Willow all to himself…but he was glad he'd brought her. The sparkle in her eyes was worth having to deal with old memories resurfacing…

  He realized suddenly that the three people at his table were staring at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. "Um..." He glanced at Willow. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

  She rolled her eyes at him, laughing softly. "John and Susan want to buy your inn. Weren't you listening?"

  He sat up quickly then. "What?"

  The older gentlemen leaned forward. "We've been wanting to retire here for years, but so few properties go on the market. Your location is spectacular. You're really putting it on the market?" John's eyes were gleaming with calculating interest, and for a split second, Cole wanted to say no…except of course he wanted to sell the inn. That was why he'd come back to the island. So, he shrugged indifferently. "I'll sell it for the right price, yes."

  "What's the right price?"

  Cole narrowed his eyes at the eagerness in John's voice. "Make me an offer."

  John leaned back in his seat, a strategic gleam in his eyes. "We'll do some research on property values, and make you an offer later today. You have a real estate agent?"

  "Yep." Cole gave him the contact info for the only real estate agency on the island, all his good humor dissipating. He didn't like the proprietary gleam in their eyes, as if they were already staking a claim on his heritage. "You planning to keep it an inn?" he asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

  There was a long silence between the couple as they exchanged looks. Susan raised her eyebrows at her husband, and he turned back to Cole. "We might consider some enhancements," he said evasively.

  Cole leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, keeping his voice deceptively calm. "What kind of enhancements?"

  "Oh, a little modernization. Things like that."

  Cole narrowed his eyes, and he glanced at Willow, who was frowning at them. She looked at Cole, then turned back to the couple. "I think the property has so much potential," she said brightly. "Like a hotel, right? Or condos? It's almost ten acres, and I was telling Cole that he should sell it to someone who would build deluxe lodging there, to attract the upscale crowd. I'm sure that many of the rich and famous would like to escape here."

  Cole frowned, a coldness clawing down his spine at Willow's comment. She wanted to turn this place into a second Hollywood? She'd never mentioned that to him before. Was that what she saw the island as? A place to turn into the world that had tormented her so badly?

  "Oh, yes!" Susan's face lit up, and she clapped her hands with delight. "That's exactly what we were discussing! An exclusive celebrity getaway! Some would be condos, of course, and then a very upscale hotel. We could put a nice iron gate around it, and we would basically have the entire end of the island."

  John put his hand on his wife's arm. "It'll cost a lot to do that," he interrupted. "So, the price would have to be right," he said, clearly trying to dumb down the price...not that Cole cared.

  An elitist gated community? On the land his father had cherished? There was no chance in hell. "I think I'm done with breakfast," he said shortly. "Willow, you can see yourself back to the inn whenever you're ready."

  Before she could reply, he was already to the door, anger fuming inside him. Were those his only options? Stay here and run the inn, or have it turned into some superficial elitist spa that betrayed everything that his father stood for? Fuck. And what the hell was up with Willow, saying she'd been telling him to do it?

  "Cole?"

  He spun back around to face her as she stepped out onto the front porch, pulling on the parka he'd loaned her from the stash at the inn. "What the hell was that back there?" he snapped, unable to control his fury.

  Her eyes widened. "I wanted you to see what they were really like. I've spent my life around people like that, and I knew they didn't want to treasure the inn. They were going to lie to you and then tear it down after they bought it. I could see it in their eyes, so I played their game so you'd see." She frowned. "You didn't think I meant it, did you? Is that why you're mad?"

  He stared at her, his mind trying to grasp her explanation. Shit. He could tell she meant it. "Sorry." He couldn't deal with this. There were so many emotions swirling around inside him, things he didn't want to deal with. "I gotta go."

  "I'll go with you." She caught up to him as he strode down the steps, heading toward the main docks.

  He said nothing. He just jammed his hands into his coat pockets and ignored the cold biting at his face. Willow kept up easily, jogging sometimes to stay beside him, but she didn't say anything.

  He reached the end of the dock and braced his hands on the railing, staring across the bitterly cold, gray ocean. Willow stopped beside him, her hands buried in her pockets, and her stocking cap pulled down over her ears. Silence loomed between them. He didn't know what to say. He was just pissed, so fucking pissed off, and he wasn't even sure why.

  "Are you rethinking your decision to sell it?" she asked finally.

  He grimaced. "I can't stay. I bought a company in Australia. I'm moving there in a few days."

  She looked at him sharply. "Australia?"

  "Yeah." His fingers dug into the railing.

  "Why so far away?"

  "Because I hate my fucking life." The minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. They sounded over-emotional and melodramatic, neither of which he was. "I mean," he clarified. "I'm ready for a different experience."

  "So, you're going to run away to Australia, like you ran from here?"

  He shot her a sharp glare. "You're the one running away."

  "For a week! Not for my life." She touched his arm, her hand grounding him, even through his coat. "Do you even understand what you have here? The people here love you. You have this endless source of support, no matter what happens. If I had that, I'd never run away."

  "That's not what this place is to me anymore." Bitterness ate away at him. "When I was seventeen, I was in love." He turned away, staring across the rough, gray sea. "Her name was Alana Rivers. Her dad was a lobsterman." Each word he spoke drummed up memories and bitterness he'd fought to forget for so long. "Lobstermen go out on the sea every day. They can't afford not to. They need the lobsters to feed their family."

  Willow turned sideways to face him, propping her elbow on the railing for support.

  Cole didn't face her. He just stared across the choppy water. "A storm was coming in, and it was bad. Alana asked me to go out with her and her dad so they could get through the traps faster, and get back before the storm. My mother refused to let me go. Our inn was full, and we were short on staff. She told me that the inn was more important." He swore under his breath. "Do you know how often I've heard that in my life? The inn was always open. We were responsible for our guests at all times, including me. I argued with her, and she told me if I walked out on the inn, I was betraying my father's memory. So I didn't go on the boat with them."

  He ground his jaw, gripping the railing.

  "What happened?" Willow's voice was quiet.

  "They died." They'd fucking died. He turned to look at her then. "They got caught in the storm less than a mile off shore. They were on their way back, so close to the dock, and they got hit. The boat sank offshore, and I was standing right here, on this dock, with my binoculars, watching it go down, and there wasn't a fucking thing I could do." He could still see it, that white boat bobbing in the brutal waters. "I could tell the minute that it stopped making progress toward the shore." He could still feel the horror stealing over him when he realized something was wrong. "I was shouting for them, but all I could do was watch. The boat went down in less than a minute. By the time I got help, it was gone. We never found their bodies. The storm took them." His eyes were burning from the cold wind. "If I'd gone with them, pullin
g in the traps would have taken at least an hour less. They would have been back. They would have been fine." He turned around, facing the island, glaring at the inn perched on the cliff at the north end. "That inn is the reason they died. My mom said waiting tables was more important, and I didn't fight it, so they died."

  His words were ripped away by the wind, but it didn't matter. The truth was etched in blackened letters across his soul, and it would be for the rest of his life. "I hate that inn," he said softly. "I will hate it for the rest of my life."

  Cole's heart felt like it was being carved in half all over again as he told the story to Willow, a story he'd never shared with anyone since that day. He'd stood in silence at their funeral, then packed up and left the island on the first ferry after his graduation. He'd come back for his mother's funeral, and then again two days ago, and it was killing him to be here.

  Willow touched his arm, jerking him back to the present with sudden shock. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

  A part of him wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and kiss her until she chased away all the memories and guilt. But he didn't. He just shrugged and said nothing, turning back to the ocean and staring at it, trying to find his way back to the place where he didn't feel and didn't care…but he couldn't. His time with Willow had broken down his walls, and he couldn’t shut off his emotions anymore.

  He could almost see that white boat sinking, as if it were happening all over again. Shit. He closed his eyes, trying to cut off the image that wouldn't leave him alone. "I have to leave this behind," he finally said, bowing his head. "I can't live with this anymore."

  She leaned on the railing next to him, her forearms braced on the rough wood as she watched the ocean. Her arm was against his, a solid, tangible reassurance that he was still alive. "Did it help? Leaving it behind the first time? When you moved to New York?"

  He leaned on the railing beside her, keeping his arm against hers. Somehow, the casual physical contact helped ground him in the present. "Yeah. I was fine, until I had to come back here."

  "Really?" Her tone made it evident that she didn't believe him at all.

  He stifled a small grin at her refusal to back off, a grin that faded as he spoke. "Yeah, really."

  "Because the way I see it, if your fiancée betrays you by sleeping with a friend of yours, and you feel absolutely nothing in response, then you're not okay. You're far from okay."

  What little humor he'd had fled, and he glared at her. "The fact I don't regret losing out on a cheating wife means I'm not okay? I'm smart, Willow, not weak or messed up."

  "I know you're smart, and I know you're strong." She turned to face him again. "But God, Cole, look what you're doing. You're killing yourself with guilt over something that's not your fault. They made the choice to go out there—"

  He ground his jaw. "They had no choice! It's the lifestyle—"

  "They did have a choice! We all have a choice! You were seventeen years old! It wasn't your responsibility to take care of a grown man and force him to make the right decision to keep himself and his daughter safe! Don't you understand? You taking care of your mom and your dad's legacy didn't kill them. The storm did, and their decision to risk it. They could have cut their trip short when you couldn't come. They could have chosen not to go. They could have made a dozen different choices, and none of them were the responsibility of a seventeen-year-old boy!"

  He stared at her. "You don't understand. You're from a movie-star life, Willow. You have no concept of what it's like to have to survive day by day like these lobstermen do."

  "I understand that if you move to Australia, Alana's death will move with you. When you stare out over those beaches, you'll still see that lobster boat. It's not going to go away just because you move away. Every bad thing that happens to us is a part of us forever. It never goes away. We just incorporate it into who we are and decide who we are going to become as a result of it." She gestured toward the town center, only a few hundred yards away. "What I understand is that this place once filled your heart, and then your heart got broken horribly, first by your dad's death, and then by Alana and her dad's. You're broken, and you've rejected the only source of support you have left, so now you have nothing. That inn is all you have left of your father and a childhood filled with love, but you're letting Alana's father's decision destroy it for you."

  Cole turned away from her. He felt like his head was spinning, his mind fragmenting into shattered remains. "Let it go," he said softly. "Just let it go."

  "I can't."

  He closed his eyes. "Why not?"

  There was a moment of silence, so long that he finally turned to look at her. Her face was pale, but her eyes were burning with intensity. She took a deep breath. "I can't let it go because I love you, Cole. I can't sit here and watch you destroy yourself when you don't deserve it."

  He went still, utterly frozen as her words were caught by the wind and swept past him. Her dark eyes were wide and honest as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed. Wordlessly, he touched her cheek, her skin cold from the wind. His fiancée had told him she'd loved him. So had other women. But no one had said it, and meant it, not since Alana, and they'd been kids back then. He was unprepared for what it felt like to hear it, for the way his chest tightened, and his heart sped up. It made him want to reach out and drag Willow into his arms, to grab a sword and protect her from anything bad ever coming near her. Her love, her words, her entire soul was a gift, one he didn't deserve, one that he didn't even know how to accept.

  She put her hand over his. "Kiss me, Cole. Kiss me, the woman who loves you today, who sees you with all your flaws, and knows that you're the one who's worthy."

  He knew he should say something, anything, but he didn't know what to say. He had no words. So, he kissed her, pouring all he was into the kiss, using it to say the words burning through him, the words that he didn't understand enough to articulate, words that could be acknowledged only by kissing Willow until he had nothing left to give.

  Chapter 11

  TWO DAYS LATER, Cole appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "That looks great."

  Willow stepped back, shifting the paintbrush to her left hand to stretch her cramping fingers. Cole was wearing old jeans, faded boots, and a torn tee shirt. He looked like a man who fit perfectly into a life in Maine, working on an old house. He'd even taken off his expensive watch. His hair was tousled, his jaw was unshaven, and his shoulders were broad. He was pure testosterone, dangerous and sensual, and her heart skipped a beat at the mere sight of him. She'd spent every night in his arms, being loved in a way she'd never dreamed of. His kisses made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, his whispered endearments made her heart soar, and the passion between them made her soul burn for more.

  She'd been on Mystic Island for six nights, and she'd never be the same. The island didn't need to trap her and keep her there. She'd found what she came for, and so much more…and with each passing moment, she felt as though it were slipping through her fingers. Soon they would be gone, the inn empty, this week nothing more than a memory, like the last time they'd been together. The thought made her heart ache, but she didn't see what other options were possible.

  He had made it clear he was leaving for Australia, end of story. With a sigh, she glanced at the walls that she'd been working on all morning. "It does look nice, doesn't it?" She'd taken over painting the kitchen to prepare the inn for sale. She'd chosen a pale gray that looked almost green or blue, depending on the time of day, changing colors just like the ocean.

  Cole had been cleaning out the basement all morning while she'd been painting, giving her a lot of time to think...and socialize, since Rosie and other townspeople had taken to stopping by to check on the progress and discuss ways to convince Cole not to sell the inn. They were quirky, hilarious, loyal, and always brought delicious food with them. They were all lovely, and she'd loved every minute of painting, chatting, and turning somethin
g old and worn out into something vibrant and alive.

  Nighttime had been for lovemaking with Cole, and she'd fallen more in love with him every passing moment. She now understood the depth of his trauma, and she knew he believed he had to walk away from the inn. There was simply no other way he could heal, but his fury at the possibility of it being torn down in betrayal of his father's legacy had been revealing. Was it really the right choice for him to sell it? He hadn't talked much about his mother, and it was clear that his dad was the one Cole had been close to, even before his mom had gotten remarried. Without his dad to hold them together, the relationship between him and his mom had gradually decayed over time.

  His memories of life after his father's death had destroyed his love for what had once mattered to him. It made her sad for him, but she had begun to understand there was no way to change his mind.

  He was going to leave on that ferry and never come back.

  "It's a great shade of gray." He leaned on the doorframe, and ran his hand across his forehead, leaving streaks of dust. He was so far from the boy she'd known. He was pure male, wildly sexy and deeply emotional, so much more than he would let himself acknowledge. "My dad would have loved that color."

  She smiled at the softness in his voice, the same warm tone he always used when talking about his dad. "He sounds like he would have loved a lot of what you've been doing here this week," she ventured as she resumed painting. "You've restored so much of the inn's ambiance even in this short week. It feels like guests could arrive any minute, doesn't it?"

  Cole didn't answer. He just leaned against the doorframe, watching her silently.

  After a moment, she looked over at him. His eyes were turbulent, his jaw tense. She paused. "What?"

  "I just wanted to apologize that you didn't get much of a Christmas," he said. "I hope you didn't feel obligated to help me get things in shape. You came here for Christmas, and you wound up painting my house."